These women should be made to produce evidence of their sexual misconduct claims against men, or they should be made to shut up. The girly excuses for why they didn't make complaints at the time are pretty thin, to say the least; and they risk bringing dislike and mistrust onto all women, most of whom have not had the experience claimed, nor the inclination to bring men down for the sport of it.

In a recent article by a female journalist who worked for a TV station during the time of unproven charges against a male personality, the female journalist was advised by a cub reporter looking for a story that her name had been connected to the victim list. She replied that if an assault, verbal or physical, hand been made against her she must have 'missed it'.

Why is that crazed feministas can blacken the names of people without evidence, and get away with it? Trial by media has replaced the justice system.

This alleged essay is built on a number of demonstrably false premises?

The first and foundational is the me too assertion, the second is this is what Feminism always does?

Then builds from there like a house of cards with assertion stacked on assumption?

I see nothing credible or noteworthy is this patent misogyny merely masquerading as thoughtful balanced comment, to recommend it!

Just more militant muscular masculinity from the pen of this, [trapped in the medieval past, where women were mere bagatelle or goods and chattels/sexual slaves,] querulous author?

Coffee and blah blah?
No! Yap, yap, growl, yap, yap, whine!
More tea?
Alan B.

Bring out the guillotine, arrange the chairs around the execution stage, for the fine woman from the lustrous sisterhood of the dropped stitch; and heads roll across the stage floor.

It is not an 'alleged' essay, Alan. It is a real essay.

Diver, as always you not only make my points for me! But remarkably, make them bold and underlined!

The sound of hooves galloping over desert sand, accompanied by an orchestra in full voice, giving vent to the William Tell overture.

The Bedouin, sword drawn chases his quarry, a lightly clad, near naked female, ankle chains clashing, running/galloping/stumbling for her very life?

Later a weary camel driver stumbles across the same woman around dusk, buried up to her neck in sand. And seeing her captivating beauty was disposed to ask.

I see you're up to your neck in it? Why so?
Adultery, whispered the young beauty.

I see said the weary traveller, now suppose I were to dig you out of there? What's in it for me?

Whereupon the gorgeous creature looked askance at him, licked her lips, smiled vivaciously and replied, Sand!
Alan B.