In a Feminist Society, We End Up Ruled by Cat Ladies! The Yin Overdose Killing the West’s Yang! By Mrs Abigail Knight (Florida)

The West hasn't been conquered by tanks or troops, it's been colonised by an army of censorious, humourless scolds who've slithered from the shadows to micromanage every thought, word, and deed. Call them the Cat Ladies: a swarm of childless, rage-fuelled, blue-haired enforcers who've infiltrated churches, schools, libraries, town boards, and even fire departments. The result? A nation feminised to the point of collapse, all yin, no yang. Feigned cuteness masks incompetence; pretend niceness stifles truth. Kamala Harris, the incoherent figurehead who climbed California's political ladder on her knees, leads this brigade. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the late Supreme Court saint, watches from the pantheon. This isn't progress; it's subversion from within, and if we don't reclaim the masculine spark, we'll perish in a puddle of participation trophies and Chardonnay tears.

The Historical Horde: From Temperance Hags to Trans Tyrants

The genus Femina felina Americana isn't a modern mutation, it's a recurring plague. It emerged in the 19th century with social reformers haranguing men over money, marriage, and meat. Harriet Beecher Stowe, the abolitionist cat lady par excellence, penned Uncle Tom's Cabin, a novel that inflamed Northern hatred and fuelled the Civil War, without ever visiting the South or a plantation. Ignorance? No barrier to her sermonising. Scottish import Fanny Wright founded Nashoba, a utopian mixed-race commune that crumbled under winter snow and racial realities before she fled to Europe, kept by the elderly Marquis de Lafayette. Sugar daddies: the original cat lady bailout.

The 20th century escalated the assault. Temperance battle-axes like Carry Nation hatcheted saloons, birthing the "old battle axe" trope. Margaret Sanger, Planned Parenthood's charm-free founder, championed birth control while neglecting her own kids, dabbling in affairs and spiritualism (perhaps séance-calling the offspring lost to her indifference). Eleanor Roosevelt, FDR's loudmouth proxy president during his polio-crippled years, used columns and radio to lecture America on its endless wrongs, while hiding her lesbian affairs as FDR bedded his secretary-cousin.

Second-wave feminism in the late 1960s, spawned today's aging, obese, tattooed, pierced misfits. Lenny Bruce nailed it: "Nothing sadder than an aging hipster." These pink-haired prophets, disappointed by life and furious at their piercings, channel regret into rage. No kids or men? No problem, they proselytise for queer rights, animal rights, trans rights, plant rights, free abortions, Free Palestine, and freeing every incarcerated thug. Excess leisure fuels the fire; Cheetos and Chardonnay sustain the substantial backsides parked on sofas, egos stroked by chat-show validators.

The Media Matriarchy: Oprah's Empire of Empathy Porn

Enter Oprah Winfrey, the 1990s marketing miracle. Herhandlers packaged this dim, talent-free Everywoman, plagued by weight and relationship woes, as relatable gold. Black? Perfect for white guilt virtue-signalling (paving Obama's path). Chat shows became misery Olympics: cat ladies clutching hands, weeping over "Can you top my trauma?" Hillary's 2016 ads mimicked it, cosy sofa, crackling fire, "Let's have a chat?" Translation: Shut up; girls rule. (Left-speak for "conversation" means monologue.)

Social media? Facebook's Hall of Lies, where cat ladies assure each other of eternal beauty, genius kids, and zero big butts. Fuelled by Oxycodone, Ozempic, and Ouzo, it's a bubble of hysterical happiness. Emojis replace substance; participation medals for woke head movements. Criticism? Forbidden publicly, savage privately, Oscar Wilde updated: "Women call each other sister after everything else first."

Institutional Takeover: Education, Government, and the Castration of Competence

The stranglehold is total. Education? Nose-diving under cat lady control. College deans beg: "Go easy, students don't handle criticism." Future surgeons pampered into incompetence. Government? Feminised discourse prioritises feelings over facts. Harris's campaign? An attack on Trump's "meanness" for challenging her identity-ticket presidency. Black female mayors, fire chiefs, police chiefs, DEI darlings with hood-rat weaves and talon nails, mangle sentences while shielded from scrutiny. Golden parachutes await the failures; competence optional.

Worst: Soccer moms morphed into castrating cat ladies. Supermarket soy boys sport man-boobs at nine, fed crap since cradle, dads fled. Junior transitions to dodge mommy's wrath, hormones, cross-dressing, mutilation. Mothers wield the scalpel in gender clinics. Annoying add-ons: Female sportscasters ("The team with most runs wins!") and news babes ("Most votes wins the election!").

Mother Nature laughs last. Cat ladies protest traditional roles yet devour romance novels, formulaic damsel-in-distress tales, even Amish sub-genres with butter-churn eye-goo. Rom-coms dominate film/TV; I've starred in treacly abominations, mobbed by bearded femos rewatching with mums, sobbing over Cinderella retreads. Country music camps? Hirsute Sapphics yearning for knight-and-maiden ballads.

Philip Wylie's 1943 Generation of Vipers dissected this venomously, I'm just updating the anthropology. Pre-1990 America lacked today's autism/gender dysphoria epidemic. Post-2021 return? A nightmare of man-hating women and apathetic men (Incels). Conspiracy? Something's in the water/food/vaccines, culture's poisons.

Yet species memory persists. Gender dysphorics switch roles, not erase them. They vicariously hunger via books/games. Stoke that to generative heat: detox the filth, reunite Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming.

Rebirth or Perish: Reclaiming Adam and Eve

In this feminist dystopia, cat ladies rule by default, masculinity beaten down, bored away. But yin overdose kills societies. We need yang: unapologetic men, truthful women, natural order. Clear the poisons; let nature course. Rebirth Adam and Eve, or perish in emoji hell. I've rom-com'd enough to know: crazy kids belong together. Time to wake the princes, kiss the beauties, and evict the scolds.