icture a gigantic heap of snow -- the kind you might see pushed up by a
snowplow along a highway after a blizzard. Then picture yourself busy
with a blowtorch -- slowly, patiently, inch by inch, melting that mound
away to nothing. You know that your method cannot fail. You know the
snow hasn't got a chance against you, that you need only keep
unstintingly at it until the entire mound lies in a puddle at your feet.
You know it is only a matter of time and that stubborn perseverence
will assuredly crown your efforts with victory. Such is the beauty of an
infallible method, and only a failure of sustained endeavor could possibly
avert what is ordained.
Very well, feminism is that gigantic heap of snow. And we are the
torching crew who cannot fail, provided only that our will-to-power, our
discipline to the task and our adherence to the correct procedure do
not fail us first. What do you think, does that sound like a good life?
You bet it does! And needless to say, we are recruiting and training. So
if you believe you are the right sort, then do come around. We'll see