This wasn’t a march. It was a group therapy session.

I suppose it’s always good to work out those pent-up frustrations.

But when did inflatable anger bats go out of style?

The “Women’s March” in Washington wasn’t so much a march as it was a group therapy session.

It was grief counselling for all those gals still grappling with Hillary Clinton’s humiliating defeat.

Come on. When you can’t even give a reasoned explanation for staging this supposed “march,” that’s all the proof I need.

I stumbled across a hilarious post at American Lookout. The headline alone is priceless: LOL! “Women’s March” Organizers Can’t Say What They’re Marching For

”What do we want?!”
“We have no idea!”
”When do we want it?!”
“NOW!”

So, no. It wasn’t a march.

It was just a chance for girls who share the same emotional issues to get together and try to work their way through the five stages of grief.

Ashley Judd read a poem she apparently wrote herself.

Good for you, Ashley! Journaling is a great form of therapy, you know. And I think you made great progress today.

Madonna felt comfortable enough to share her homicidal fantasies with everyone.

I mean, it’s group therapy, right?

You should feel safe to share your homicidal fantasies with your fellow patients.

And since there were no mental health professionals on hand, Madonna doesn’t have to worry about one of them reporting her homicidal fantasies to the Secret Service.

Though, since it was broadcast live on CNN, there’s a slim chance the Secret Service already knows.

All in all it was a healing day.

The girls were able to get out some of that anger and grief they’ve been bottling up since November 8.

And that’s super important!

I mean, if you can’t find a way to process all that emotional baggage, you’ll end up bitter and alone — with only cats to keep you company.

[Then again, after seeing the crowd, I think it’s fair to say that ship has already sailed for most of them.]

They got to use a little knitting therapy to make their own pussy hats.

Plus, art therapy to make all those positive life-force, life-affirming signs.

Like the ones that said, “Fuck Trump!” and “My Pussy is Stronger than Your God.”

Or this one:

Funny thing about blizzards. After a week or so, all the snow melts away as if it was never even there.

In the end, Donald Trump is still the President of the United States.

Hillary still lost the election.

Madonna is still an old, foul-mouthed has-been.

And Ashley Judd’s movie career is still on life-support.

The downside, of course, is that most of those girls will go home still stuck in Denial.

But hey. Since none of them really knew why they were there to begin with, what difference at this point does it make?

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6 thoughts on “This wasn’t a march. It was a group therapy session.

  • January 22, 2017 at 4:11 am
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    It’s all for the moolah. As the parrot used to say, follow your nose. Wherever it goes.

  • January 22, 2017 at 8:04 am
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    “And that’s super important!”

    Heh heh.

    Okay, of course now we’re all waiting for the million man junk march. When all the men around DC whip out their junk and parade it around in the name of justice. “Our junk needs to be acknowledged!” Oh wait, they already have that. I believe it’s held in FistAndCrisco. And I think they call it Tuesday.

  • January 22, 2017 at 9:03 am
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    And the crickets continue to chirp outside the Embassies of the Middle Eastern Countries that will stone a women to death because a bare ankle got shown outside the burka. If the Imam declared their men have the right to grab their wives by the p***y, will that spark any outrage?

  • January 22, 2017 at 1:36 pm
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    I could never be a psychiatrist. These people need professional help. I would be the one to say “Please take these pills responsibly. Thirty of them will kill you. This prescription is for 60; have a nice day.”

  • January 24, 2017 at 2:54 am
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    You know what makes this sweet?

    The election is over. They lost. (Hint: get over it)

    Their march was futile and they achieved nothing. In under a week, we will have forgotten all about it and the sign threatening a “blizzard” of these snowflakes will have melted away.

    It was a useless tantrum by drama queens, attention-whores, and pouting, petulant children. Yawn.

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