Up with Lindsay, Down with Patriarchy!

I hope burly-chested chauvinists are happy! Their patriarchal reign continues unabated. The brief pink spark of hope known as #metoo? DEAD. Dead as crop tops, rompers, and the 98 Degrees’ comeback tour. The U.S. of ANDROTYRANNY is still a hetero-hellhole.

That’s the only conclusion to reach after the unconscionable mistrial of the Joan of Arc of our age, Lindsay Clancy. Oh! Just saying aloud her hallowed name boils my blood. The travesty! The scandal! The inhumanity of her punishment, at the horny-hands of an underbred hominid!

It’s the “war on women” redux. Actually, no. The war never ended. That fat, grotesque buffoon pretending to be president only ramped up the misogynistic assault. Donald J. Trump (the “j” stands for jackass!) deprived this country twice of a female president. Now he’s lording over the unjust incarceration of a beatific saintess.

Clancy’s innocence is as unquestionable as it is obvious; I should say, obvious to the enlightened, the empathetic, and the non-hairy hunchbacked. But that white-supremacist Elon Musk and his little goosesteppers are trying to twist the narrative into some retelling of the Fall. Beer-bellied incels are dense enough to think a woman strangling her three kids with cold efficiency is murder, and not a desperate cry for help. She begged, on-hands-and-knees pleaded, for support her heinous husband denied. That bastard—the utter bastard—knowingly abandoned sweet Lindsay to wallow in her own psychic torment. He’s as responsible for the garroting of his kids as his wife!

Actually, Patrick Clancy should have been the first suspect in his kids’ killing. He’s running marathons with their hair accessories pinned to his bib! Uh helloooooo! Running from his guilty conscience much? Listening to half a dozen true-crime podcasts should tell you so. Plus, every time I taroted during the trial, I kept drawing the Nine of Swords. Immense shame and remorse! Nature’s spirit always reveals the dark truth. Lindsay couldn’t have done it! And if you can’t see that, I’m not afraid to say you’re an imbecilic bigot, a cretinous hater, a dullwitted chadwad. My righteous sanctimony claws so hard at my heart that I could strangle you on the spot for being so blind to human sisterhood!

The evil—and yes, I adamantly mean EVIL—detention of Lindsay Clancy is more than an atrocious persecution. It’s a crime against the better half of humanity. And precious Lindsay is more than a mother. Really, she is the mother of us all, especially every female who’s ever found herself at the capricious whim of sexist Uncle Sam. She is the Gaia to our long-suffering!

We women tried to rescue Lindsay from phallocracy’s cruel fate. My sisters-in-arms tried to free her, unbind her MANacles. Our heroess Paula Devlin was right to view her jural duty through the intersectional prism of anti-colonial liberation. She called the trial a “turning point” that “could change something” and “make it better for other women in the future.” Oh, dear poetess, sing heaven to my soul! What could have been???

But no. The strong, veiny bicep of oppression once again vices our pure necks. And that brute, that unholy brute, is to blame.

Were it not for one fly-catching Neanderthalic juror who refused to acquit, Lindsay the Divine Diva would be safe and shielded among her fellow kweens. Seriously. How is it, in 2026, post-Harvey Weinstein, that one beautiful lioness is still prey to the bloodthirsty patri-tyranny?

That man…that boy…that stupid little lumpen pretending to be human…UGH! How dare he question Clancy! How dare a man presume to know the very madness running through her head?! Were I to hazard a guess, and my Master’s in Sociology bolsters my authority to do so, I’d say this gawping simian has never heard of postpartum depression. That’s P-O-S-T-P-A-R-T-U-M. D-E-P-R-E-S-S-I-O-N. I have to spell it out for the moronculus who barely passed high school! And of course he won’t grok it, can’t understand it, can barely comprehend anything outside football and hot wings. He can never be in touch with feminine sympathy. And he certainly hasn’t read The Bell Jar! In a damn man’s country, sensitive, stomped-on women are second-class.

I swear, when I think about that crude, villainous, lumbering jackal, sitting there, mute to the pleas of his betters, those brave juroresses, while a strong woman lies with a boot on her neck and her hands in irons, I swear I…I just…I can’t control myself. That disgusting, loathsome Javert, that ugly, heartscarred Claude Frollo, that scabrous Andrew Tate-watcher, that horrendous ape playing a man…when I think about him, I just…I just…I just…can’t help but clench my fists and feel so angry that I….

—-

Sorry; not sorry for the interruption. Had to pop a quick Zoloft. Technically, one and a half. Don’t worry: my doctor prescribed these little capsuled cool-downs. She didn’t suggest the Pinot chaser, though. That’s an extra breeze. Without my little cocktail, I’d shred another Home Goods down pillow!

Anywise, where was I? Oh right: the unrelenting humiliation women face from the American Swine Order. We really are living in The Handmaid’s Tale. And that…that…that jerkoff juror, free to slouch the streets, knuckles dragging, while a goddess whelps for rescue! I swear if I ever find out his name, I’ll hotwire his John Deere or F-150 or golf cart and floor it over his deserving body. Maybe then he’ll understand what it’s like to live in an unfeeling dongocracy!

*Email alert: Breaking News from the New York Times.*

Oh! What’s this? Did the judge force the jury to come back and reach the right verdict? Was the mistrial thrown out? Did the coven of witches I saw on TikTok finally cast their hex on Lindsay’s diabolical husband?

“HOLDOUT JUROR IN CLANCY TRIAL REVEALED.” Finally! Justice—real, unstoppable justice—will be done. Let’s see. Do we have a name? I bet it’s something like Jason Whitebread, or Tom Damekiller, or Travis Roughneck. Probably from flyover country originally and…

…

OH MY GAWD. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG. He…HE…is…

…a Haitian immigrant. The very kind President Epstein said was barbecuing cats…

Well, I suppose he had his reasons that privileged Americans like myself can’t hope to understand. Ah, well. Some of my neighbors in the KamalaIzBrat chat are protesting I.C.E. downtown. After brunch, natch. Better slip on my red robe and join them!

Justice for Lindsay! Free Gaza! Abolish I.C.E.! Impeach TrumpStein! F*ck the Patriarchy! BE A DECENT @$*&^ PERSON!