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  • Writer's pictureJerry Della Femina


Now they’ve gone too far.

This time they’re jumping on a beloved cartoon skunk – the harmless, flirtatious Frenchman Pepe Le Pew.

Pepe spent most of his time in cartoons stealing kisses from Penelope Pussycat.

It’s true that Pepe also kissed every female cartoon character he met.

His woke accusers say he was a serial kisser.

Pepe should mount the Andrew Cuomo defense.

Cuomo says that he automatically kisses everyone when he first meets them. Men … women … small dogs etc. etc.

The woke wackos got the cartoon character Pepe Le Pew thrown off of a new Warner Brothers movie, “Space Jam: A New Legacy,” on the grounds that Pepe Le Pew, a cartoon character, is – are you ready? – A RAPIST!

They’re calling my favorite, harmless cartoon skunk a rapist.

I have news for the woke morons and their simple-minded followers:

Harvey Weinstein, Bill Cosby, Kevin Spacey are accused rapists.

Don’t trivialize their evil actions by calling a cartoon skunk a rapist.

Because if you look closely, just like every other cartoon character in history, Pepe has no penis.

And Pepe, like the terrified executives at Warner Brothers, has no balls.


Did I really just say that?

Andrew Cuomo is a pig.

He’s under fire to resign, and many of his gutless fellow politicians have turned against him.

There are plenty of reasons to hate him.

He’s a bully and he deserves to be punished for the way he ruined thousands of restaurants and cost New York 300,000 jobs.

For this crime I have a friend who had to close his wonderful Italian restaurant because of Cuomo’s unfair restrictions on restaurant seating during the Covid-19 time.

My friend tells me every night he dreams of dunking and waterboarding Cuomo in a vat of boiling minestrone.

But the sexual harassment charges are wrong.

Cuomo is guilty of flirting, not harassing.

He’s clumsy and horny and he has the sensitivity of a slug.

But he’s being hung by the same “politically correct” MeToo charges that drove another innocent politician, Al Franken, out of office.

It’s simple. What was flirting a few years ago, enjoyed by both men and women, is being called sexual harassment today.

I can save Cuomo’s job today with just three words:

1) Governor. 2) Bill. 3) De Blasio.

That’s the incompetent idiot who has his eyes on the governor job and with the help of the unions he can get it.

De Blasio as governor will destroy the great state of New York, just as he has destroyed the great city of New York as mayor.

The thought of another sexual pogrom terrifies me and any other man over 40 who remembers when flirting was fun, enjoyed by both men and women.

Here’s an old column of mine from 2017 on the subject:


Could we be headed for a politically correct witch hunt?

In that case let me say I’m sorry – so, so sorry. This is a blanket apology to the 26.3 million women I have come in contact with in my lifetime.

This includes the woman today who was sitting across from me on the Number 6 train. You know who you are. You have a tasteful tattoo of what looked like a snake wrapped around your right wrist.

I know that for 1.3 seconds our eyes met.

I meant nothing by it. Honest, it was an accident. I looked away so fast that I hurt my neck when my head whipped around.

And I hope in 30 years, when we live in even more politically correct times, you won’t come forth and tell the world that my penetrating eyes on the Number 6 train on November 7, 2017 at 9:14 AM caused you many a sleepless night and you want to sue my estate.

This is an apology to the thousands of women who worked in my advertising agencies over the years.

If I admired your dress, skirt, hairdo, nails, fragrance, I hope you will forgive me.

83% of the time I meant nothing but a compliment.

I must apologize that 17% of the time when I was complimenting you I had what the Catholic Church would call “impure thoughts.”

I want to offer my apology to “P” (not her real initial). I remember a day in the winter of 1971. It was snowing. I announced that we would have a “Snow Day” and I took the entire agency to a restaurant called Shazam just off 5th Avenue. We all had a lot to drink. After a while couples began pairing off, as they did in the time when the term “politically correct” was just a twinkle in the eyes of the New York Times, who we all know is the guardian of public morals.

These were the 70s. We were young, free, drunk and stoned.

All of us, men and women, owned the world.

So after 7 or 8 drinks I decided to walk home in the snow. You, “Ms. P,” were leaving at the same time. The street was slippery. Then it happened. I took your arm and accidentally – and I will swear in a court of law it was an accident – when I reached to take your arm to help you across the street, my right arm touched your ample breast.

My arm was snuggled against said breast until we got to the other side of the street. Then you went your way and I went mine. But Ms. P, I must confess that in the last 46 years I have thought about the firm, soft warmth of your breast against my arm at least three times a week.

Often that’s the last thought I have before I drift off to sleep.

Now I know that since that day you have gone on to at least two, maybe three happy marriages. All I ask is that you forgive me for those 14 or 15 seconds, and if you insist on going public with my transgressions, I would gladly cut off my offending right arm in public if it will mollify you.

Then there were those rare, incredibly rare times when I asked a woman at the office if she would like to go for a drink and yes, I know they were subordinates. For Christ’s sake I was the chairman, so they were all subordinates. What the hell was I supposed to do, take an oath of celibacy?

Also let me add I never in my life asked a woman to sit on my lap, like so many men did those days. My fear has always been that under those conditions there would be an erection and the women sitting on my lap would fail to notice it.

NOTE: To every woman reading this. Before you light your torches and come after me like they used to hunt and destroy Frankenstein in those horror movies, this is no defense of Harvey Weinstein, Bill Cosby, Kevin Spacey, Mark Halpern, etc. etc. I think that sexual harassment/rape is a crime.

I think cutting off their [blanks] is the least that should be done to these pigs. But here’s a word of caution. Let’s not turn this into a politically correct witch-hunt.

I’m reading a great book, “Naming Names” by Victor S. Navasky, about the House Committee on Un-American Activities in 1947 ridiculously charging and sending “The Hollywood Ten” to jail for refusing to admit they were communists.

But after the stupid headline-blaring witch-hunt came the quiet witch-hunt and 496 people were accused of being communists. They lost their jobs and had their lives destroyed.

Picking on former President George Bush, a 93-year-old man in a wheelchair, and claiming he touched your ass gets you a lot of PR, but it’s pushing things too far and it’s the beginning of a witch-hunt.

As for me, I have a word for those few, and I admit pathetically few, women who after drinks, dinner, and a great deal of begging on my part were kind enough to go to bed with me. Please don’t sue me. I know you’re probably peeved that I didn’t say it. But maybe if I say it now you will forgive me.


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