Well, not yet anyway. Only a few years ago, the MeToo movement burst onto the popular scene, threatening to complete the establishment of the gynocracy and the Helotisation of men. But MeToo didn’t quite work out as the covens of feminists, with their eye of newt and ear of bat (metaphorical, of course, what would PETA say) had hoped.
Thanks to MeToo every man in the West was soon losing sleep about all those drunken nights at Uni, worrying whether he had kissed some equally drunk girl who was well up for it anyway. Perhaps he’d let a hand slip onto her hip while dancing; enough now, to see a man crucified. Let’s be honest, there were a fair few nights I can’t even remember and I don’t think I’m alone.
