In recent days there has been quite the hulla-balloo about the work of a staff-columnist here at the salad, Mister ibiteyoureyes. While I must confess that I still haven’t the foggiest conception of what his particularly unpunctuated moniker is a reference to (and if it is some lewd activity that today’s young people engage in, I don’t care to find out), I must say that the outpouring of grievances toward him has been quite unjustified. In part, this is due to the fact that Mister ibiteyoureyes is a bonafide Italian man of decent stock, quite capable of freezing any young thing knock-kneed in her bobby-sock-ed tracks. However, the greater part of this is that women are quite emotional, mercurial things, and the bevy of responses only serves to confirm that he is indeed “telling it like it is.”

Apart from the many experiences I have accrued from having been a gad-about-town in my youth, during my time at university, I was compelled by force and inadequate scheduling to take a number of classes at the Barnard College for Women, wherein I saw that after an episode of heartache, many of my co-educational classmates (who prance about the classroom nimbly-pimbly in their pyjamas) could devour desserts in quantities that would make a savannah lioness blench. Sadly, I wish that this tendency toward the unstable were the only frailty with which woman was synonymous. As if trying to hide behind a much slimmer friend, out balloons the rather elephantine fact that an awful lot of women are quite stupid.

Yet, hear me, this is not a total indictment of women. I will admit that I myself marched for Suffrage, although I only did so to catch the eye of a Radcliffe girl. Instead, I wish to indict a class of women who do tarnish the reputation of the rest, those of the modern-day, so-called feminists. To anticipate the remarks of those ignorami who already have their cursors perched over the comment submission button, I will say this: I support the feminist agenda. Hard as it may be for you to believe, I feel, somewhat begrudgingly, that even if women will probably make a hash out of any liberté, égalité, and, er, solidarité féminine that they are granted, they should be given it, even if only to show how badly they make a hash of it all. And yes, the phrase “feminist agenda” smacks of the phrasing employed by late-night grammophone pundits, of the sort who recklessly insult the junior senator from New York, but it’s the best fit for the term. To return to topic, those “feminists” I wish to excoriate are those who would call themselves “feminist theorists.” For they have brought society nothing but turbid writing that does little other than muddy the waters of discourse, infantilize other women, and ignore real problems that women face.

And in a later post, I’ll tell you how, complete with a lot of curmudgeonly remarks, how easy it is to poke gaping holes in the work of a charlatan… and why it won’t do a damn bit of good in the halls of academe.

For fun, who can identify the feminist theorist who wrote this:

“Sexual identity is fundamentally impossible,” says Marx. However, Baudrillard uses the term ‘neocultural capitalist theory’ to denote the common ground between class and sexuality. Marx promotes the use of capitalist predeconstructivist theory to attack class divisions.

But a number of dematerialisms concerning not discourse per se, but prediscourse may be revealed. Junz suggests that we have to choose between the neoconstructivist paradigm of expression and Baudrillardist hyperreality. Thus, Lacan uses the term ‘capitalist predeconstructivist theory’ to denote a self-sufficient totality. If neocultural capitalist theory holds, we have to choose between capitalist predeconstructivist theory and conceptual narrative.