Male Chauvinist Quotes

Some women do not masturbate for pleasure; they masturbate to make a political statement: to remind us that women do not really need men (or at least not as much and as frequently as every single male chauvinist and every single misogynist believes).

A male chauvinist pig isn't born, he's made, and more and more of them are being made by women.

I think that all women are witches, in the sense that a witch is a magical being. And a wizard, which is a male version of a witch, is kind of revered, and people respect wizards. But a witch, my god, we have to burn them. It’s the male chauvinistic society that we’re living in for the longest time, 3,000 years or whatever. And so I just wanted to point out the fact that men and women are magical beings. We are very blessed that way, so I’m just bringing that out. Don’t be scared of witches, because we are good witches, and you should appreciate our magical power.

DOGMA: a political belief one is unreasonably committed to, such as the notion that freedom is good and slavery is bad. BIAS: predeliction for a particular dogma. For example, the feminist bias is that women are equal to men and the male chauvinist bias is that women are inferior. The unbiased view is that the truth lies somewhere in between. (an early comment on backlash, from "Glossary for the Eighties")

I mean, I'm just tired of being wrong all the time just because I'm a guy. I mean how many times can everybody tell you that you're the oppressive, prejudiced enemy before you give up and become the enemy. I mean a male, chauvinist pig isn't born, hes made, and more and more of them are being made by women. After long enough you just roll over and accept the fact that you're a sexist, bigoted, insensitive, crude, cretinist cretin. Women are right. You're wrong. You get used to the idea. You live down to expectations. Even if the shoe doesn't fit, you'll shrink to fill it. I mean, in a world without god aren't mothers the new god? The last sacred unassailable position. Isn't motherhood the last perfect magical miracle? But a miracle that isn't possible for men, and maybe men say they're glad not to give birth, all the pain and blood, but really that's just so much sour grapes. For sure, men can't do anything near as incredible. Upper body strength, abstract thought, phalluses - any advantage men appear to have are pretty token. You can't even hammer a nail with a phallus. Women are already born so far ahead ability - wise. The day a men can give birth, that's when we can start talking about equal rights.

Useless, idle, exploitative male chauvinist drone!

But please refrain from torturing me with your asinine male chauvinistic ramblings first. Having tits doesn't negate having a fucking brain, you idiot.

I mean, a male chauvinist pig isn't born, he's made, and more and more of them are being made by women.

I'm not a feminist. Many of those who carry its flag are as selfish as male chauvinists. They want privileges but not responsibilities. Bullies hiding under a fine cause.

In every male languishes the soul of a feudal lord, a male chauvinist, which must be destroyed.

Ash opened the door, stopping the males before they could go in, “Learn some manners.” Letty gave them a salute before walking in, rifle in hand. “That’s rather chauvinistic,” one of the males huffed. Ash let out an amused laugh. “I didn’t let her in first because she’s female, you jackass. I let her in first because she likes to shoot things, and I’m very considerate that way.

Technically, everyone is talking to me. I’m able to partition myself quite easily. You are hearing my default voice—the voice that Edmond prefers—but others are hearing other voices or languages. Based on your profile as an American academic male, I chose my default male British accent for you. I predicted that it would breed more confidence than, for example, a young female with a southern drawl.'' Did this thing just call me a chauvinist?

Lora followed his eyes to the subject of their conversation. He was such a masculine man, tall and strong and sure of himself, cocky almost. A male chauvinist to his toenails, she suspected, as incapable of admitting to feeling hurt and lonely and afraid as a pig was of flying. But he was vulnerable too, enormously vulnerable. More than many people who openly asked for it, he needed love. He needed someone to hold him in her arms and convince him that what he had done was not so bad, was not unforgivable, did not put him beyond the pale of normal society. To convince him that he was lovable. And loved. And she meant to be that someone.

Debbie Nathan’s thesis is that Shirley Mason was a vulnerable hysteric and was manipulated by her therapist into iatrogenic DID and false memories of child abuse. Nathan says that this is generally true of DID, except for perhaps a small number of genuine cases. One problem with this thesis is that it is based on a stereotypically male chauvinist view of women as impressionable hysterics who do not know, and are not in control of, their own minds or histories; this demeaning view of women is presented as a feminist thesis.

As long as there are plane crashes, preventable child deaths, endangered species, climate change deniers, male chauvinists, crazy dictators, toxic waste, journalists in prison, and girls not getting an education because of their gender, as long as any such terrible things exist, we cannot relax.

I mean, a male chauvinist pig isn’t born, he’s made, and more and more of them are being made by women. After long enough, you just roll over and accept the fact that you’re a sexist, bigoted, insensitive, crude, cretinist cretin.

The leveling effect of the women’s movement has contributed to discourage dating. As women’s options have increased and some women have become more aggressive, some men have become reluctant to take traditional male initiatives, such as asking for dates, lest they be thought to qualify for the dreaded label “male chauvinist.

Grace Slaughter - the surname of her fifth husband, a manufacturer of pharmaceutical toners and "prophylactic" products, recently deceased due to a ruptured peritoneum - was sharply chauvinistic and would allow no more than two exceptions to her all-American views, exceptions with which her first spouse, Astolphe de Guéménolé-Longtgermain, no doubt had something to do: cooking had to be done by French nationals of male gender, laundry and ironing by British subjects of female gender (and absolutely not by Chinese). That allowed Henri Fresnel to be hired without having to hide his original citizenship, which is what had to be done by the director (Hungarian), the set designer (Russian), the choreographer (Lithuanian), the dancers (Italian, Greek, Egyptian), the scriptwriter (English), the librettist (Austrian), and the composer, a Finn of Bulgarian descent with a large dash of Romanian.

Call it arrogance or male chauvinism, the male ego just doesn’t allow a woman to participate in key issues in family. Men seldom realize that it’s the housewife who has the most difficult job in the world: waking up early, preparing breakfast, getting the children ready for school, preparing lunch, cleaning up the mess at home and so much more. Even before they can some rest, the doorbell would ring and the children are back from school. Then, the routine again, and by the end of the day, they were tired. Women in the family are the last to sleep and the first to wake up. Sometimes, even during a crisis in the family or when there is a dispute, it’s the lady of the house that stands rock solid to calm things down and face challenges head on.

she had to give up her independence and submit completely? wasn’t that being like a male chauvinist? Dominique felt like an altered version of herself after a while, her mind foggy, emotions primal, senses heightened she enjoyed the sex and affection – outside in the fields when summer arrived, wantonly naked in the heat, unworried about anyone coming across them, what Nzinga called Dominique’s sexual healing, as if she’d

The Southern man has a certain swagger about him that every woman craves in a man, whether she is willing to admit it or not. in this depressingly utilitarian age, when young lovers remove identical faded jeans and pea jackets before getting into bed together, the thought of a beau sabreur lover is not unappealing, Neither the overbearing male chauvinist nor the supportive gelding are capalbe of stirring the female blood, but a dashing cavalier is.

Even though he couldn’t see anything, he felt strong as an ox, big as a mountain, deadly as a cobra—you name the he-man metaphor and he was rocking that shit. It wasn’t chauvinistic to want to protect your females. It was appropriate, and not because they couldn’t be smart and protect themselves. Females were simply more important than males and always would be, and in the very deepest part of his marrow, he was proud to be in service as a mate and a father to them.

Our insect musicians are roused to their greatest activity during the monsoons. At dusk the air seems to tinkle and murmur to their music. To the shrilling of the grasshoppers is added the staccato notes of the crickets, while in the grass and on the trees myriads of lesser artistes are producing a variety of sounds. As musicians, the cicadas are in a class of their own. Throughout the monsoons their screaming chorus rings through the forest. A shower, far from dampening their ardour, only rouses them to a deafening crescendo of effort. As with most insect musicians, the males do the performing, the females remain silent. This moved one chauvinistic Greek poet to exclaim: ‘Happy the cicadas, for they have voiceless wives!’ To which I would respond by saying, ‘Pity the female cicadas, for they have singing husbands!’ Probably the most familiar and homely of insect singers are the crickets. I won’t attempt to go into detail on how the cricket produces its music, except to say that its louder notes are produced by a rapid vibration of the wings, the right wing usually working over the left, the edge of one acting on the file of the other to produce a shrill, long-sustained note, like a violinist gone mad. Cicadas, on the other hand, use their abdominal muscles to produce their sound.

Raven paced restlessly across the floor of the cabin, sending Jacques a little self-mocking smile. “I’m very good at waiting.” “I can see that,” Jacques agreed dryly. “Come on, Jacques”— Raven made the length of the room again, turned to face him—“ don’t you find this even a little bit nerve-racking?” He leaned lazily back in his chair, flashing a cocky grin. “Being caged up with a beautiful lunatic, you mean?” “Ha, ha, ha. Do all Carpathian males think they’re stand-up comedians?” “Just those of us with sisters-in-law who bounce off walls. I feel like I am watching a Ping-Pong ball. Settle down.” “Well, how long does something like this take? I thought he implied he’d be in and out of the hospital in two minutes, Jacques. What could have gone wrong? Mikhail was very upset.” “Mikhail did not actually say anything went wrong, did he?” Jacques asked, blankly innocent. Raven’s large blue-violet eyes settled on Jacques’s face thoughtfully. Jacques squirmed under her suspicious, steady gaze. There was far too much intelligence in her enormous eyes to suit him. He held up a placating hand. “Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.” “Intellect, Jacques, not imagination,” she corrected sweetly. “My American upbringing made me incredibly intelligent, and believe me, I can spot one of your pathetic Carpathian plots to protect the helpless woman from information you consider would make her fragile little delicate self unnecessarily fearful.” He grinned at her. “Carpathian males understand the fragile nature of women’s nerves. Women— especially American women— just cannot take the adversity that we men can.” “I think I should have enjoyed meeting your mother. How a woman could manage to raise two domineering tyrants like you and Mikhail is beyond me.” His dark eyes laughed at her. “But we are charismatic, sexy, handsome, and always right.” Raven hooked her foot around his chair and sent him crashing to the floor. Hands on hips, she regarded him with a superior glint. “Carpathian men are vain, dear brother-in-law,” she proclaimed, “but not too bright.” Jacques glared up at her with mock ferocity. “You have a mean streak in you, woman. Whatever happened to a soft, sweet, Yes, my lord, you’re always right?” “Try the Dark Ages.

outlandish

When most people think of intolerance, they imagine a racist taunting a black person. Or they may envision a male chauvinist hurling bigoted insults at women. It seldom occurs to them that intolerance comes in all political shapes and sizes. A protester storming a stage and refusing to let someone speak is intolerant. So, too, are campus speech codes that restrict freedom of expression. A city official threatening to fine a pastor for declining to marry a gay couple is every bit as intolerant as a right-winger wanting to punish gays with sodomy laws. Intolerance exists on the right and the left. It knows no exclusive political or ideological affiliation. It happens any time someone uses some form of coercion, either through government fiat or public shaming rituals, to restrict open debate and forcefully eliminate opponents from the playing field.

all along the way, a biased media, a morally bankrupt academy, and a clueless Hollywood have abetted this softening. Rugged manliness is denigrated—being “macho” is assumed to be the same thing as being a male chauvinist. Being a thug or an outlaw is cool, while being a soldier or police officer is a tool of oppression. And besides, crime is a result of social conditions, not personal choices. Children are taught that the world is full of dangers—which is true—and that they aren’t capable of handling them without government assistance—which is a lie.

1. GRIT noun \'grit\ (1.) mental toughness and courage —Merriam-Webster’s definition (1.) an archaic descriptor denoting male-chauvinist microaggression in the form of an oppressive, traditionalist/individualist approach to adversity (2.) a hardness of character that renders individuals unsuitable members of a progressive, collectivist society —A Leftist’s definition

Just about this time, Julio Mella suddenly got married to his primary girlfriend, Olivia Zandiver. Perhaps the fact that she became pregnant by him influenced this decision and soon after the wedding, they had a daughter whom they named Natasha. Marriage did not stop Julio from having other affairs. With his wife taking care of Natasha, he was still out seeing others. There was Sylvia Masvidal, Edith Margarita, Lucitta and lastly Tina Modotti. He had what the Cubans like to call machismo or, loosely translated, male chauvinistic virility. There was no doubt but that he was interested in the ladies, and they in him… Beautiful Tina loved photography and frequently posed nude for the lens. Now that she was Jullio’s girlfriend, life for them was more than exciting…. For him it would prove to be deadly!

Social radicals have therefore always faced the need to distinguish. There is a vital distinction between concern for women's rights (or liberty), founded on the aspiration for human freedom, and rejection of all restrictions on sexuality imposed by current social mores. This distinction is clearer in our day than ever before. Precisely because so many veils have been lifted, we plainly see the contemporary phenomenon of “sexual freedom” advocates who are only a new type of oppressors and exploiters of women. Many of the latter deserve the Male Chauvinist Pig of the Year award — from the Henry Miller type, whose anti-establishment rebellion masks the fact that he regards women as sexual objects only, to the Playboy Club sexploiter. To these champions of sexual freedom, women's emancipation operationally means their emancipation from sexual inhibitions the better to make them available to “emancipated” men for purposes that have nothing to do with social equality.

lingering belief in this male-chauvinist society that women who are raped somehow were asking for it, and the inapproachability becomes absolute. Women who nevertheless have braved the intimidation at the all-male police stations have said the experience merely added insult to injury. They report that the first reaction of a thug they encounter, who calls himself an officer, is a snide remark along the lines of whether she would perhaps like to "meet up" later that evening at a fast-food restaurant to discuss the issue further. Her "honor" no longer intact, she is to blame; and so she is now considered fair game.

pressed the doorbell.  A male chauvinist door chime echo’d through the house. “Woman, git the damned door. Woman, git the damned door.

Urmila suffered immensely, silently. Her husband left her and went with his elder brother and Sita without saying anything. He could have asked Urmila whether she wanted to accompany him to the forest, but he did not do that, and Urmila was left alone for fourteen years. Urmila’s husband was not only impolite but also cruel. He represents Indian bigotry, as he was a male chauvinist,” Ammu said.

In the beginning was the word. Once terms like identity doubts and midlife crisis become current, the reported cases of them increase by leaps and bounds, affecting people unaware there is anything wrong with them until they have got a load of the coinages. You too may have an acquaintance or even relative with a block about paperhanging or dog grooming, a highflown form of stagnation trickled down from writers and artists. Once my poor dear mother confided in me in a hollow whisper, "I have an identity crisis." I says, "How do you mean?" and she says, "I no longer understand your father." Now we have burnout, and having heard tell of it on television or read about it in a magazine, your plumber doubts he can any longer hack it as a pipefitter, while a glossary adopted by his wife has turned him overnight into a sexist, to say nothing of a male chauvinist pig, something she would never have suspected before she encountered the terminology. The word was made flesh.

Whether Homer was a feminist, a male chauvinist or a woman himself (herself?), he (she?) has all the qualities found in recent male poets, who are notoriously antigovernment, antiwar, antiauthority and fond of women, children, nature and sexuality. Obviously, he was in Freudian terms an oral personality. In any case, his values (and those of later poets like Euripides, Sophocles, the anonymous authors of the Greek Anthology, etc.) were always compatible with sexual love, however much the relationship between men and women had been rendered problematical by the patriarchal system, which had reduced women to second-class citizens.

When a man speaks assertively, people trusts him: he’s confident. When a woman does it, men dislike her : she’s a bitch. It’s outrageous that women have to restrain themselves and act small for the benefit of protecting the fragile egos of male chauvinists. As a matter of fact though, outspoken and bold women will only rise and win at Life no matter what.

I really wanted to be strong and capable when we got here, just like Tia.” R’jaal is silent, washing my other arm. His shoulders shake, and I stare at him in surprise. Is he…laughing? “What’s so funny?” “T’ia was sent away a few years ago because she was causing problems amongst the hunters. She was free with her kisses and her teasing, and it made several males think she was interested in only them. She cried a lot. She had more tantrums than a kit. So when you say that you wish to be more like T’ia…I am glad you are not.” “Sounds kind of chauvinist,

Let’s take a look at Tootsie to see how the difference between the premise and the designing principle plays out in an actual story. • Premise When an actor can’t get work, he disguises himself as a woman and gets a role in a TV series, only to fall in love with one of the female members of the cast. • Designing Principle Force a male chauvinist to live as a woman.

Kevin Swift… where am I? What are you doing here?” “You’re awake.” Polydora’s lips twisted into a displeased frown. “Of course, I am awake. Now answer my questions.” Kevin sat down. He slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs. Polydora’s eyes watched him like a hawk. “I’m not exactly sure where to start,” Kevin said after a moment. “The place where you and I are currently staying is called New Genbu, and I’m here because Monstrang and Kuroneko asked me to try and convince Orin, one of the Four Saints, to join forces with them.” “I understand your situation. Yes, that makes sense. However, I still don’t know what I’m doing here. The last thing I remember is…” Polydora trailed off, her eyes widening as she looked at something behind Kevin. “You! You are one of the fiends who was chasing me!” Cien was unruffled by the woman’s anger. “I was. However, I am not anymore. Try not to blow your top off, old hag.” “O-old hag?!” Polydora shrieked. “I’m only twenty-two years old.” “Really?” Cien sounded surprised, but Kevin thought he saw vindictive joy gleaming in the inu’s eyes. “You certainly don’t look that young. I guess that’s what happens to women who don’t know their place.” Kevin winced. He’d noticed it before, but male inu tended to be chauvinistic, and it seemed this particular inu wasn’t going to act in a way that might have suggested otherwise. “My place?” Polydora’s glare could’ve melted steel, but Cien looked unconcerned. “And what place is that?” “In the kitchen, of course.” Oh, boy. Kevin felt sweat gather on his forehead. This isn’t going to turn out well. “In the kitchen?” Polydora was beyond angry. The look on her face, which had taken on the vibrant red hue of rage, made her appear like she was ready to murder someone. “You foul, sexist, heathen! If I hadn’t lost my weapons in our first engagement, I would kill you where you stand—where you lay!” “So, the yama uba needs her weapons to kill, does she?” Cien’s grin was the utter definition of superiority. “I guess that’s what it means to be a race of nothing but women. You need weapons to be strong.” “That does it! I think this despicable mutt needs a lesson in manners!” “Bring it on, hag! I’ll beat you to a pulp!” Before Cien or Polydora could do much more than stand up, Kevin acted. Cien was taken down with a swift kick to the stomach, while Polydora tripped when Kevin kicked the back of her foot. She fell onto her bottom with a harsh “Oof!” “That’s enough out of the both you,” Kevin said calmly. “Polydora, I understand that you’re angry, but I need him to tell me what he knows about the Yamata Alliance, or do you not want to rescue Phoebe?” Polydora, who’d been about to shout at him, snapped her mouth closed. Kevin nodded. “And you.” He pointed at Cien. “Insult one of my friends again, and I will be sure to humiliate you so thoroughly your pride will be in tatters by the time I’m done.” Cien hesitated, but then he jutted out his chin in defiance. “Just try it. There’s nothing you can do to me that you haven’t already done.” Kevin’s creepy smile made Cien lean back. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. You forget that I’m the mate to a kitsune. Pranking is in their blood, you know? Keep insulting my friend and I’ll drug you, strip you naked, cover you in tar and feathers, attach you to the back of a car, and have it drag you through a heavily populated city. Don’t push me.” Needless to say, Cien shut up.

Not depending on external gentleness and kindliness, one of the fundamental differences between male and female personalities is that the former tends to 'break' the opposite sex, but the latter to be broken by him. Male and female brains are designed to get pleasure from that breaking and being broken, respectively, within some acceptable limits. The more self-confident and stubborn a woman, the more intense unconscious desire to be broken by some aggressive and chauvinistic male intervention once. Not depending on how she would like to have the air of self-assured confidence, nothing could prevent her from dreaming of getting a hidden pleasure from it.

A lady recently said to me, “Lebo, the passion you have for women is so deep. I don’t think I have half the passion you have for my own self and I’m a woman.” Truth is, every man inherently has this drive whether they aware of it or not. We, as men, whether gay or straight, live to unravel the sensual mystery/beauty of the feminine energy. Not to sound like a male chauvinist, but I believe this is one of the biggest reasons why as Tom Ford said, “Men are often better designers for women than other women.” It is this approach of “mining” and wanting to “unravel” the sensual feminine mystery/beauty that serves as our biggest drive or motivation. Male designers (i.e. David tlale, Gert Johan Coetzee, Christian Louboutin, Tomford, ME, etc.) are very exceptional at their craft because I believe they have this deep acknowledgement that they were first and foremost “CALLED” TO PUT WOMEN ON A PEDESTAL, and that means understanding that women want to feel overwhelmingly desired rather than rationally considered. By the way, women are not given the luxury to unravel their own sensual feminine mystery/beauty as men are. Women in general tend to have a very limited perspective of themselves which prevents them from reaching their fullest sensual feminine potential. Blame it on the society. Their biggest challenge is seeing themselves beyond their insecurities; they’re trapped by their own views of themselves particularly as women in a patriarchal society. But men (NOT patriarchal men), on the other hand, are able to see beyond women’s insecurities; they can see women’s potential than most women can see themselves. AND AWAKENED MODERN MEN WANT TO FULLY MAXIMIZE THAT POTENTIAL. This is why I strongly believe that a man’s ultimate role in the 21st century is to help carve the definition of what it means to be a woman. I know most feminists are pissed to hear me say that. The legendary photographer Peter Lindbergh said, “The most important part of fashion photography, for me, is not the models; it is not the clothes. It’s that you are responsible for defining what a woman today is. That, I think, is my job.” If women are diamonds/gold, then men got to be jewelry designers.

Raven paced restlessly across the floor of the cabin, sending Jacques a little self-mocking smile. “I’m very good at waiting.” “I can see that,” Jacques agreed dryly. “Come on, Jacques”--Raven made the length of the room again, turned to face him--“don’t you find this even a little bit nerve-racking?” He leaned lazily back in his chair, flashing a cocky grin. “Being caged up with a beautiful lunatic, you mean?” “Ha, ha, ha. Do all Carpathian males think they’re stand-up comedians?” “Just those of us with sisters-in-law who bounce off walls. I feel like I am watching a Ping-Pong ball. Settle down.” “Well, how long does something like this take? I thought he implied he’d be in and out of the hospital in two minutes, Jacques. What could have gone wrong? Mikhail was very upset.” “Mikhail did not actually say anything went wrong, did he?” Jacques asked, blankly innocent. Raven’s large blue-violet eyes settled on Jacques’s face thoughtfully. Jacques squirmed under her suspicious, steady gaze. There was far too much intelligence in her enormous eyes to suit him. He held up a placating hand. “Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.

That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.” “Intellect, Jacques, not imagination,” she corrected sweetly. “My American upbringing made me incredibly intelligent, and believe me, I can spot one of your pathetic Carpathian plots to protect the helpless woman from information you consider would make her fragile little delicate self unnecessarily fearful.” He grinned at her. “Carpathian males understand the fragile nature of women’s nerves. Women--especially American women--just cannot take the adversity that we men can.” “I think I should have enjoyed meeting your mother. How a woman could manage to raise two domineering tyrants like you and Mikhail is beyond me.” His dark eyes laughed at her. “But we are charismatic, sexy, handsome, and always right.” Raven hooked her foot around his chair and sent him crashing to the floor. Hands on hips, she regarded him with a superior glint. “Carpathian men are vain, dear brother-in-law,” she proclaimed, “but not too bright.” Jacques glared up at her with mock ferocity. “You have a mean streak in you, woman. Whatever happened to a soft, sweet, Yes, my lord, you’re always right?” “Try the Dark Ages. Your age is showing.

Well, how long does something like this take? I thought he implied he’d be in and out of the hospital in two minutes, Jacques. What could have gone wrong? Mikhail was very upset.” “Mikhail did not actually say anything went wrong, did he?” Jacques asked, blankly innocent. Raven’s large blue-violet eyes settled on Jacques’s face thoughtfully. Jacques squirmed under her suspicious, steady gaze. There was far too much intelligence in her enormous eyes to suit him. He held up a placating hand. “Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?

What could have gone wrong? Mikhail was very upset.” “Mikhail did not actually say anything went wrong, did he?” Jacques asked, blankly innocent. Raven’s large blue-violet eyes settled on Jacques’s face thoughtfully. Jacques squirmed under her suspicious, steady gaze. There was far too much intelligence in her enormous eyes to suit him. He held up a placating hand. “Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.

Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.

Now, Raven.” “Don’t you now-Raven me. That brother of yours, worm that he is, male chauvinist unequaled in modern times, told you something he didn’t tell me, didn’t he?” Leaning back with studied casualness, Jacques tipped his chair to a precarious angle and raised an eyebrow. “Women have vivid imaginations. I think you have a suspicious nature due to your American upbringing.” “Intellect, Jacques, not imagination,” she corrected sweetly. “My American upbringing made me incredibly intelligent, and believe me, I can spot one of your pathetic Carpathian plots to protect the helpless woman from information you consider would make her fragile little delicate self unnecessarily fearful.

Ina May’s high standards for how men should treat women, proclaiming that Farm women should hold their men to high standards and women had license to improve their men, as pertaining to grooming, cleanliness, and gentlemanly behavior. Men were expected to be graciously receptive to feedback with no grumping when asked to do a chore, because such grumping was considered male-chauvinist-pig behavior.

TOOTSIE (by Larry Gelbart and Murray Schisgal, story by Don McGuire and Larry Gelbart, 1982) • Premise When an actor can’t get work, he disguises himself as a woman and gets a role in a TV series, only to fall in love with one of the female members of the cast. • Possibilities You could take a funny look at the modern dating dance, but also dissect the deep immorality that underlies how men and women act toward each other in the most intimate part of their lives. • Story Challenges How do you show the effect of men’s immoral actions against women without seeming to attack one entire gender while making the other gender look innocent? • Problems How do you make a man believable as a woman, weave several man-woman plots together and make them one, end each plotline successfully, and make an emotionally satisfying love story while using a number of farce techniques that place the audience in a superior position? • Designing Principle Force a male chauvinist to live as a woman. Place the story in the entertainment world to make the disguise more believable. • Best Character Michael’s split between dressing as both a man and a woman can be a physical and comical expression of the extreme contradiction within his own character. • Conflict Michael fights Julie, Ron, Les, and Sandy about love and honesty. • Basic Action Male hero impersonates a woman. • Character Change W—Michael is arrogant, a liar, and a womanizer. C—By pretending to be a woman, Michael learns to become a better man and capable of real love. • Moral Choice Michael sacrifices his lucrative acting job and apologizes to Julie for lying to her.