Quack Quack, Death Cab For Cutie PMS

What is with women and PMS?

If I were a warrior, I'm sure I'd prefer handling a Uzi sub-machine gun with a 'I love my mommy' sticker, a scud missle launcher with a built in mobile phone charger and cozy heater or perhaps a nuclear bomb with a 'do not touch' switch that has a picture of michael jackson's fake nose.

To be fairer to the fairer sex, men also go through a PMS-like stage. Esp, one that involves bitching, lusting after every gadget, being seduced by expensive cars and the slight hint of leg on any decently dressed chicalita.

Okay, so if both the sexes get moody and irrational for no reason, is there hope for mankind and britney spears and kevin whatever his name is?

I vote for Nostradamus, apparently he predicted a great war, between good and evil, black and white, colgate and pepsodent, maggi and top ramen. We will all die, two sun's will shine and a few cockroaches and pakistanis will survive, written in no order of prejudice or importance.

Which takes me to generals who preach democrasy after coming into power on a coup without grace. To repeat an opt repeated cliche, democrasy is a subtle blend of demoncrasy. Sometimes I toy with the idea of a communist society, where everyone is equal and drinks the same shitty coffee as the president of erstwhile China.

Imagine, getting coupons to buy such necessities as nutella, lindt 80% cocoa, extra-soft tampons, flavored condoms and playboy-like magazines? That would be a society of people who are not embaressed by anything, where kids know which birds did which bees, before their parents can lament a silent please!

Coming back to our topic, of PMS, and how mankind and womankind has suffered at the hand of hormones, I have one solution. Iced tea!