Wasn’t that little democratic sit-in adorable??
Nothing gets a Hilitant off faster than a chance to relive their glory years by participating in some meaningless act of civil disobedience. So off they scurried behind the biggest Civil Rights sellout of them all, John Lewis, and plopped their creaky asses onto the Congress floor for a few uncomfortable hours, which accomplished all of…dick.
If you’ve been keeping up, you know that things were already critical between the Party and me, so let’s just say that I wasn’t as charmed as all of those other sensible liberals out there…though I was distracted enough not to notice that SCOTUS used the opportunity to chip away at more of our Fourth Amendment rights…or what’s left of it.
More specifically, in a 5-3 decision, SCOTUS ruled that evidence discovered in a search by police during unlawful stops can be used in court, so long as police officers conducted the search only after learning the person had an outstanding warrant.
Now, if you’re naive enough to think, “So? Then don’t have an outstanding warrant, dumbass!”, then let Justice Elena Kagan, who dissented on this shit, explain it to you: “By barring the use of illegally obtained evidence, courts reduce the temptation for police officers to skirt the Fourth Amendment’s requirements”.
And if that isn’t clear enough, how about this: “They can’t plant shit on you if they aren’t allowed to search you to begin with”.
So by the time the Dem’s Senior Citizen Slumber party came to its usual pointless end–and, again, it accomplished DICK–those sly motherfuckers managed to take even more of the few rights we have left…and no, I don’t believe it was a coincidence.
Think I’m crazy? Sure, I’ll don the tinfoil hat, gladly. With pride. Nowadays, tinfoil is the new black, and if you aren’t wearing one now, you are way behind the times, sugar. At this writing, I have downloaded the strongest VPN I can afford, I’m using Tor and TAILS and I’m even wearing these incredibly stylish shades, because these days, paranoia is just another word for common fucking sense.
Now gather ’round. Mama Rogue’s gonna tell you a bedtime story.
Just by way of preface, I have a history with the TSA. I don’t do a lot of traveling, but every single time I fly–and I mean literally, every single time I fly–I get hassled by the TSA. Not a big deal; cursory pat down and a peek through my bags. And to be completely forthcoming, a couple of times I did fuck up–once I brought a tube of toothpaste that was larger than 3 ounces (yeah…I know. I’m lucky I’m not in fucking Leavenworth); and once I left a corkscrew in my carry-on (go ahead and judge me, motherfucker…I’m prepared).
Again–the TSA feel-up wasn’t a big deal, just annoying…especially when MB just walks past unmolested. One time they didn’t make him go through security at all! Mind you, I’ve never been arrested–at all–for anything. I do not belong to any sort of group whatsoever, much less an extremist group. I’m an atheist, so we tend not to sacrifice ourselves in the name of God, Allah, Darwin or anybody else, because we’ve already read this book and don’t like how it ends. Besides that, I’m a middle-aged, middle-class (you know what I mean), relatively educated white woman with indifferent health. I’ve owned cats who were bigger threats.
Anyway, as it would so happen, MB and I had a trip scheduled for Paradise; the day beforehand, I was messaging a close friend of mine, basically to touch base with him, to give him a rough itinerary so he would know how to contact me in case there was some sort of emergency. He asked if I was ready for my TSA Foreplay, as I’ve come to call it, and I laughed and said that I hoped he was right because I could use the action. Then, just to be a smart ass, I proceeded to deliberately list every single inflammatory (but true) comment I’ve ever made at any point–online, on the phone, in person, whatever–to “make it happen”.
So I listed the times I had condemned rogue cops, accused the media of blatant corruption, spoke out against drones (like, when they miss their targets and hit innocent civilians and even schoolhouses killing every child within); I said that Edward Snowden was my personal Jesus and that if it wasn’t for him, the NSA would be even more dangerous now than it already is; that Homeland Security was pretty much the government mafia and would eventually destroy the last shreds of our civil rights; that we were rapidly devolving from an oligarchy into a crypto-fascist state.
I said that the absolute failure to take even simple measures to increase gun safety was appalling and that if Obama didn’t have the guts to make it a personal crusade, he could have at least used his veto stamp once in a while; how women have fewer rights now than we did 40 years ago; that cops seem to be free to murder minorities just for pissing them off or just because they were having bad day or whatever…and never served single day in prison; that the DEA was the most corrupt, ineffective, $1 trillion failure and how I fully supported decriminalization so they could disband the DEA and invest all of that money into public rehab…like the Germans and Portuguese did and addiction rates have plummeted…and that I believed that the draconian mandatory drug sentencing was designed to house young black males in prisons-for-profit on non-violent offenses.
And, as the piece de resistance, I said that I felt that if only Anonymous could their act together–and if God-help-us-all, Trump rose to power or if the Christian extremists committed some sort of jihad, that hactivists could lead the revolution through technology instead of bloodshed.
And even though I believe every goddamn word of the above, I worded it in a very satirical, pseudo-melodramatic way with references to the joys of a Guantanamo Bay vacation and other twisted, ridiculous descriptions. This friend and I share a pitch-black sense of humor, but anybody with half a brain could see that I wasn’t being serious and went out of my way to clarify my harmlessness by including plenty of lols, winky faces and the like.
So: day of the flight, I made extra sure that I had no metal on myself, my carry-on bag or my computer bag, no liquids over 3 oz, etcetera. I even consulted the TSA website and double-checked all of the rules…because I was getting sick of always being patted down.
You know that agent who sits at the entrance of security check and looks at your boarding pass and ID? MB just sailed through as usual…but when the agent checked mine, he looked at the screen and literally did a double-take. His whole demeanor changed and he basically looked at me as if I were Osama bin Laden’s secret bastard child, standing before him poised to continue his legacy.
I knew then that I was in for it.
Scan was fine, of course…but instead of the pat down, they ordered me to stand in front of this morose asshole who looked exactly like a fat Abe Vigoda. He glanced at MB and told me—not MB–that if he came near me, he would also be searched.
Then he told me not to touch my shoes and to stay right there, while he went through every single item in my bag, including going through my (admittedly extensive) medicine bag–picking up every one of them, reading every single label…and going as far as opening them up and glancing inside (pretty sure that’s illegal, but…who am I kidding?)
He opened up my clear ziplock freezer bag that I used to pack all of my cosmetics and opened each item–checking for incendiary eyeshadow devices, I suppose–and then, I swear to god, I’m not making this up–he turned the clear bag upside down and shook it. Looking for terrorist skin CELLS, maybe…who knows.
Abe seemed disappointed, but then again, what the fuck, he looks like Abe Vigoda, motherfucker already looks disappointed in LIFE. Anyway, Abe took out my MacBook bag and scanned it with some sort of miniature, all-purpose super-duper Anti-Terrorist Magic Wand™ and slowly scanned the bag for about five minutes and then opened every compartment and pocket and scanned them separately for perhaps another two minutes more. Once he finished that, he picked up the MacBook and asked me if it was an older model. I thought that maybe he was a fellow Mac fan and I volunteered that yes, I got a great deal on a refurbished…and realized that I said the wroooonnnggg thing (and I’m still not sure why…).
Very gently, Abe hefted the Mac and shook it. Then, when it failed to detonate, he set it down on the counter, scanned the top and bottom with the Wand™ and very slowly and carefully opened the laptop as if he thought an insurgent snake was going to jump out and destroy the world. Again, with the magic Wand™, over the screen, then through every row and in between every…single…button on the keyboard.
By now, the fact that he couldn’t find any incendiary devices was beginning to piss Abe off; he told me to stay where I was until a female TSA agent was available to search me. After another 3-4 minutes, she finally arrived. To be fair, Lady TSA was actually very kind and professional; I got the feeling that she was embarrassed about feeling up an obviously petite, middle-class, middle-aged white women ,when any fool could see that I was fucking harmless.
Lady TSA gave me the choice of being searched out in the open or in a private room. I wasn’t about to go into one of those God-forsaken interrogation rooms; I had no doubt that they were rigged with portable waterboarding stands, so I said “I’m fine right here”.
Okay, I’ll try to be discreet, but I was stunned at how personal the search was. I am not exaggerating when I say it was pretty much a clothed cavity search–every single part of my body was groped, squeezed and even slightly penetrated. To be fair, she would pause now and then and tell me exactly which parts she would be searching and made it clear what the process would be.
The whole thing took at least 5 minutes. At one point, I said wearily, “I’ve never been arrested in my life. I’m a democrat. Hell, I’m even going to vote for Hillary, for god’s sake”, but she was obviously embarrassed and so I shut up. She was only doing her job…and she was the only person there who didn’t treat me like criminal shit. And when everybody else is treating you like criminal shit, you learn to appreciate decency.
Throughout this whole 4th amendment rape, poor MB was watching me with this stricken, helpless look. He’s already ridiculously protective of me and he told me later that he felt guilty for not “doing a better job of defending me”, which was as sweet as it was really dumb.
Understand, this was happening in front of probably 100-200 people…but I wasn’t at all embarrassed; they were the assholes. They were the disgraceful ones. I had no choice in their treatment of me, but I wasn’t going to hide my face in shame. I didn’t even drop my eyes. Fuck them.
This whole ordeal took 20 full minutes. Lady TSA kindly told me that I could collect my things and go.
When I went to get my things–including my damn shoes–Abe shoved my belongings towards me without even looking up.
I was so livid that I didn’t dare say a thing; we barely made our flight.
So…maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I should don a tin foil hat…but I don’t think that was a coincidence. And I don’t give a shit. I don’t care if from now on, we have to routinely factor in another 45 minutes into our arrival time to get the government groping. As long as there is a First Amendment, I will say exactly what the fuck I think…and if you *do* think I’m being melodramatic, then I suggest you go watch the documentary on Edward Snowden, Citizenfour, or at least go introduce yourself to Wikileaks. It’s terrifying. There is no such thing as privacy–for anybody. They read the emails, download keystroke software to track every IP address, look at every single photo, can tap your phone and do the same to everyone of your contacts, inventory the books you order and basically violate your privacy, no matter who you are and they don’t need any reason to do so.
Paranoid? We’ll see. In the meantime, I’ve downloaded the most secure VPN available, changed my email to proton mail–MIT researchers developed it and it is supposed to be “NSA-proofed”, and I do all of my research and purchases on the deep web (which has been unfairly compared to the dark web–it’s all in how you use it, folks).
If it never happens again, great. I WANT to be paranoid. But I don’t think I am.
So what about you? What should you do if it happens to you? Nothing. Submit. If you have a partner who is not having their civil rights reamed and if they are willing to take the chance of being reamed, have them tape it…but nothing will come of it. That’s my point: we don’t have a Fourth Amendment. Not anymore. They can listen in, read what you read, see what you order, go through your shit, search your cars, search your homes stick a fucking gloved hand up your non-greased ass and plunge in to the hilt. We let this happen. The question now is, what do we do to keep it from getting worse?
Well, you can start by not being distracted with cute little stunts like the democratic sit-in…and then pay…the fuck…ATTENTION to what’s really going on.
Because they are.
I’m not even going to pretend that I thought anything more coherent than DAMN, as I read the treatise newfound love, born-again Badass Bitch Rose McGown penned in response to the unforgivably presumptuous shit written by infant Mansplainer Owen Gleiberman, “Renee Zellwegger: If She No Longer Looks Like Herself, Has She Become a Different Actress?” (and no, I’m not adding a link…that asshole doesn’t deserve even Fuck You kind of attention).
Even the title of this shit is so outrageous that my brain went into lockdown as soon as I saw it: Wait…what?? Are you…yes, I think you are…motherfucker, are you implying that you fucking own Renee Zellwegger’s face?? Or…her fucking fake fictitious character? Her right to be a fucking actress? Or that any cosmetic surgery needs your fucking signed affidavit? Or…yeah, that as a viewer, you get to dictate what the fucking character is supposed to…god FUCK YOU”.
Luckily, for you and the world at large, Rose McGowan answered first.
Unbeknownst to me, Rose has retired from being treated like shit in Hollywood–her reference, not mine…but I have no doubt. She grew up a child in a fucked-up cult, became an emancipated adult by 15–before she began acting–and made a career of being the best thing in a lesser project (except that I liked Grindhouse…sue me). It does not surprise me at all when she describes her experiences as an actress as demeaning; it did, however, surprise me that she quit acting to become a filmmaker and activist.
And thank God she had the guts to do so, because Glieberman had it coming. From the very first line: “Owen Gleiberman, this is not a counterpoint. There is no counterpoint, there is no defense for the indefensible”, I was captivated. Rose goes on to tell how she was so fucked up from the constant cruel remarks and sites summing her up according to the accumulation of her feminine parts that, “I actually forgot what I looked like. Which is awesome because I rose up from some serious ashes to finally have my say. Here’s some truth: Men like you and the women who sit idly by and say nothing should know that aiding and abetting is a moral crime, and if it were punished in Hollywood, most of you would be in some form of jail”.
Did you hear that Hollywood Hyenas? And that goes double for you, lady hyenas!
It goes on, brilliantly–I am deliberately keep the crux of the essay to myself because I want as many people to read this as possible–calls him out as the opportunist that he is, throws down the gauntlet to anybody who believes they have a right to tell any woman what to do with her face just because they liked a movie character she portrayed and, most brilliantly of all, changed the target in his own bullshit essay (Renee Zellwegger) to famous male celebrities and used his own words to show how stupid and small he really was…and ending it all with this unanswerable line:
“You are simply a bully on semiglossy paper.”
And that’s how you do it, Bitches. You don’t allow a person–man OR woman–to destroy a woman for their own amusement. You don’t ignore the young girl who is being harassed by some idiot to “smile”. You don’t join in when a man refers to a woman as a slut. You don’t allow catty bullshit about a woman’s weight to go unchallenged. You go stand next to a woman who is being catcalled…or threatened…or hurt.
And you don’t tolerate some asshole hack trying to break into the biz by trashing a woman who has taking decades of shit from “a self-fellating town that just loves to love itself”.
Rose McGowen doesn’t…and I am honored to make her my very first Badass Bitch of the week. Expecting great things from you, love…and I’m looking forward to it.
Go witness some Bitch Badassery and read Rose McGowan’s Response to the Asshole who Trashed Renee Zellwegger…it’ll do your heart proud.
Almost from the very beginning, MB has been after me to watch the film, “Michael Clayton”. “Just give it a chance,” he would say. “It’s just like those 70s, dark paranoia flicks.”
Well, hell…I’m all about paranoia and I usually share the same taste in movies, but I just couldn’t bring myself to watch it because it stars Laughing Boy aka George Clooney, whom I cannot abide. I know–it’s completely unfair: he’s talented, his politics are good and I liked that he took on that colossal asshole of a director, David O. Russell, for bullying an extra…it’s just that face. That goddamn smug face…that smarmy, “I’ve-got-a-secret-and-that-secret-is-I’m-cute” face. The Germans–who apparently hate smug as much as I do–have the perfect description for this unfortunate affliction: Backpfeifengesicht: “a face that needs a fist”.
Repeatedly, I begged off, explaining: “I love you, but there are some things I can’t do even for you.” But just when the poor man was on the verge of giving up, he said the magic words: “Tilda Swinton won an Oscar for her performance…”
See, men haven’t seem to have caught on to this universal phenomenon–women worship Tilda. And by worship, I mean they want to fuck her and would rearrange their entire lives to do so. Straight, gay, blah blah blah…there is just something about Tilda: her height, her androgyny, her raw talent, her genuine sang-froid, effortlessly badass Tilda-ishness drives…women…wild.
Here’s a tip, guys: bring a $5.99 Trader Joe’s bouquet of flowers, chocolate tuxedo cheesecake and a DVD of “Orlando”, and you’ll be lucky to survive Tilda’s first incarnation.
Literally, within five minutes, I had Amazon up on the laptop, ready to play “Michael Clayton”. MB got all caught up on the excitement and went on and on about how brilliant Tilda’s performance was and how brave she was, letting the rolls of fat show…
Record scratch.”Fat roll? How the fuck is having a fat roll brave?”
Poor MB–he is lovely, but he is a disaster when it comes to qualifiers…always saying that one word or phrase too many.
“Well, you know…(talking fast now, because he’s seen the killer feminist glint in my eyes), she’s middle-aged and there’s a scene where she’s getting dressed and you can see her belly roll…”
“So the fuck what? That’s…being a middle-aged woman. Or just a woman, or–hell–being over 12 years old. What does that have to do with bravery?”
MB stopped. A cool thing about MB is that he’ll do that–just stop for a moment and allow the epiphany to come without resistance. I figured that was enough, but then he added, “Well, that wasn’t my take on it…I got that from a movie critic (…wait for it..). A woman movie critic!”
And that would be YOU, Manohla Dargis, Chief film critic for The New York Times. In fact, as MB noted, you actually referred to the brave roll as “rolls of gut fat”. That doesn’t qualify you as a Gender Traitor, Dargis…it doesn’t even qualify you for Asshole of the Week…but I would like to advise you that just because you work in a big dick world, doesn’t mean you have to be one.
And even if it makes a shit–and it doesn’t–there were no “rolls of gut fat”; there was a bit of tight waistband hangover…the kind that comes from sitting. And having flesh.
So, if it isn’t such a big deal, then why am I making it one?
Because courage is a character trait; not a physical one. To state that it takes a certain brand of bravery to be shown as a middle-aged woman having a middle-aged body implies self-sacrifice. That she laid herself bare for the mercy of the audience and at risk of near-certain ridicule. It’s the kind of head-fuckery that leads to self-loathing, because–if it meant Oscar-worthy bravery to reveal a not-perfect waist to the public, then what gives mere mortal women the right to even leave the house knowing that they have a similar layer of flesh…especially when she ain’t no Tilda Swinton?
MB, lovely evolved gent that he is, took that assessment to mean that “it was brave of her to expose herself in a Hollywood film when Hollywood is hyper-misogynistic and not many women would feel confident enough to do so.” And yes…I’m sure that would be true, maybe, for a glam-chick starlet trying to be taken seriously. But Tilda is neither of these things…nor has she ever been anything other than a serious, respected actress whose bravery lies within how much she gives of herself to her character…which was fucking brave as hell. Brilliant, unnerving, electrifying and, yeah…brave.
George was good, too–didn’t smile, smarm or schmooze, the whole movie. That was brave of him, I thought.
…and the death of the Democratic Party.
So I quit the democratic party today.
Hey, it’s okay; it’s been a long time coming and–as with all of my other ex-type of relationships–I did all my crying before the relationship came undone. I can be stupidly loyal that way. Except this time, I was the one who strayed. I fell in love with a crotchety old truth-teller old enough to be my father. And I fell hard. It was such a heady experience, even though I knew deep down inside that it was bound to fail, that nothing this lovely ever survives, I loved this man with utter abandon. So did millions of others. The more the media tried to black him out, the more the unaired rallies increased: 20,000, 30,000 or more attendees with perhaps another thousand standing outside just to hear his words. Which was lovely and terrible, because it gave me hope. He gave me hope. For a few minutes there, I thought we might actually make it.
Even when I knew it was a fixed game. Even when I knew it all along.
But I tried to return home. I tried to make peace with the ones I have stood with my entire life, an alliance my family forged more than four generations ago and to whom I have been unquestionably loyal. But, as with so many other toxic relationships, I hadn’t realized how unhappy I had been until I found happiness elsewhere. I had dared to believe that my ideals were not foolish or unrealistic. The love I shared with millions of people proved that I wasn’t radical at all; in fact, as an overseas friend once laughed: “Radical? Over here you’d be considered a moderate”.
So I returned…but I returned with conditions. I tried to explain–repeatedly, politely, urgently and then finally loudly–that we couldn’t keep going on this way. We had to change, evolve, return to the ideals of my youth, when the word “liberal” meant standing with the little guy and protecting the underdog: like the poor, the uneducated, the blacks, browns, reds, kids and all women. Again and again, I tried in vain to explain to them why I had left and how much I would love to return but was constantly rebuffed–very snidely–by the Hilitants.
While there has always been a right-leaning conservative cadre within the Democratic Party, now they represent the core…and they are rotten to the core, too–absolutely infested with Hilitants. Hilitants are appallingly corrupt, and not even in an interesting, scandal-ridden way; their corruption comes in the form of cowardice, from a wooden president who specializes in meaningless compromises and responds to injustice and massacres in that insufferable, “I will not lower myself to reply to the likes of you” manner, which, over the past eight years, has accomplished just shy of dick. I used to believe that it took tremendous endurance to be a democrat, that to constantly defend oneself against the wildly slung attacks by primitive jack-wipes actually meant something; now I understand that the only reason these bourgeois martyrs still stand is because they are numb–their efforts to dodge any worthy fight have resulted in the accumulation of scar tissue all down the center of their retreating yellow backs.
And still I hung on, even when they refused to change, would not even bother to address my concerns, OUR concerns, millions of us. Tried not to take offense from these frigid, hyper-disapproving, sniveling closest republicans who responded to our concerns with scorn or shrill defensiveness. Hardline democrats all–both women and men–have come to resemble tight-smiled, passive-agressive, under-medicated, under-fucked, resentful, image-obsessed, soccer-momesque nightmares–the kind of PTA asshole parents who breed psychopathic little assholes who can smile on cue.
I had reached the point in which I was simply going through the motions until election time–the equivalent of staying in a marriage until the kids are grown; another like-minded member, however, was still fighting the good fight. I felt badly for her, so every once in a while, I would chime in with a “yeah…what she said”, kind of response…because nobody else would even deign to reply.
Then, came this response–which met with overwhelming approval from the other Hilitants: “These members of the Far Left need to understand how hysterical they sound and stop complaining and recognize the outstanding liberal success of the past eight years!”
And, as it has been true with any bad relationship, I had that moment of clarity, the one in which I knew I had done everything I could possibly do to save it; that to continue would bring nothing but harm. This is what followed:
“Eight years of ‘outstanding liberal success’??
Name one. Okay, I’ll name it for you: Affordable Care Act aka Obamacare. Enormous achievement. My medication costs $2000 a month and the passage of ACA quite literally has saved my life…and I’ll even give credit to the one who tried to start this back in 1992: your god and personal savior, Hillary Rodham Clinton. So, even though it still screws the working poor and even though it is already crumbling…sure. Kudos, Big O, for accomplishing a thing that will surely be glossed over in sanitized ninth grade American History textbooks.
And…what else? Marriage Equality? HUGE achievement…and not a damn one of you can take credit. Not when your guy campaigned against it in 2008. Only SCOTUS and millions of determined gay people made that happen.
Anything else? No? Crickets. That seems to be the democratic MO, these days–silence. It’s embarrassing, all of this dead air, so why don’t I just tell you what hasn’t happened:
Sane gun legislation. In eight years, multiple massacres committed by ridiculously armed American terrorists have increased exponentially, and not a single piece of sane gun legislation has resulted. Nor have restrictions been placed upon the NSA to prevent them from rooting through your entire personal life with an electronic speculum…and without requiring any sort of warrant or warning or even reason. Drones are still wildly missing their targets and hitting innocents–including a schoolhouse full of children.
Public education is worse than ever..partly because teacher salaries are abysmal. Nor has anything been introduced to prevent college tuition from continuing its runaway train trajectory; already, post-secondary education is already out of reach for many Americans, and since nothing has been done about student loan forgiveness, it will eventually become damn near impossible.
Municipal police departments are only an atomic bomb way from having the arsenals of rogue armies…and rogue cops are getting away with murder–especially if they’ve had a bad day and you’re the poor black male who has the bad luck to cross them.
Women have fewer rights now than they did in the 70s–we are having to fight harder than ever for access to affordable health care. The gender pay gap has not budged nor has maternity leave; childcare is still prohibitively expensive and you can pretty much still get raped without any messy justice.
How about the horrors of Guantanamo Bay? They continued with an almost Monty Pythonesque rule book on what is considered acceptable torture, and on people–many of them innocent–who languished in prison for YEARS without any civil rights whatsoever, while Cheney and Rumsfield are still breathing free air.
SCOTUS just discreetly chipped away more of the fourth amendment last Monday and if you ever endure what I just endured from the TSA, you might have even the slightest idea of what that means. The very wealthy became wealthier than ever these past 8 years–never in American history has the gap between the haves and not-haves been so wide. There were no increases in the minimum wage, which is a fat, whopping $7.50/hr–not even enough for a high school kid to buy a junker, much less enough to support even a single adult.
Mandatory drug sentencing continues to be a nightmare– you can literally serve less time for killing somebody than if you are a first-time offender cooking meth…or even just having the supplies can get you five years! Even the judges are apologizing to the defendants that their hands are tied by these draconian laws which serve no purpose except to ruin the life of the nonviolent “offender”, destroy their families, make them virtually unemployable upon release and–oh yeah–rent space in a privatized prison.
And what gains have been made on climate change? Fracking? Homelessness? Mental illness? Drug rehabilitation? Women’s health and birth control? More options for people who sustain disabilities that might help keep them earning? Poor people–who costs the average taxpayer ten cents a day–lost some of their food stamps. Transgender people are still being marginalized. Hate crimes still happen, often, and not punished nearly enough.
But Congress, though…right? Okay, well…when has President Spock ever even wiped the dust off of his VETO stamp? When has he ever taken a stand? If nothing else, why hasn’t he made it a damn crusade to stop these American terrorists from their bimonthly wholesale slaughters??
Let’s face it: things only got WORSE these past eight years.
It astounds me when you people praise Obama and compare him to people like FDR. It’s like you all have Stockholm syndrome: you’re so terrified of those fool crackers in the GOP that you have brainwashed yourselves into confusing mediocrity with progress and that is why you get so damn shrill about any suggestion that maybe Big O just ain’t that great after all.
You might as well run with this slogan: “Because we won’t be as bad”.
As far as “The Far Left needs to start understanding that they need to stop sounding hysterical if they want to be taken seriously”, I would like to counter with this: “The Mid-Right needs to understand that they aren’t liberals at all; they’re DEMOCRATS”.
And your response is a perfect example of why this party is imploding–instead of listening to the concerns of your fellow party members–you know: the “Far Left” AKA “the critically endangered Progressives”–you chide them for being ungrateful, with the nasty disdain of a clique of political Mean Girls outflanking the weirdo hipster geek.
There is a reason the term “Hilitant” has come in to use…and you epitomize its very meaning: status quo, conservative, elitist, the Establishment, Neo-Reaganians. Terrified to change. Stagnant and secretly contemptuous of all the people you profess to help…including your fellow party members.
Which is why I am no longer a democrat.
Drop mic. I’m gone.
…because sometimes forgiveness is toxic.
So the doctors fucked up. And I mean, royally. For ten years. Dozens of them, I saw one after the other. I knew what it was–symptoms were classic of an autoimmune thing very close to the one I’ve had–and managed–most of my adult life. I told my wonderful, kind, open-minded PCP and he didn’t even question my opinion…he thinks I’m smart, see. But then he made the terrible decision to refer me to the experts and that is when everything went to hell.
Don’t worry; I won’t bore you with the details. Bores the shit out of me, too. Reader’s Digest Condensed version: literally more than 2 dozen doctors, scores of MRIs, CTs, ultrasounds, oceans of blood tests, EEGs, EKGs and two surgeries. By all rights, I should be glowing like Chernobyl. Ten years, this went on. Believe it or not, in life I’m a pussycat. I respect professionals until they convince me they’re quack assholes and even then, I won’t hate on them…
…unless they patronize me. Then it’s on. And you know who some of the worst ones were? WOMEN. Never mind–I’ll save the Overcompensating Penis Envying Professional Bitches for another time. Most male docs were fairly respectful, though I did have to straighten out one idiot by saying: “Just because you’re an expert in your field doesn’t mean you’re an expert on my body”. Presumptuous little shit.
So…ten years. In that time, I lost a damn well-paying job with full benefits, a two-story house, my savings, my retirement and, eventually, my beloved state. Granted, I met my Significant Other (I know; I hate that prissy-ass description, too, but my only alternative would be Gender-Discreet Life Companion, and that’s just gross)–heretofore now known as SO–who is wonderful and somehow fell in love with my rickety ass and restored my faith in humankind, etc etc. Not making light; this person is worth it all.
By this point, I could barely even stand to look at doctors. I told SO and the rest of the family: this is it. No matter what this guy says: this is where it ends. And lo and be-fucking-hold, all it took was routine blood work for him to say, “It’s that autoimmune disorder you said you had ten years ago (I’m paraphrasing…stay with me). It’s pretty clear in the work up. You mean…not a single doctor caught this??”
Okay, let me clue in the healthy people out there: that is Doctorese for, “Jesus Christ, what a bunch of incompetent assholes!!” Doctors don’t badmouth each other; they’re like cops–they look after their own.
So here’s the grand total: ten years, lucrative career, loss of respect from people who thought I was a pathetic hypochondriac, several psychiatric referrals (suggestions which were soundly rebuffed), lost my wonderful shabby house; forced into a traumatic move to state I loathe, located in the middle of Hopelessly Mainstream Decent People who find me appalling and who bore…the…shit…out of me; tens of thousands of dollars AFTER INSURANCE that I sure as hell could use now; no career prospects and, the piece de resistance, permanent, serious, irreparable damage…which all could have been avoided with one…single…prescription.
Yeah. I’m feeling pretty goddamn provoked.
So somehow it came up in conversation with this young, naive, Neo-hippie girl-child, much-loved by the SO, thus tolerated by me–who deigned to give me a lecture on forgiveness. “Over time, that bitterness will eat you alive!”It took an elaborate change of subject on SO’s part and a small hole I literally chewed into the side of my mouth to stave off this overwhelming urge to eat her granola head alive in one magnificent chomp.
No. Hell no. You don’t forgive that shit. Ever. When somebody or many bodies inflict that much damage on you–be it physically, psychologically, spiritually…whatever–that is earned enmity. They launched an assault on you. I don’t care if it wasn’t deliberate, incompetence is no excuse…and so much the worse if it was intentional. Resentment is your friend. Rage keeps you alive and it prevents anybody from ever harming you in that way again. To do any less would be to dishonor your soul.
And does anybody even dare chide a man to forgive the people who fucked him up? Au contraire, mon frere…if anything, their burden is to avenge any and all slights. Even the ridiculously trivial ones.
Back in my pagan days (which were short-lived; I just like saying, “Back in my pagan days”, because it makes me sound more interesting than I really am), I struggled with that whole, “whatever you put out comes back threefold”. First of all, I chafed at the moral restrictions; if somebody is a dick, then I need to dick them back in kind. It’s reflexive…and goddamn satisfying. Nope–big spiritual no-no according to the Wiccan crede…which frustrated me to no end. It just seemed terribly impractical. For example, suppose you want to put a love spell on somebody (and it’s always a love spell…don’t kid yourself), you weren’t allowed to “focus the energy” on any particular individual, because that was “spiritual manipulation”; all you could do was put a spell out there for somebody…somewhere…someday to find you…
What a lot of shit.
I was relatively still happily married then, so I could afford the smugness, but that also meant that if somebody hurt my child, for example, I wasn’t allowed to hex somebody out because then bad energy3 would come back at me. So, what’s the point? Even Christians pray for specific things, for god’s sake (pun unintended). By the time I figured all of this out, I didn’t believe in Wicca, karma or any other brand of metaphysical bullshit–science became my god. I just stuck around because pagans can party like MOTHERFUCKERS. Best parties I’ve ever attended were post-Sabbats. Even better than parties I’ve attended–excuse me, soirees I’ve attended–thrown by gay men…and that’s saying a LOT.
By the time I discovered Z. Budapest–badass Bitch (calm down–the capital B Bitch is an honorific…get used to it), Feminazi founder of Dianic Wicca aka fuck you and your karma and fuck no, men aren’t allowed in this here coven…I was done. And that’s too bad, because I love Z’s ethos. In her Holy Book of Women’s Mysteries, she includes a righteous ritual to hex rapists. And just to clarify this shit for any timid Wiccan holdouts, she says: “Cupcakism, turning the other cheek, is not for witches”.
“Cupcakism”. I’ve never fallen in love with a woman, but any woman who can coin a balls-on accurate term like Cupcakism…well, I would at least buy her a drink.
And then the actual spell…fuck ME, that’s what a goddamn hex should be: malignant, pitch-black energy directed to break bones, permanently maim, cripple…KILL. I mean it was UGLY. And it fucking well should be. What the fuck good is forgiveness? What kind of threefold bullshit are you supposed to put out there when you have been outraged in permanent ways? Don’t you DARE forgive a rapist. If you can’t love yourself–and the self-revulsion that accompanies rape can be a definite goddamn obstacle–then picture it happening to your best friend. Your mother. Your brother. Your child. Would you ever forgive somebody who devastated the soul of somebody you loved? If you can, then fuck you and stop reading my blog…I’ve got no use for weasels.
If not–and OF COURSE not–then don’t you dare forgive anybody who harms you in serious, maybe permanent ways. EVER. Fuck cupcakism. Fuck victimhood. Stop being a martyr and hate the people who nearly destroyed you.
So forgive this, motherfucker.
You heard me: fuck…you.
I can already hear the collective gasps from you OG feminists who haven’t accomplished a goddamn thing since Roe v. Wade. In fact, it’s gotten worst–look what’s happening in some of the more dimwitted states: in Virginia, for example, a woman has to agree to an ultrasound–at HER expense–before she can nod her head and say, “Yep, that there is a fetal alien in my body. Mind if I pay yet another $300 to have it removed before it bursts through my chest and ruins my life?”; in Texas, not only do you have to be medically raped beforehand, you are required to stare at the ultrasound, because they are afraid that if they don’t rub your nose in it, you might accidentally stumble into an abortion clinic (and pay another $300), on and on.
Which is hilarious, because the only thing NOW gives a shit about is women getting their reproductive rights. For decades now, birth control and abortions has been your entire raison d’etre, and it’s easier to buy fucking crack than it is to get on the pill. Yeah, sure–you’ve made people (sorta) aware that women aren’t always raped by that panting perv in a dark alley, but has anything changed? There are still people defending Brock “Rapey Doody” Turner for his near-necrophilia on Emily Doe…and am I the only one who wasn’t surprised that her guardian angels were Swedes?
Women are still free to get the shit beat out of them with only the lamest consequences to their mommy-castrated offenders, but by god, let a woman fire a warning shot well over the asshole’s head and she gets 20…fucking…years. Girls are becoming sexually active at a much younger age without easy access to birth control and pregnant as a result. Or, worse, they do it on purpose, because they want somebody to love them.
Do you hear that, you blind old bitches?? Girls feel so powerless and empty and self-loathing, they believe that the only way they will be worthy is if they invent a whole new human to love them. You fucking FAIL.
Wage gap? Still pathetic. Sexual harassment? Yeah…lotsa luck there, sister. Women in congress? Still rare breeds. Fact is, women are still pretty much toothless in all areas of life. Go ahead and trot out your token wunderkind; I’ll raise you a million of the oppressed.
You’re old. Stale. Humorless. Unoriginal…and complete cowards. You hear me? FUCK YOU. Fuck you raw, the lot of you.
Once, I thought I would attend a NOW chapter meeting. There was only one problem: I had a young child and had nobody to watch them. So I called you people and asked what sort of childcare would be provided. The young woman stammered, “Uh…we don’t do that”. So I said, “Alright, well, I guess I’ll have to bring them with me”…and I was told that wouldn’t be allowed.
Are you fucking kidding me?? Sure…you love single moms in theory, but you don’t do dick to help them in any concrete way. What are you doing to stop the staggering teen pregnancy, besides whine about access to birth control? Do you ever go into at-risk neighborhoods and mentor young girls so they don’t think they have to have a baby to feel loved? You wealthy bitches–and, let’s face it, a large part of your problem is that you are MANNED (yeah…I said it) by fucking Bryn Mawr graduates who have never been outside of their pampered upper middle-class existence and don’t have a fucking clue as to what the average woman endures–why don’t you fund a scholarship? “Hey, if you don’t get knocked up and graduate from high school, then here is a chance in hell to go to college!”
For that matter, why not offer internships for single moms or women whose sacrificed money and time for husbands who skipped out with a woman half their age? Why don’t you foster beaten women and children? Even the most dedicated battered women’s shelter has a 30-day limit…what the hell chance do they have if they only have 30 days to get their shit together? Fuck the empty rhetoric and give them a fucking chance.
The crux of this problem is that you’re all a bunch of timid Hillary supporters. You’re afraid of change. You’re afraid of getting your hands dirty and, let’s face it, you really don’t want to muck yourself up with those nasty beaten and raped women, because quite frankly, they’re NOKD.
You’re the status quo. Elitist. Self-entitled. Completely clueless, conservative, passive pussies. What you yourself used to call The Establishment. I got a better term for you:
You’re the MAN.
And don’t think I’m done with you; I haven’t even started on you stale bitches. Just you watch.
You’re not going to like me.
If you are a traditional feminist, you will think I am an attention-whore provocateur; if you are a man, you will consider me an even bigger cunt than traditional feminists.
I don’t care what you think.
Something terrible is happening. Women have fewer rights now than when I was a kid and guess what, sugar? It’s OUR fault. Do you really think that men could actually control more than 50% of the population if we demanded equal rights? Hell, no. They would shrivel away and pray that maybe one day, you would consider making them a sammich. In the end, they’re lazy bastards, the lot of them.
And why not? All they have to do is occasionally stoke the fires of female self-loathing and draw strength from its warmth. It’s YOUR fault. It is if you aren’t a feminist and it is even more if you are a feminist. You people have been fucking us sideways for more than 40 years…and I’m sick of it.
So move over Steinem, you sell-out old gasbag; there’s a new sheriff in town…whether you like it or not.
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