Women’s Day Lunacy

Just a quickie for today. Over at Sarah’s place, I read this little gem:

Look, it’s not my fault.  I was bit by International Socialism as a child and it’s the sort of thing that causes an allergy for life.  Oh, yeah, and International ANYTHING day is a socialist thing, because they never fully realized that they didn’t control the whole world.  Or they didn’t care and just wanted to make their rubes believe they were worldwide.  The Happy People of Brutopia celebrated whatever day they were ordered, and they marched in orderly ranks past the red draped stands, and Socialism would Conquer the WORLD.

Right.  So that was part of why I blew up.  I hate “International” this and that, and the idea behind it.  Whatever good it is supposed to do never actually works where needed, and it does very bad things everywhere else.

It’s true. International (insert thing here) is almost invariably a Socialism thing. If there was an International Shoe Shiner’s Day, I’d presume the shoe shiners in question were probably Commies. Workers of the World Unite! That’s the rallying cry. Only, since the Frankfurt school popularized the idea of scapegoating various demographic groups as privileged, or whatever, they now have more flexibility in slogan generation.

Women of the world unite! Not-white people of the world unite (white people go away)! Transgendered people of the world unite! Muslim lesbian genderqueer androgynous robot anime furries of the world unite!

Whatever. Leftist agitprop has become functionally retarded. I can’t believe people still legitimately fall for this bullshit. But RadFems are full of contradictions. Observe:

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Yeah… I got nothing.

RadFems are all up in arms when a man holds open a door, or for whatever reason (probably blindness), when he shows any kind of sexual interest in them. But they are silent about Islamic oppression of women. Yes, I know, it’s a tired cliche. Us rightists always talk about Islam when RadFems start complaining about this or that. But it’s true.

I’ve spoken at length about the darker side of the feminist psyche, how they actually crave oppression. Just not, it should be noted, from you. The barbarian bad boys outside the gate are much more interesting, I suppose. That’s why Islam gets a pass, and why the nastiest, most violent assholes in the club walk away with swooning feminists, arm-in-arm, dedicated fighters of the patriarchy taking a break by letting some thug have his way with them.

In essence, the woman above is asking for it. Just not, it should be noted, from you. Where’s her romantic migrant-in-whatever-jihadis-wear to enslave her and honor-kill her?

International Socialism is full of such contradictions. The Progressive stack is confused about who is the greater victim, the white woman, or the black gay man? What if the woman is a Muslim, or the black man of Hispanic descent? These are the great conundrums of the left, the questions that burn in their psyches, underneath layers of pink pussy hats.

A Day Without Women, they said. No, no. There are plenty of women. I imagine Sarah Hoyt kept on writing, and, of course, my wife cooked up some good buffalo wings for dinner yesterday. My friend, who is an MD, went to work, same as always, caring for her patients (I imagine many of them were women, also). No, it wasn’t a day without women. It was a day without Socialist RadFems. Society did not crumble, we didn’t lose power, starve to death, or suffer great tragedy. The bulk of America hardly even noticed their absence. And, to be frank, I wish we had more days like that.

RadFems, Cenobites, and the Lament Configuration

Folks, this post is going to be a doozy. It’s been rattling around in my brain for a very long time, and I finally feel that the time is right to post it. For this, I will blame the esteemed Tom Kratman, who accidentally reminded me of it in a conversation earlier. It’s going to be long, and dark, and go into places the human psyche is not always comfortable in. I have faith my readers can weather it, but if you’ve any question… now is the time to check out. Take my warning seriously, here.

In the manosphere, the various hodgepodge collection of sites emphasizing a return to masculinity for men, I encountered a comment some years ago which stuck with me. In it, a man who had been banging a number of women lamented that every woman he encountered was a Cenobite, one of Clive Barker’s seekers of pain through pleasure. They would say “choke me until I pass out, hit me, spank me until I bleed, cut me…” They would demand ever-greater excesses, because they were unable to feel pleasure if it did not include pain. He didn’t care — all he wanted was to get laid, so he’d do whatever they asked of him — but he didn’t understand why women were this way, or why he could find so few who weren’t like this. He seemed to have a sense that things were not always this way.

In my DJ career, I have spent a great deal of time in communities and scenes that normal folks would regard as underground. For many years, I DJed BDSM parties, Fetish events, and the like. I’ve DJed warehouses and clubs with no names, buried in the wreckage of abandoned industrial parks. The marketplace of sex is one which I know exceedingly well. I’ve been DJing these scenes for the better part of 20 years.

To quote Blade Runner, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.

As that commenter lamented, so I’ve seen first-hand. These SJWs, the radical feminists who spend their lives fighting the Patriarchy? They come to my clubs to be beaten senseless on crosses, chained to them by men dressed in uniforms very reminiscent of the Nazis. Yes, it’s a thing, as anybody who has ever been to a Goth club can attest. They demand to be tied up, burned, bruised, and battered.

Go on social media, and you will see SJWs telling us that Nazis are everywhere, that they are evil, and foul, and legion. They are in the White House, they are on Youtube, they are on Twitter, they are in Video Games. Nazis, everywhere. And so they march out into the streets, the Black Bloc, Antifascists engaging in what Tom Kratman calls a bit of political theater (not unlike Fascists once did).

But at the end of a long week of fighting the cisnormative heteropatriarchy, they come to be beaten by men dressed as Nazis, to the gritty beats of loud Industrial music in the depths of an Industrial park.

And what’s more, RadFems have come to resemble these very same Cenobites, covered in piercings, dyes, and tattoos, such that the difference between Hellraiser’s Pinhead and the average denizen of Slut Walk is minimal at best. And then they say “I’m a slut, but that doesn’t mean I consent.”

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Go to any Slut Walk, I guarantee you’ll see worse.

Then, off they go to have simulated rape, to cry “yes Daddy” to the men they hate, after a day of fighting the Patriarchy in the streets.

Now they will say there is a difference, that it’s all okay because they consented to it. They came to the club. They asked for it. And it is true, to some extent. There are rules in such communities. But why, if you hated a thing so much would you come to love its reflection so deeply?

There is something deep here, some psychological damage present in the West, such that we, as an entire civilization, have lost the ability to take pleasure in anything, and have merely exchanged pleasure for pain in everything we do. Pleasure has lost its novelty. We are like Slaanesh in the Warhammer 40k world.

Where once we celebrated achievement, putting a man on the moon, inventing, building, and learning… now we celebrate victimhood in a form of emotional sadomasochism. Everything is about being made to feel bad. Imagine coming to work in the morning, chugging your cup of coffee, seeing a friend and saying “hey, how’s it going?” Said friend responds cheerfully and happily, “oh, it’s been going horrible, I got run over by a bus, and discriminated against by HR, catcalled by a thug, and my house burned down then got sucked into a tornado! How’s it with you?”

It’s almost that ridiculous.

If you walked on the moon, check your privilege, because I’m a bigger victim than you. If you cured AIDS, fuck you, you were privileged because you’re white, or have a penis. They will say things like, oh you want to know what challenge is, Mr. Quantum Physicist? Challenge is trying to make it in STEM when you’re mentally ill, bipolar, on meds, when you’re a genderqueer black Hispanic Muslim lesbian from Somalia. Who got sucked into a tornado.

Forget curing cancer, cure racism, they say.

And then they, too, go to the club and get beaten by the guys with floggers and chains. Business has never been better, let me tell you.

I see it everywhere. I see women spurning “lesser” men, finding the most intimidating, scarred, barbaric thug on the dance floor and making out with him all night, and it hits me. I see barbaric men starting fights over stupid shit, and everybody drinking until they can’t see or walk straight, filing out of the club at 3AM to try and crawl their way home. This is our entire civilization right now. These people are in power, and are doing on a meta level exactly the same sort of thing I see from my DJ booth.

They scoured the world for the most barbaric and twisted belief systems they could possibly find, and said “come to our home. Beat us. Be our Nazis.” Islam, certainly, can do that well enough. It is more than willing. And so they come, hordes of men mostly (why bring the women and children in such a circumstance?).

The Cenobites are at the helm of our civilization, and they solved the Lament Configuration, and are taking us to the dimension where pleasure and pain are meaningless distinctions. Choke me, hit me, tie me to a cross and stone me to death, Islam. Kill me in the streets.

Then they can be a better victim, to achieve even less than they do now, to achieve negative achievement, to actually rollback civilization, to be nothing more than burka-clad objects, who can’t read, or write, or drive an automobile.

These RadFems don’t want less Patriarchy, they want more Patriarchy. They don’t want less Nazis, they want more Nazis. A civilization full of weak-minded fools has broken them, somehow. Deprived of any form of constructive masculinity, people have gone out to seek it among the barbarians. Better a Mohammed than a boy-man who thinks his gender is an Oscar Meyer wiener. You could sell them to a Saudi prince as a sex slave, and they’d experience true joy.

Was this how Rome fell, all those years ago? Some poor asshole solved the Lament Configuration, and out popped Alaric and his merry band of Visigoths?

I’ve recognized local protesters at the club, submitting to a guy who served in the sandbox and took a few rounds for his trouble. He’s everything they should hate, a big scary Right-wing man with guns who’s seen the shit and has that stare that says don’t fuck with me in spades.

And they are all over him — this man who, by rights, should be their ideological enemy. But it doesn’t matter to them. Just like all this drama about fascists and Nazis doesn’t matter to them and never did. It’s theater. Anything to feel good at this particular moment. It’s a way to get in the 11 o’clock news, to be seen saying and doing the right things, before spending the night drinking, smoking, shooting up, and partying.

Maybe, even spending part of it chained to the cross, or beaten, cut, and choked.

Do you think it is an age thing? Let me disabuse you of this right now. The club isn’t the same as you see on TV. There are young 20 years olds, and old cougars. There are young men and old men, and everything in between, and in no particular ratio I can discern.

They all do it. I’ve recognized men of stature, wealth, and power. Millionaires and paupers. And I’ve seen thugs from the ghetto, and financiers of renown… all there, all in the same place, all doing the same things.

And do I care? Not personally. This is a job, and to be honest, some of the people who go to these places are good and fine people, and I get along with them famously. But that’s not the problem here, that’s not the contradiction. People who find a thing they like, even if normal folks regard it as twisted, aren’t the issue.

The trouble is the hypocrisy of it all, the person who protests Nazis, then wants to be beaten by a Nazi, the person who says all sex is rape, and then fucks a dozen guys in a cocaine-fueled mega orgy.

If you want to experience these things, and admit it to yourself, that is one thing. But the next day, you are suddenly a neo-Puritan? The standard bearer for why every time a guy in front of his computer jerks off, he’s committing the equivalent of rape? You say you are anti-fascist, dressing in black and either pretending to be a Nazi, or wanting to be dominated by one?

Or, perhaps since they are good Communists, they will summon the spirit of Lavrentiy Beria to do the deed? The Left has a history with this sort of thing, after all.

And so the TV cameras come out, and you’re Cotton Mather, praising the Salem Witch Trials… while at night, you are the witch. Who is the real you? These people are so very confused.

They are Cenobites who have lost entirely the ability to distinguish between pain and pleasure anymore. But what’s worse, they’ve lost the ability to distinguish the real and the unreal. Some of them don’t even know what gender they want to be, much less actually are. Another will say she has the soul of a kitty-cat. It’s solipsism in the extreme. What happened yesterday didn’t exist, and what will happen tomorrow will never exist.

Leftism has always had a fascination with erasing history in the Orwellian manner. So much the better if you don’t even believe history exists, or that yesterday ever mattered at all.

Only today, the moment, exists at all. Only the feelings of right now matter at all. There is no right and wrong, no pain and pleasure. Only present experience. It’s beyond Fatalism, which tells us that individual choice doesn’t matter, doesn’t really exist, that all such is illusion. They have gone beyond this, in that nothing objective exists.

So today, they want to pretend to be a superhero punching Nazis, and tomorrow they change their minds and want to go on a drinking binge in the club district and find the most Nazi-like human they can, and have sex with him. They are all heroes of their own little fantasy narratives, like every song is a personal movie soundtrack, and every event is a momentous struggle. Hailing a taxi cab is the equivalent of the Battle of the Bulge, getting up the stairs in a drunken stupor is the evacuation of at Dunkirk, losing weight is a quest Jason and his Argonauts would fail.

I guess burn more calories than you eat isn’t as dramatic as a quest to the ends of the Earth.

A poop swastika splattered on the wall of a University bathroom is a racial struggle reminiscent of the Million Man March. Enforcing border security is the same as Auschwitz. Donald Trump is literally Hitler. PewDiePie is a fucking Nazi. Calling an obese woman fat is the same as stoning them to death for being raped. Making a sexual joke is literal rape. Abortion is sacred, but everything we do is For the Children ™.

You can’t interrupt the narrative, the struggle in their own heads.

And meanwhile, Islamists stream across the borders of the West in numbers, and bring with them a culture that countenances the very same thing they claim to oppose, but seemingly want in secret, behind closed doors.

Why yes, she says, I will cover my head and body for you, my Islamist master.

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Sweden’s Feminist government that don’t need no man, and fuck the Patriarchy, submitting to actual patriarchs.

I said, once, that much of the decline of the West could be seen from my DJ booth, and I wasn’t bullshitting you. There you can see the fruits of a society at war with itself, unsure of its own direction, helmed from the highest spires of Academia and government by solipsistic lunatics, hell-bent on destroying their own lives, and ours along with them.

My father is fond of saying that the time will come when evil is called good, and good is called evil. But today, we have a people who appear to be unable to even tell the difference, because they are no longer grounded by a belief in objective reality at all. It feels good, in that particular moment, to submit to Islam, and so they do it. There is no other reason. No good or evil.

The rationalizations all come later, after the decision is made and the thing is done.

They come to my clubs for the same reason.

I’ll see them again on Saturday.

Feminist Fiction: Vapid and Empty

This business with the X-Men billboard proves that the Sad Puppies are right. What does a comic book movie have to do with a movement in Science Fiction? Everything.

You see, when the billboard featured a villain choking another character, you are seeing an important feature of any story: characters must face challenges. I mean, imagine a story in which the hero showed up, said “I’m here now, you should just give up,” and presto, the hero wins, the villain is defeated and everyone lived happily ever after.

Pretty lame story, right?

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Villain hurts woman. Isn’t that what villains do? What should he do instead? “I respect you as a woman, so I will let you kill me. Only the Feminists will survive.”

So when RadFems and SJWs (but I repeat myself) complain that a billboard features a villain attacking another character, I’m very confused. If women are to be the central characters in Feminist fiction, as the likes of Anita Sarkeesian and her ilk frequently demand, then they must face challenges, right? A woman character must fight, must be beaten down just as a male character might be, and rise to defeat her enemy.

Being a central part of the character’s journey, we would expect this to be a meaty part of the story right? Worthy of advertising it?

Except this is “violence against women.” Like the cover of a Batgirl comic which also triggered Feminist rage, wherein the Joker has clearly overpowered the titular character, any indication that the woman might lose, might suffer at the hands of the villain, cannot be allowed.

So what is allowed then? Must Batgirl walk up to the Joker and say “I’m a woman!” Joker then lays down, puts his hands behind his back, and the story ends. No struggle. No fight. The woman gets whatever she wants by virtue of being a woman.

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The joker is doing bad things to the hero. Can’t have that, right?

This is what the Sad Puppies have been talking about for years, and why they are understandably worried about the blatant politicization of fiction. They want to read and write stories where the protagonist must complete a journey, must face challenges and villains. Where the protagonist must find friends and allies, where struggle and suffering are part of that journey.

This goes for both male and female protagonists.

How can you have a story where the protagonist cannot suffer injury? Where the hero can suffer no physical attack, no setback, no violence? Imagine James Bond as a woman (as feminists are demanding currently) in this sort of scenario. Where James Bond was tied to a chair and tortured via the clubbing of his genitals in Casino Royale, feminists would scream were a Jane Bond subjected to the same torture.

What should the villainous banker to the world’s terrorists do, then, to get the money from Bond? Shall he say “I respect you as a woman, and I would never do anything without your consent. So I didn’t tie you up, and I won’t torture you. I didn’t take your gun either, since that would be a violation of your body. But I would like to know the password to the bank account, if that is not asking too much of m’lady.”

Then Jane Bond shoots the banker in the face, and the story is over. Some story, right?

This is the sort of executive meddling on behalf of Social Justice that Sad Puppies rightly fear. They don’t want their stories hung up by some misguided notion that certain demographics can never suffer fictional injury, that they can never face challenges. How can you write an entertaining (much less believable) story, hamstrung like that?

If you want to get technical, the billboard did indeed feature “violence against women.” But in the real world, violence against women happens. And in the fictional world you create, it may also happen. Indeed, a central part of the story may be a woman overcoming such violence to kill her tormentor. How is any of that bad?

And more importantly, why is any of it worthy of de facto censorship?

Feminism: Women Shouldn’t be Punished for Anything

Coming straight on the heels of yesterday’s post, wherein two lesbians tortured and killed a little boy (one of the lesbians was the boy’s mother) is this little gem from the Guardian telling us that all women’s prisons should be closed, and the inmates released.

Why we should close women’s prisons and treat their crimes more fairly

Yes. The author is seriously advocating eliminating prison sentences for all women. This man, with his apparently worthless Ph.D., explains for us:

Women do of course commit homicide offences, but nearly always the victim is a relative and the crime was committed against the backdrop of an abusive relationship or depressive mindset. All homicides are heinous crimes but the types of homicides committed by women rarely involve random victims and hence do not engender community fear.

This comes, quite literally, the day after the guilty verdict came out for the horrendous case above. This man is thus telling us that “nearly always” the murdered person was somehow abusing the woman.

I wonder what two-year-old Liam Fee did to abuse his mother, such that his murder was justified?

The lunacy of modern feminism has grown to staggering proportions, wherein it continually asserts that men and women ought to be given the same treatment while simultaneously arguing that no woman should be punished for crimes she is convicted of.

Murderers of innocent toddlers should go free!

Murderers of innocent toddlers should go free!

A friend of mine asserted the other day that Rachel and Nyomi, the women who murdered Liam Fee, may have received the “Rotherham treatment.” In other words, he wondered if, perhaps, the status of the two women as lesbian partners hindered any attempt to prevent the torture and murder of this little boy.

As it turns out, the father did indeed protest several times to the authorities that his son was in danger in their care. And nurses and social workers were shocked by the level of fear the child displayed of both his mother and her partner. Earlier incidents of abuse were cataloged and documented, and no action was taken. It was, in the words of the nurses, unprecedented.

So it is very likely that the Rotherham treatment was given, insofar as incidents of abuse that would have been acted upon immediately were the perpetrators straight white men, were ignored by the authorities because the women were “minority victims.”

It certainly didn’t do the real victim, a little boy, any good, mind you. But then, the girls raped by Pakistanis in Rotherham were similarly ignored. The Progressive stack, in which some victims are more equal than others, becomes apparent here.

So these women already received preferential treatment, and Mirko Bagaric wants them to receive no punishment for the horrific crime.

This, of course, is somehow “equality.”

Nearly every one of these incarcerated women is the victim of a perverse and lazy policy disfigurement that fails to acknowledge the marked differences between female and male offenders. The differences are so stark that not only should women be treated more leniently because they commit less serious crime but they should also be treated more leniently when they commit the same crime as a man.

But feminism is about equality! If men and women are 100% equal, and genders are meaningless social constructs how could there be “marked differences” between female and male offenders in the first place? Here he is outright arguing for women to be treated more leniently (read: not punished at all) for the same crime.

Third, society suffers more when we remove a female from it and place her behind a prison wall. More than 50% of incarcerated women are single parents and even in two-parent households, female prisoners typically assume the main child nurturing role. In relation to non-parental dependency, the majority of carers (60%) are females.

Like the murderous lesbians were such great parents. But one might say that I’m harping overly much on one particular incident. Okay… but if you have a woman who is convicted of, say, dealing crack cocaine out of her house, how is that good for her child? What about one who burglarizes, steals, or attempts to murder someone? No, these are precisely the women you do not want to have raising children, because they will do an exceptionally poor job of it. Locking them up is better for any children involved, not worse.

The sentencing system should be reformed radically to deal more fairly with female offending. The starting position is that no female offender should be imprisoned. In relation to most forms of crime, they should be dealt with by way of intermediate sanctions including the greater use of electronic monitoring.

In other words, no punishment at all. Here’s your ankle bracelet. It even comes in pink! Totes matches your shoes!

The approach would save the community billions of dollars annually and go a long way to correcting the unfathomable public policy misstep which has resulted in 10 American states spending more on prisons than higher education. Best of all, it would not cause the slightest reduction to community safety.

If you want to improve community safety, I suggest my Aussie friends should chuck this guy off a bridge. Okay, I’m not going to incite violence… just run him out of the country then (preferably to a hospitable place like Antarctica), and tell him to never come back.

For an exceptional level of undiluted idiocy, I award Mirko Bagaric the heretofore never-awarded perfect idiot score of four golden turds. Display your unprecedented level of ignorance proudly, sir!

 

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The Changing Face of Evil

Some things are so horrific, they are beyond my ability to contemplate rationally. My only reaction is visceral horror and a corresponding desire to erase the perpetrators from the face of the Earth. Here is one such event:

Liam Fee’s mother Rachel and her partner Nyomi found GUILTY of his murder

A mother murdered her own son after a pattern of torture and abuse:

Toddler Liam Fee was found dead at his home near Glenrothes in Fife in March 2014, having suffered a ruptured heart as a result of severe blunt force trauma to his body.

His mother, Rachel Fee, 31, and her partner Nyomi Fee, 29, denied killing him but were convicted of murder following a seven-week trial at the High Court in Livingston.

The jury had heard that after the youngster’s leg was broken, the Fees went online and Googled ‘can wives be in prison together?’

The court heard that Liam later suffered heart injuries similar to those found on road crash victims after receiving blows to his chest and abdomen.

The pathologist who examined his body also found more than 30 external injuries on the toddler’s body and fractures to the boy’s upper arm and thigh.

And it that wasn’t enough, a second child was only saved in the nick of time, most likely because of the attention brought on by the first child’s death. But worse is the reaction the father had to the entire affair:

The women showed little emotion as the two verdicts were returned. Liam’s father Joseph Johnson was in tears as he left the court.

Anybody who argues that women should be given automatic custody of children should refer back to this case. The level of hatred and contempt these women had for the boys in their care is beyond horrific. The pictures of torture implements, cages, and chains tell the story well enough. These lesbian women hated the boys. They had no regard for them whatsoever. Whether or not this was driven by general man-hating misandry, or a more specific form of hatred, I can’t say — though misandry seems very likely.

Radical Lesbian Feminists often say that lesbians are a superior moral and intellectual breed of human — this ought to disabuse anyone of that foolish notion.

The ShirtStorm Social Experiment

Back in 2014, Matt Taylor was condemned by the media for wearing a shirt depicting scantily clad pinup girls with guns, cars, and helicopters during a press conference about his achievements surrounding the ESA’s Rosetta mission. The man landed a probe onto a comet, but had to deal with such accusations as “one small step for man, three steps back for women,” and other radical feminist nonsense.

Amusingly enough, the shirt was designed and made by a female friend of his by the name of Elly Prizeman, who now sells a line of similar clothing. Naturally, being the provocateur I am, I had to have my own. A few months ago, I ordered the same shirt from her site. For awhile it sat in my closet more or less unused, because I was waiting for just the right sort of moment to wear it.

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Besides, I just like the shirt anyway. It’s ridiculous, and anyone who knows me knows that I am also ridiculous.

Some time ago I decided to try a social experiment of sorts. I wore the shirt to the family-friendly Food & Wine Festival at Busch Gardens, a Tampa-area theme park. I was hoping to get a rise out of people, to see offended scowls, muttering tones of disapproval, or even outright confrontation. I saw none of this. There wasn’t a single scowl, muttered remark, or disapproving glance. The shirt did, however, receive a number of compliments, an enthusiastic vote of approval from a few tattooed bikers, and joy from one of the park workers who actually recognized Elly Prizeman’s work for what it was and was thrilled to see the shirt that launched the shirtstorm in person.

So, while I was pleased to note that I could wear the shirt in public without a mob of angry feminists coming after me, I was disappointed that I was unable to offend anyone with the shirt. So I decided to try the same social experiment at a different venue: a local car show. Hundreds of muscle cars lined up in the hot Florida sun for this particular event, and it was likewise a family-friendly affair, so I brought along my 18-month old son and donned the shirt.

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Not exactly my best picture, but there you have it. Side note: my son enjoys car shows. Every revved motor got his attention.

Everybody wanted to know where I bought the shirt, so that they could get one (Elly, I may have just sold a bunch of shirts for you). One of the female muscle car drivers was downcast. Not, I should note, because the shirt offended her, but because everyone was checking out the scantily clad women on the shirt instead of her (she was half-joking, mind you, but still). She asked if the shirt-maker also made dresses, to which I replied in the affirmative. I wouldn’t doubt if she patronized the seamstress in the future, also.

Again, not one unkind word or furtive glance. And, if anything, an even more enthusiastic reception for the shirt from both men and women. Forget my car and the work I’ve done to it — everybody wanted to know about the shirt.

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Forget the V8. It’s all about the shirt.

The lesson from this little social experiment is that radical feminism, while it controls media, college campuses, and has a strong voice in government, has little impact on the sensibilities of the common man. Go to a theme park or a car show, and far from being offended by such things, they want to know where to buy one themselves.

Matt Taylor’s mistake wasn’t to wear the shirt, but rather to  do so around a hostile media establishment. I doubt his coworkers, male or female, cared one whit. In fact, if the reaction at both of the venues I mentioned was any indication, people probably admired him for wearing it. Once again, modern feminism is making mountains not just of molehills — but things that weren’t even molehills to begin with.

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