As anyone who follows this blog knows, I have a daughter who will soon be heading off to college. And so, like any good Dad, I've been spending a substantial amount of time online comparing various universities. Of course, in doing so, I also came across many discussions about campus life in general.
I was shocked.
In fact, 'shocked' hardly does my reaction justice. Flabbergasted. Dumb-Founded. Gob-smacked.
Apparently, on college campuses there is an epidemic of ... RAPE.
And, it's EVERYWHERE!
Harvard, Yale, Princeton ... there is no 'safe space.' Men ... are simply raping women right, left and center. To aggressively paraphrase, 'The Rime of The Ancient Mariner:'
Raping, raping everywhere,
As blues they rape the pink,
Raping, raping everywhere,
And do we naught but wink.
Hugely concerned, I did a deep dive into the matter. Thankfully, there's a wealth of scholarly material emanating from the Gender Studies Departments of countless universities. Did you know that 1 in 4 women will be raped or sexually assaulted in the four years that it takes them to complete a Bachelor's Degree?
I didn't.
That's a horrendous statistic. Indeed, it's so horrendous ... that it's difficult to believe.
To put things in perspective, that's approximately 800% MORE THAN the previous historical record for mass rape set by an avenging Red Army as it pillaged its way though Nazi Germany at the end of World War II!
And at Harvard no less.
Stunned, I kept reading. While I like to think of myself as a learnèd fellow, I was in for quite an education. You see, up until then, I had erroneously believed that 'rape' entailed a man using his greater physical strength to violently force sexual intercourse upon a woman, a crime for which I would, without a moment's hesitation, have him castrated, executed ... or both.
So imagine my surprise to learn that 'rape' also includes having 'seemingly consensual sex' with a women ... after she's consumed a glass of Chardonnay. Indeed, even if she poured the wine, retired to the bathroom to change into knickers befitting a pornstar and howled like a coyote while rutting like a reindeer ... it's still 'rape.'
You see, for sex not to be 'rape,' there must be CONSENT ... and a woman under the influence, cannot, according to Post-Modern doctrine, give consent. Simply, tipsy women are not responsible for their actions. Initially, this confused me because ... men are. And, strangely, women are responsible for drinking 'and driving' ... but apparently not while 'being driven.' As I would learn, however, articulating such logical contradictions is called, 'being a prick,' the only thing worse than having one.
Worrisome is the fact that many woman are in denial, seemingly incapable of understanding the degree to which their privates are being plundered. Thankfully, though, we have Gender Studies experts to 'adjust the statistics' to compensate for those women who answer questionnaires incorrectly: "Raped ... are you kidding? I'm going back for more tonight. In fact, I've gotta run. I need to pick up a bottle of Tequila."
In any event, this was the point where things started to get real for me because, as I realized ... I was a rapist.
A serial rapist.
Indeed, I was a woman-raping machine akin to Genghis Khan leading the Golden Horde by example. Guilt-ridden, I cast back at the carnage I'd left in my wake. My memory immediately settled upon Isabelle is the south of France. Typical of the French, she was incapable of making a meal not worthy of royalty. And, typical of the French, wine was almost always served with her culinary creations. And, typical of the French, a good many of the meals culminated with dessert ... her.
Without batting an eyelash, she'd stare deep into my eyes, while disrobing, and declare her intentions with an assuredness that would have impressed Napoleon. Then, she'd launch a blitzkrieg of debauchery and licentiousness the likes of which left me feeling far more like the prey than the predator ... which, I nevertheless now know, I was.
"Oh, Mon Dieu! Oh, Mon Dieu! Oh, Mon Dieu!"
What I'd previously believed were exclamations of ecstasy were, in retrospect, exclamations of agony as she plead for Divine Intervention.
Shaking from shame, I forced myself to read on ... to face my demons. Apparently, things were even worse than I could have imagined. You see, a woman can also be, for lack of better terminology, 'morally raped.'
'Fairness' is one of the Six Pillars upon which universal human morality is constructed. And, as it turns out, one group of human beings, males, are taking up way more physical space on the planet than the other, females. And ... that's not fair, is it?
Multiple Feminist studies have demonstrated that, even when you account for males' larger body sizes, they're still consuming more than their fair share of the Lebensraum. And, it's not just a matter of equitable distribution of global territory. There's something far more sinister at work.
As you may know, men have testicles between their legs. And, as you may also know, the crushing of the aforesaid between one's legs results in a feeling of physical discomfort. That's why you frequently see men reaching down their pants to re-arrange their junk. I do it a hundred times a day. In fact, I'm doing it right now.
But, as the gurus have shown, there exists a related behavior, which occurs with even greater frequency, that is NOT such a 'practical compensation for an obvious design flaw' ... a behavior so sinister that I shudder to describe it:
Man-Spreading.
Man-spreading involves a man, in a public place, sitting with his legs spread several inches apart. The message to a nearby woman could not be more clear:
"You better submit to my dominance, bitch ... or I'll come over there and rape your ass off."
Subconsciously, women understand what's being communicated and so, in an effort of self-preservation, begin to exhibit submissive behaviors ... like stroking the man's arm and laughing at his jokes. Now that I've been made aware of this phenomenon, I must confess, again, I'm as guilty as sin.
Indeed, now that I know what to look for, I often catch myself with my legs spread apart ... sometimes by as much as a foot and a half! It would seem that I want to dominate every woman within a 100-mile radius.
And it doesn't end there.
Perhaps most perniciously, women can also be 'intellectually raped,' and this is where I become Satan's Spawn: A Man-Splainer extraordinnaire.
Man-Splaining, for those who don't know, involves a man explaining something to a woman. Often, it involves the assumption that the woman doesn't understand the thing being explained ... and hence, the explanation. Perhaps surprisingly, this can scar a woman's psyche for life, shattering her self-confidence and rendering her incapable of self-assertion. For example:
"Honey, would you hand me the Philips screwdriver ... it's the one with an end the looks like a cross."
Prior to my re-education, I was under the impression that men and women had been bossing each other around since the invention of speech. Indeed, women's tendency to 'nag men,' telling them what and how to do things, is one of the most universal cultural tropes in existence. But, as I would learn, such trope is merely a myth, propaganda perpetuated by the Patriarchy ... for thousands of years.
That video: Man-Splaining pure and simple ... and just one of the many manifestations of the 'rape culture' to which Western women are constantly subjected. God (who incidentally is always depicted with a beard, while never wearing a bra) ... I look back at all those years of tutoring my daughter and her girlfriends: Math; physics; biology; English literature; poetry; history; geography; politics ... you name it. Not once did I ask the girls, "Girls, before I explain any of this, do any of you know how to perform Linear Regression?"
And do you know what's really heart-breaking ... cowed into submission, not one of them ever fought back:
"Listen you Dufus Confucius, of course we know the implications of the Battle of Leuctra: The introduction of 'Manoeuvre Warfare,' in particular, the 'Echelon Formation' ... proving that even in battle, it's brains over brawn. It spelled the end of the Spartans and empowered the Macedonian conquest of the Persian Empire, and hence, the spread of Western Civilization. For God's Sake, do you think we're stupid? We're six-years-old ... and Matty will be seven in two weeks!"
To some men, all this may come as a bit of a surprise. Well, you assholes, you NEED TO GET EDUCATED!!!
Luckily, the Internet is replete with educational materials. There are numerous Post Modern Professors who have, conveniently, prepared YouTube videos on these and countless other forms of rape. (Don't miss the one on 'Fart-Rape.' Personally, I'd been out-gassing women into submission since elementary school ... and, shamefully, thinking it was funny the whole time.)
She has obviously never met 
To facilitate your journey of enlightenment, here's a tip: You can often differentiate Post Modern Professors, from other non-enlightened Professors (like those teaching pseudosciences like, 'Biology' and 'Logic'), by their hair color: Greens; blues and pinks are popular. And, if you search around, you'll find one with white hair and block spots ... reminiscent of an Appaloosa or a Dalmatian, depending upon whether you grew up on a farm or in a firehouse.
So gentlemen, it's time to admit your complicity in the ransacking and ruination of the fairer sex. It's time to take responsibility for the 'rape culture' you've perpetrated and continue to perpetuate.
You utter bastards.
Discussion
For my daughter's 16th birthday, I wrote her a poem. Contained within it were 10 stanzas, each with a piece of life advice from a father to his child:
Words Instead
Nature’s prize, those smiling eyes,
A beauty … you’ve become,
A heart that’s kind, such brilliant mind,
To them, do all succumb.
Nobel Prize, do some surmise,
For promise does presage,
As you devote; too, they take note,
As you of them, assuage.
So much you’ve done, for one so young,
My child … of sixteen years,
More than most, have you to boast,
As first, amongst your peers.
This day of birth, what thing of worth,
Might I, then give to you,
What would suffice, and at what price,
To moment now imbue?
Ought buy to own, a gem or stone,
Or ring, if cast in gold,
A satin dress, a look noblesse,
So all exclaim, “Behold!”
Perhaps a toy, that you’d enjoy,
Remind … so too to play,
Your mind, beguile; to make you smile,
How ought these things I weigh?
A gift of lead, in words instead,
Of lessons that I’ve learned,
As traveled far; I have them, scars,
And wisdoms have I earned.
Of none, obey; but each one, weigh,
On each, ought you reflect,
Perhaps concur, perhaps demur,
Reflect, accept, reject.
Nothing is Free
If truth there be, no thing is free,
All things, they’ll take a toll,
Sacrifice, means sacred price,
Must pay we for our goals.
Fairness
Ask them to do, as they of you,
No less, so too no more,
A thing not fair, of it beware,
For it, the seed of war.
Virtue’s in the Middle
Polar regimes, vice in extremes,
Virtue, you find in between,
He, Aristotle; would make it the model,
Ethos, you’ll find at the mean.
Euphemisms
To tell them their lies, they’ll first euphemize,
Take words … and twist what they mean,
The trick of the game, to change it the frame,
Rewrite them, words and their genes.
Trust Someone
Frightful to trust, yet still it a must,
For no one sees rearward attack,
Caution, go slow; friends fewer than foes,
But someone, must have it, your back.
One Plan
Worse than a bad plan, is no plan,
Worse than no plan, is two,
As matter of course, focus your force,
No focus and chaos ensues.
Take Precautions
Bad sign, if it’s smoking; hard fix, when it’s broken,
Insight … prevent it, the break,
Of perils, take care; for problems, prepare,
Precaution, prevents them, mistakes.
Be Honorable
Honor, the word; now seldom is heard,
Strength … such archaic ideal,
Morals within; so too with them, sins,
Honor … is the iron in steel.
Be Passionate but Pragmatic
“If truly believe, you’ll truly achieve,
Go child, go chase it your passion,”
Well there is a gem, if dreaming of STEM,
Less so, of dreams out-of-fashion.
Think for Yourself
Everyone knows, and they’d knowledge impose,
Everyone … knows that they’re right,
They argue their ‘facts,’ with logic that’s lax,
And rarely, can science, they cite.
*****
Let's examine that stanza about euphemisms.
Euphemisms
To tell them their lies, they’ll first euphemize,
Take words … and twist what they mean,
The trick of the game, to change it the frame,
Rewrite them, words and their genes.
When a word can mean anything, it comes to mean nothing. Activists of one kind or another love the euphemism game. They use euphemisms to manipulate people, who are not paying attention, into believing a thing is something it is not. They use it to engage, and then to enrage. In rhetoric, the process is called 're-framing.'
There are many sex-seeking male behaviors that women might, rightly, find annoying or obnoxious. And periodically, criminal. But calling the former the latter is a terrible idea for it weakens one of the most viscerally emotive words in the English language: Rape.
That word triggers an immediate, and draconian, reaction amongst males and females alike. In stands almost alone on the pedestal of moral depravity. In many cultures, it is a capital offense. But when other behaviors women find objectionable begin to go by the same appellation, the reaction to it is dramatically diminished.
Instead of being a universal abomination, "I was raped," becomes an assertion subject to interpretation. Was it literal or figurative? Maybe he grabbed her ass ... or maybe, she was just downwind from a guy who had beans for breakfast. The constant drive of Far Left Post Modernists to scale the ladder of umbrage, so as to claim to be the 'Most Victimized,' is castrating words of their meaning and, in the process, depriving those who actually need the words to mean what they once did. Like women who were actually raped.
And here's the thing: If even poets, people who purportedly obsess about the meaning of words, won't object to this bastardization of the language, then who will? Words are containers of ideas, ideals and insights and when one manipulates what can be spoken, so too one manipulates what can be thought. And yet, many of my literary fellows are the ones holding the pen, weaving lies in their desire to 'manufacture a truth.'
Ideological conceit does not excuse literary, or semantic, deceit.
Quill
All images herein are QuillFire modifications of images in the public domain.
You guys know the QuillDrill. Be verbose ... but articulate.
And remember ...
Go Love a Starving Poet
For God's sake ... they're starving!