Well, let’s just have out with it: “C&nt”, that’s what she said, and “c%nt” is what she meant.And especially for the benefit of you poor lost souls dangling under the tyrannies of office jobs, here it is again in your singular “Safe For Work” lingo: “C*nt”. C#nt. C%NT!”

Yup.  That’s what she said, all righty.   And of course we’re talking about dear old Jane Fonda, whom many have said is something of a c*nt herself, and she said c%nt on live teevee. And, as we all know, C%NT is not something one is “allowed”, as it were, to say on live teevee. Indeed, no. It is not.Now, dear old Jane. Before we continue, let us consider her. Thank you.  

If you think about it, Jane Fonda is now at that “certain age” (Jurassic) in which saying things like c!$%nt on national television could possibly be viewed as something of a quaint eccentricity on her part. Like some sort of dear grand auntie whom suffers from terrible turrets syndrome, and shouts things like “C#NT!” and “N@gger!” when she means “Sugar bowl!” and “Please let the cant in!”

And maybe in Switzerland or Norway or some civilized country, this excuse might have “flown.”  But this is America, and we all know that’s not what really happened. And if we don’t, I’m about to tell us. Because I’m a patriot. That’s why.  

What really happened is that the old bat was on the damn Today Show or what-have-you, and she was talking, for reasons known only to herself and her God, about the damn “Vagina Monologues.” Now, nobody, but nobody, wants to hear about the damn “Vagina Monologues” let me tell you—vaginas are terrifying enough without them launching into speech. I’m sure you agree. (Also, that crap is so ’90s.) Anyhoozits, in order to liven up the bit, I guess, when it started to drag (and how couldn’t it), she just launched herself right into the conversation with something like,  “Well, when they called me up and asked me to be in a play called “C%nt”, I just thought, I have enough problems already…”,  which, of course, is slighty amusing but makes no sense at all, because the play is not called “C%NT”, it is called “Vagina Monologues” (pay attention!), and nobody wants to talk about it. And there is no play called “C%nt”, and there has never been a play called “C&nt”, and there never, ever, God please, shall be a play called “C%nt”, so it follows that no one asked her to be in a play called “C&nt”.  So what exactly the hell is this woman talking about?   

C%nt. That’s what. And I don’t want to talk about it. 

Oh, Jane.   Adrian Ryan

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