It’s been a long tour and a young ventriloquist is coming to the climax. He’s over in Essex as the penultimate round of his London gigs is next week. One night he stops to entertain at a bar in a small town near Brentwood. He’s going through his usual run of stupid Essex Girl jokes, when a big blond woman in the fourth row stands on her chair and shouts “I’ve heard just about enough of your denigrating Essex Girl jokes arsehole. What makes you think you can stereotype women that way? What does a person’s physical attributes have to do with their worth as a human being? It’s blokes like you who keep women like me from being respected at work and in my community, of reaching my full potential as a person. Because of you and your kind continue to perpetuate discrimination against not only us Essex girls but women at large, all in the name of humour”.
Flustered, the ventriloquist starts to apologise, when the blonde pipes up again.
“You fucking stay out of this Mister. I’m talking to the little bastard on your knee!”
