Next up… BELL DINGS Mansplaining. OK, kill me now. OK, um… Actually, just before I get going,
to those gentlemen who have brought their female partners
with them, whose female partners were unaware of this word
up until this moment… To those gentlemen, I apologise, because…because you’re about to
never win an argument again, OK? So, I’m sorry about that. Mansplaining. Mansplaining
is an attempt to curtail the phenomenon
of men interrupting women and explaining things to them
in a rude and patronising manner. Mansplaining, OK? OK? OK, now here’s the thing.
Here’s the thing. And I can only speak personally.
I can only speak personally. But, if you’re a woman
and I’m explaining something to you in a rude and patronising manner it won’t ever be
because you’re a woman. It will most likely be
because you’re a fucking cretin. OK? If I… If I’m shouting over you, or if I’m explaining something to
you as if you’re a fucking toddler, right, your gender will have
nothing to do with it. I’m a big believer in equal rights. I’m a rude, arrogant prick
to everyone I meet. But if you expect
special treatment from me because you’re a woman,
might I suggest you fuck off back to the 1950s where
you’ll feel more comfortable? I’m not mansplaining,
I’m EX-plaining in a rude, patronising manner. By…by throwing the word
mansplaining at me, you’re not accusing me of rudeness, you know, you’re accusing me
of bigotry. Wholesale. It fuckin’ stinks. It doesn’t work and it does nothing
to forward the feminist agenda. Rather, it buys into this idea
that women are weak and that they need protection
from the real world. “That man spoke rudely to you. “You are a victim. “That man spoke rudely to you.
You are a victim of prejudice! “He was being prejudiced! You were
a victim! Women are victims. “Women are victims. They’re all
victims. Women are victims. “Women are victims…” No, you’re not! You’re fucking hardcore!
You’re hard as fucking nails, right? You bleed out of your vagina, right? You bleed out of your vagina
and manage to hold down a job. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t
fucking… Quite often, you bleed
out of your vagina, during a meeting, if need be. “I’ll plug it up
with some cotton wool. “Come on, there’s work to be done!” You’re fucking hardcore!
You’re hard as fucking nails. So bizarre to me, that phrase – “He’s got balls. He’s got balls!” You can use it for women, too –
“She’s got balls, that one.” I’m sorry, you come anywhere
near my balls, I’m fucked! You so much as flick ’em,
I’m on the fucking floor. “He’s got balls.” Yeah, they’re on the outside, they’re fucking sensitive,
so back off! “She’s got balls.”
She hasn’t got balls – she’s got a bleeding vagina, she’s about to chair
the PTA committee meeting. She’s a fucking warrior! You’re fucking warriors! You’re not weak, you’re not victims. Isn’t that what feminism
used to be about? I don’t know, maybe I missed a memo.
I don’t know. Look, look, I think we can all agree
that we’re equal, all right? But if I’m honest, women are
better by a country mile, all right? But come on, sugar tits, enough with the mansplaining
bollocks, yeah? AUDIENCE MEMBER: Whoo! There’s a woman in the third row
whose face is going, “I don’t know where the irony
starts and where it stops! “Aaaargh!” That’s half the fun! You dissect it
in the pub afterwards. That’s the point, innit?