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Badass 34 Years For Fondling Brian
Finkel, a once-prominent Phoenix abortion doctor, was sentenced Friday
to nearly 35 years in prison. He was convicted last month on 22 counts
of sexually abusing patients. Under Arizona law he must serve at
least 29 years behind bars. His sentence could have ranged from
probation to 74 years. Joe Blow
34 years for fondling!
Outrageous and barbaric.
Apparently he fondled women who were too reckless in bed
to prevent their unwanted pregnancies and who were also prepared to have
abortions. And then these same women have the nerve to claim that
they are such sensitive souls that his unwanted touches 'wrecked
their lives'.
Unwanted pregnancies and abortions. No problem.
Inappropriate fondling. Devastation!
Huh. What rubbish!
"I think he should die there," she said.
He fondled her for goodness sake! He did not cut off her limbs.
Women have far too lofty an opinion of themselves these
days. They seem to think that they are goddesses. But these women were no saints.
One minute women are supposed to be as capable and as
hardy as men, the next minute - when it suits them - they are suddenly so
precious that touching them inappropriately is tantamount to committing grievous
bodily harm.
The truth, of course, is that these particular
women are just liars and manipulators - and so greedy that they are
quite prepared to inflict as much harm as they possibly can on to
another person simply in order to get as much money as possible.
Of course this doctor needs to be punished if guilty.
But, 34 years!?
There is a fortune to be had by 'victims' making out that
they have suffered deeply. And it is almost invariably men who have to pay the huge
price.
34 years?
There is little justice in America these days.
There is savagery, nastiness, hysteria and outright
vindictiveness continually being pumped up by feminists, women's groups,
victims' groups and huge crowds of legal officials who simply wish to line their
own pockets.
And thousands of women every year are taking
advantage of these circumstances in order to profit themselves,
regardless of the huge injustices being inflicted on to men.
...
Did you know that the "Men's
Rights" Google News link generated a whopping 11 items of news a few
minutes ago - whereas the "Women's
Rights" Google News link generated a paltry 1065 of them?
Women's Rights are clearly now only
considered to be 100 times more important than those of men.
Progress!
...
The missus and I optimistically trundled off yesterday evening to see Part III of the Lord of the Rings at the late-night showing of what is euphemistically called 'a cinema' round here.
(The screen of our neighbour's TV is about twice the size!)
Anyway.
In order to prevent the possibility of the whole performance being ruined by any of the currently mandatory gruesome domestic violence adverts which normally precede all films shown in the UK, the missus decided that it was in her best interests to ensure that
I never got to see them - lest I spend the next four hours shuffling aggressively in
my seat and moaning about them, thus ruining the film.
And so she timed our most grand entrance into 'the cinema' to occur well after the adverts had finished being displayed.
It was a good tactic!
And it worked!
Regretfully, however, about three-quarters of the way through the film - in fact, just as the King of Wherever was about to be slain by the Evil What's His Name who was flying around on the Whatever It Was With Big Teeth -
my bladder could hold out no longer.
Four earlier cups of tea had colluded together and decided that enough was enough.
And they insisted most persuasively that it was time for them to move on.
And so I tripped my way through a veritable forest of feet, irritating about 20 people in the process of doing so, and then stumbled haplessly
in the dark up the so-called 'aisle' to the Gentleman's Room.
And it was very plush!
But there, on every wall, as I emptied myself peacefully, posters were howling at
me.
They were the only posters in the place.
And they were all to do with domestic violence against women.
You know, the usual stuff.
Every week in the UK, 70,000 women are hacked mercilessly to death by wicked men.
420,000 women were grievously molested or raped by their male office colleagues while
you were happily carving the turkey on Christmas Day.
Nine million helpless women were brutally assaulted
every single day last week in Macclesfield during the lunch hour,
not only by close male relatives, but also by passing strangers.
Some of them were even assaulted by police officers and school
children.
And so when I finally returned to my seat, I looked dolefully at the missus as she polished off the last remaining crumbs of
my popcorn.
The King of Wherever was already dead. The battle was over. And, according to
the missus, the best part of the film had come and gone during my absence.
And so with uncharacteristic vigour and enthusiasm, I whacked her about the head a few times with
my left shoe before sending her off to buy me some chocolate with which to
comfort myself.
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