Let’s all cup the bulbous bits between our legs in solidarity with our brothers, and cheer the menfolk of the world:  Hip hip hooray!  Hip hip hooray!  Hip hip HURRAH!

All around the world, men are or will be raising a tinny or two to celebrate the only day of the year, where they feel completely comfortable looking positively at themselves and their

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achievements.  They come together from all corners, (some in secret so as not to upset the apple-cart), to find their tribe.  In Trumptown, they’ll be arriving in droves in their pickups, full-of kegs and firing up the barbies, with the domestic flamethrowers they bought at Walmart.  They’re probably going to talk about some of the amazing male artists of American Impressionist period during the afternoon, and how they’ve been largely ignored by history, before mounting the rocket launcher and firing off a few rounds – you know, for a grand finale at midnight.  And of course to celebrate the arrival of a xenophobic, sexist (and all the other -ics and -ists) billionaire white guy into position of President of the United States.  Because it’s their time now -wipes tear away-

In the UK, they’re wrapping themselves in the flag of Saint George going out on the town to discuss the great British male poets of the nineteenth century over a few cheeky Jaegerbombs, challenging each other to a duel while referring to each other as ‘good sir’, hugging it out and then heading to the kebab shop.  And the dormant primal instinct of some might even kick in on this 19th of November. If this isn’t the day to rediscover your inner hunter gatherer, and get in that damn car and go to motherf*cking Sainsbury’s, then I don’t know when is.

There will be some, those who bemoaned International Women’s Day and whinged ‘but where’s myyyyy day’, without even bothering to look up if it existed before they started bleating, who remain in the dark. These chaps are my favourite kind of chap.  They will probably be completely oblivious to this one and only day of opportunity to celebrate their penises, penii, penes – whatever.  And that’s just so sad.  If you know one, make it your kindly duty today to inform them that they’re missing out on something special.

I’d like to draw on some facial hair, scratch my imaginary bollocks, walk around slapping my man pals on the back while affectionately calling them dick ‘ed.  I might even whittle something and grab a few p*ssies.  I think it’s very important to walk a mile in someone’s shoes so you can know better that person.  Don’t you?

Happy International Men’s Day, men.  If you are celebrating somewhere, somehow today, look at the really great things you’ve done for the arts and sciences and humanity.  And celebrate those things sincerely.

Much love and backslapping

Annie P
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