I was recently having a discussion with a fellow Conservative when it dawned on me that he actually believed that women were paid less than men for doing the same job. Because I know him to be a very bright, well-informed fellow in his early 60s, I figured if he had been successfully hoodwinked, there must surely be others on our side of the aisle who have fallen for the endless lies.
For openers, I pointed out to him that it is already the law of the land that, everything being equal, the same jobs call for the same salary. The problem is that everything is rarely equal. One person may have more education or greater work experience or be more willing to put in overtime.
The second problem is that when feminists cry foul, they usually are not talking about men and women doing the same job or even similar jobs. Instead, they talk about comparable jobs, and only they get to determine which jobs are comparable. So, of course, they go about it in such a way as to magnify the difference in salary. That means they will pretend that a nursery school teacher should be paid the same as a firefighter, instead of recognizing that a female firefighter is paid the same as her male counterpart.
The clincher in my discussion, though, came when I pointed out that if it was true that women were paid 79 cents for every dollar men are paid, why would anyone ever hire a man?
Oddly enough, women just might overtake men financially in the near-future, thanks to there being so many more females than males on our college campuses. At least that will be the future if women concentrate on such fields as the law, medicine, architecture and engineering. However, if they continue to focus on teaching, social work, lesbian studies, French poetry of the 18th century and the like, we will continue to hear that they’re being underpaid into the foreseeable future.
Someone who must be keeping tracks of my recent ailments sent along the following: Childhood Injuries: Fell off my bike. Fell out of a tree. Twisted my ankle playing ball. Adult injuries: Slept wrong. Sat down too hard. Sneezed too hard.
Someone else let me know he wore a red shirt to Target yesterday and, long story short, he’s covering for Debbie this weekend.
When President Trump first started griping about the NATO members not meeting their financial obligation, I was hoping it meant he was preparing to pull us out of the alliance. After all, Russia isn’t about to invade us, so what do we stand to gain from financing a bunch of four-flushers like Germany, which still is refusing to contribute 2% of its GDP to its own defense, and Turkey, a Muslim nation run by a theocrat who is constantly playing footsies with Vladimir Putin. But you don’t hear any of the Democrats calling for our severing ties with this notorious colluder with Russia.
If I were Trump, I’d ask NATO to intervene and help turn away the invaders from Mexico and Central America. If they’re not willing to protect our sovereignty, I can’t imagine any reason to protect theirs.
Of all the disgusting sights I’ve seen lately, about the only thing that comes closest to being as revolting as Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg trying to pass themselves off as political pundits on The View was watching the likes of presidential contenders Beto O'Rourke, Kirsten Gillibrand, Bernie Sanders, Julián Castro, Amy Klobuchar, Cory Booker, Elizabeth Warren and Kamala Harris, schlepping to New York in order to kiss Al Sharpton’s ring and receive the schmuck’s benediction.
Even if I were all in for the Green New Deal and considered Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez the hope for the future, I would be revolted to see my party’s leaders paying court to the perpetrator of the Tawana Brawley hoax and the instigator of the Crown Heights racially-inspired, anti-Semitic, bombing that left eight people dead.
Not too surprisingly, all eight of the simpleminded louts seeking their party’s presidential nomination swore that they favored reparation payments to blacks and then tripped over each other in their race to sign their name on the dotted line. Even Herr Faust wasn’t quite that anxious to trade his eternal soul for worldly treasure.
Russ Mothershed, who clearly knows the ways of the world, reports that Bob, an extremely wealthy 70-year-old widower, showed up at the local country club with a 25-year-old blonde knockout on his arm.
His golfing buddies can’t believe it. When the blonde goes off to the powder room, they rush over and crowd around to get the lowdown.
“Where did you find the girlfriend?”
“Brittany’s not my girlfriend, she’s my wife.”
His friends are flabbergasted. “How did you persuade her to marry you?”
“Simple,” Bob confesses. “I lied about my age.”
“What, did you tell her you were 50?”
“Hell, no! I told her I was 95.”
Joe Neuner claims that an older, tired-looking dog wandered into his yard. The dog appeared to be well-fed and well cared for. “He calmly approached me. I patted him on the head and he followed me into the house. He slowly walked down the hallway, curled up in a corner and went to sleep.
"An hour later, he woke up, went to the door and I let him out.”
“The next day, he was back. Again, he went to the corner, curled up and went to sleep for about an hour.
"We repeated this routine for about a week. Finally, one day, curiosity got the better of me and I attached a note to his collar that read: ‘I would like to know who the owner of this sweet dog is and if you are aware that almost every afternoon he comes to my house and takes a nap.
"The next day, he arrived on schedule, but I noticed there was a different note attached to his collar. It read: 'He lives in a home with six children, two of them are under the age of three. He’s simply trying to catch up on his sleep. Would it be okay if I joined him tomorrow?’”
Because I don’t want Adri Washburn to feel left out, I’ll share his recent contribution.
At one point during a Little League game, the coach called one of his 9-year-old players over and asked: “Do you understand what teamwork is?”
The little boy nodded.
“Do you understand that what matters isn’t whether we win or lose, but that we work together as a team and have fun?”
The little boy nodded again.
“So, I’m sure you understand that when an out is called, you shouldn’t argue with the umpire or call him names.”
The little boy nodded a third time.
“And, finally, when I take you out of a game so another boy gets a chance to play, it’s not good sportsmanship to call your coach a dumb ass, is it?”
This time the little boy shook his head.
“Good,” said the coach. “Now go over there and explain all that to your grandmother.”