Secularising Sharia: An Open Letter to Sadiq Khan


You first came to my attention in the run up to the election that put you in office, when you were pitted against your fellow vote whore Zac Goldsmith in a neck-and-neck PR rivalry. Being a bloke with a sliver of pride, self-respect, and antidemocratic sentiment (Brexit aside, but that’s a tale for another time), I rolled my eyes at the carnival barking, secure in the conviction that I’d be voting for neither of you cunts (nor for any of the other cunts gaming for the London throne). That said, I found the smears by Goldsmith exceptionally slimy, what with him playing up your Islamic affiliation to invoke fears of a terrorist Londonistan in the electorate. That hardly jived with my impression of you as a chilled-out, queer-friendly, Jew-friendly moderate. Sure, you’d rubbed shoulders with some exceptionally sketchy fellows-in-faith in the past—endorsers of jihad and the like—but more out of political pandering pragmatism than ardent affinity, going by the overview of liberal Muslim reformist Maajid Nawaz; in short, more a case of typical politician than typical Islamist.

As such, when London’s ballot-botherers elected you as mayor, I figured—contrary to the doomsaying by pearl-clutching, race-baiting YouTube personalities—that your tenure in office would be anything but remarkable; like your predecessors Red Ken and BoJo, you would be another mundane mayor pushing out policies that’d piss people off in perfectly pedestrian ways. As such, when you ragged on Donald Trump’s (admittedly sweeping and likely unworkable) proposal to ban foreign Muslims from entering the States, and started yapping about there being too many white men on the Transport for London board, I put it down to the political correctness endemic in the Western world, encouraging those in its thrall to see dastardliness behind every disparity.

And then, you banned this billboard:


Such a decision did you no favours with those seeing you as the poster child of Islamification, who branded your ban a step toward a future Saudi Albion, characterised by fatwas against bikinied bodies, amongst other ills.


However, a quick read of your reasoning made clear your actual motivation, rooted, once again, not in any imported ideology but in an outlook all too indigenous to the modern West; more concretely, it’s the outlook of the regressive leftist, the so-called “social justice warrior”, made mandate, evidenced by your claim to be banning the billboards because they supposedly “demean people, particularly women, and make them ashamed of their bodies”. Some stubborn souls will nevertheless call your rationale an example of taqiyya—the cry of the caliphatic conqueror concealing his true intent (or is it?)—but I think your stance sincere and awful enough to be judged on its own (lack of) merit. To paraphrase the now-infamous chant of bingowinged SJW bint Trigglypuff, I’d sum up your stance with the slogan: “Keep your hate sleaze off this transport!”


But that’s not all that seems to be driving you, seeing as you made the point of justifying your decision “as the father of two teenage daughters”, worried about “unrealistic” bikini bodies molesting the fragile eyes of your adolescent crotchlings. You remind me of professed “anarchist” Noam Chomsky when he compared the supposed “humiliation and degradation” of pornography to kiddy-fiddling, calling for it to be stopped in a similar fashion. Like him, you infantilise those past the age of infancy, effectively sticking a stranglehold round the larynx of female agency: Ban this sick filth…‘cos that’s what Daddy likes!


Not that there aren’t women who don’t eat dat discipline up; indeed, many a shehadi of the sisterhood—those strong, empowered, hear-me-roar grrls who need a man like a fish needs a bicycle—splooshed her knickers, seduced by the certainty of never again having to suffer the sight of a toned physique on her morning commute to the NPO. I lost count of all the feminist fuckwits who sprang to your defence last week; for all their protestations against “the patriarchy”, they seem all to eager to slob on its knob to secure or reward a desired outcome. Just ask Stateside actress (and Sinead O’Connor impersonator) Rose McGowan, who (somewhat hypocritically, given her resume) kicked up a social media stink over another billboard, this time for the recently-released X-Men: Apocalypse movie, calling on the company responsible to nip the depicted “casual violence against women” in the bud, despite the picture’s poor put-upon “victim” being a superheroine, taking her lumps with the lads. It seems that lip-service notions of “equality”can’t override the tried ‘n’ true perks of playing the damsel-in-distress to a budding knight in salving armour…or a placating yet phallocratic papa.


So, yeah, unlike most of your other detractors, I think your secularism sincere enough; however, given the therapeutic, authoritarian strain you subscribe to, I can’t say that it makes much of a difference. Still, take solace in the fact that you’re well and truly part of a Western legal tradition exemplified by speech prohibitions in various European nations, “Nordic models”, strip club bans, and the reintroduction of literal blasphemy laws via the Trojan Horse of “tolerance”; in effect, a softer, secularised sharia.

beach body niqab

No wonder you slobber over the supranational scrotum of the E.U., you prohibitive, paternalistic, vote-whoring fuckwit!


Posted in Gender Issues, Moral Panic, News, Politics, Religion, Sex, Slave Britannia, The UK | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Live and Let Die?


It didn’t help my sour mood two Sundays ago to read the story of the Chilean zoo lions killed to save a man who’d leapt into their enclosure in an apparent stab at suicide. According to reports, 20-year-old Franco Luis Ferrada, messiah complex in tow, taunted the initially indifferent pair into making a meal of him, stripping off to display the fleshy feast awaiting them; when they saw fit to take the bait, zoo staff responded by filling the lions with lead, their initial tranquilisation attempts having struck the god-pozzed suicide wannabe instead of his desired means of exit.

Despite not being particularly animal-adoring, I couldn’t—and can’t—help but wish that those bullets had hit Ferrada instead of the felines. In fact, were I the zookeeper, I’d give him a word of gratitude (and the lion chef the day off) on account of his self-righteous suicide: Cheers for feeding the cats, Señor Soylent Green!


As self-induced exits go, it makes up for in magnanimity what it lacks in swiftness, tidiness, and painlessness: why go out with a gunshot when you can do so as dinner, donating your vital viscera to the needy? I’d tell Bono and Geldof to eat their bleeding hearts out (or serve them to the starving) if I thought they could hear me over the clinking of their concern-corralled coinage. As things stand, I’ll simply slag off the staff for snuffing out the lions and preventing a suicide most succulent; why didn’t those zookeeping shitlords just respect the life, death, and lunch choices of the parties concerned? It’s the Current Year, for fuck’s sake!


Seriously, live and let dine next time, pendejos! As suicides go, I find that scenario far less disturbing than some of the success stories that have popped up on my newsfeed over the past month. Take the case of the Netherlands child abuse victim who opted for lethal injection as an adult, her experience having left her head as fucked as her body (more than) once had been; unlike Ferrada, she eschewed direct action, instead appealing to the medical middleman, who, despite her many mental maladies—including hallucinations, PTSD, and abject Oblomovism—declared her “totally competent” to opt for a death dosage. Following hot on the heels of that report came the story of another Netherlands nightcap, this time administered to a woman afflicted with an acutely inhibiting case of germphobia. Once again, I found the situation disquieting.


But why does this bother me of all people? After all, I just gave the thumbs-up to a bloke opting to become lion chow, think that the Land of Free Disposal—as described by Sarah Perry in Every Cradle is a Grave—sounds like a grand old place, and see suicide as the ultimate exertion of self-ownership (in the Stirnerian sense); so, what gives? Plainly put, it’s the clinical, institutional nature of the aforementioned “suicides”, with the entrustment of literal life-and-death decisions to a bunch of bureaucratic box-tickers, that gets to me. As I said in a discussion with Dain of Dry Hyphen Olympics, I’d be much more at ease seeing suicide kits sold at the local Londis (or 7-Eleven, in the case of you Statesiders) than with having the process administered at the drop of a hat by a clipboard-clutching civil servant and his white-coat brigade.

Not that my preference lacks the potential for abuse either: I can foresee disgruntled marrieds putting a few frail, burdensome, nagging in-laws “out of their misery”, for instance. Experience also tells me that I’d hardly be heartened by the prospect of certain people in my life opting to self-terminate (oh, how I wish I were a psychopath!). Still, I’d take the risk of a dear friend plumping for a corner-shop exit over the prospect of them being shoved through that door for the sake of clerical convenience. Dain holds the opposite view, seeing the medical middleman as a welcome hurdle against folk checking out in haste; but, for fear of sounding like I wear a tinfoil hat, I tend to view such institutionalisation as a Trojan-horse for less self-selected acts of “euthanasia”: think hospital boards needing to free up beds and cut costs to justify that sweet, sweet state largesse lining their coffers.

It’s also worth taking into account these disturbing factoids, as mentioned by Jim Goad in his 2013 article ‘Softly Putting the Monster to Sleep’:

…according to a recent poll, Belgians don’t seem crazy about choice. Three quarters of them said they support euthanizing children with terminal diseases, even without the child’s consent. A similar quotient favored euthanizing adults with severe dementia—again, whether or not the demented adult had any choice in the matter. And a proposed law would legalize euthanasia for terminal kids and demented adults.

More troubling is the fact that in a study of 248 Belgian euthanasia deaths in 2007, 120 of them—nearly half—involved “a patient who received life-ending drugs without his or her explicit request.” Other studies have shown a similar quotient of euthanasia procedures being conducted “without request.” Technically, that’s illegal. Technically, that hasn’t stopped it from happening, either. Nor has it stopped the emergence of a cottage industry that peddles the harvested organs of euthanized patients. Quite literally—at least in terms of market value—many people may be worth more dead than alive.

The mention of organ harvesting reminds me why I raise an eyebrow at the “presumed consent” of opt-out organ donation schemes, like the one mandated by the Welsh government back in November: if legislators lay claim to the contents of one’s body, what’s to stop the cunts from drawing up a live-and-let-die quota in the event of a shortage, decreeing a set number of perfectly salvageable, non-suicidal patients from whom to withhold treatment?


Furthermore, the prospect of institutionalised “euthanasia” in the context of the totalitarian humanist state raises another question in my mind: What stops ideological dissidents from being declared “demented” and done away with under such a regime?

In my ideal Land of (Mostly) Free Disposal, state-run medical and clinical institutions (if they even still existed) would only get to have a hand in one’s suicide in the event of a terminal and/or acutely life-inhibiting physical condition, with safeguards similar to those in Lord Falconer’s Assisted Dying Bill curtailing potential abuses; meanwhile, check-out kits would be available at the local checkout for those looking to let it all go for whatever personal and psychological reasons they please—no middleman, or medical malpractice, required! To once again quote Goad: “Big Brother is not invited to the suicide party.”

And yes, said set-up would allow for the death-desiring to donate their organs to starving zoo cats whilst still warm, throbbing, and sealed in the skin. All else aside, it’d save their kin a fortune in funeral fees!


Posted in Civil Liberties, Egoism, Ethics, Libertarianism, News, Personal, Philosophy, Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Halal & Hypocrisy XIV: Takin’ the Cake!


I’ve kept up intermittently with the bloggings-on of Janet Bloomfield, more commonly known by the nom de guerre JudgyBitch; opining on subjects such as misandry, the race-IQ gap, Donald Trump, and the failures of feminism, the Bitch has made quite a name for herself amongst the denizens of both the manosphere and the alt-right. My own limited reading of her gives me the impression of a writer with a penchant for provocative, push-button prose.

Over the weekend, manospherian and one-time guest poster at JB’s site Dre Morell brought a recent post of hers to my attention; it was an interesting piece, covering the clash between holding onto a creed and holding onto a career. Should one suffer unemployment merely for holding beliefs one’s employers and/or customers may find objectionable? JudgyBitch, seeing past her own schadenfreude at a “man-hating feminst [getting] fired by her female boss”, says nay.

I’ll confess to enjoying a few moments of petty glee at her comeuppance, but serious reflection forces me to acknowledge that this is a disturbing event with the potential to cause much more harm than good, if adopted widely.


In order for the clinic’s patients to be offended over the videos, they would have to know about them. And even if they did know about them, and were offended, who cares? The only thing EliSophie should have been fired for was her behaviour, in my opinion. The moment she treated male patients with contempt or disrespect, buh-bye. Her poems about men having small dicks are her business, and if she keeps them her business and does not let her beliefs affect her job performance, then she deserves to have a job.

She then goes on to defend Christian bakers refusing to cater to homogamous unions; but does that not constitute an on-the-job example of belief informing behaviour? JB agrees, whilst pointing out that, unlike the fired femorrhoid, the caterers in Christ stand at the helm of their businesses; if they’re gonna incur the full costs of self-employment, why not the perks? The clientele foot ‘n’ wallet vote will decide, one way or another. Admittedly, it leaves little defence for employees who choose to express views inimical to the party line, like the misandrist mentioned above. Could a professedly atheist employee hope to flourish in such a foxhole? Is self-censorship the price one has to pay for productive and sustaining employment? The JudgyBitch finds herself flummoxed, citing nowt more than a feeling (which I share) that a too-liberal exercise of hiring ‘n’ firing based on one’s off-the-clock opinions sets a shitty precedent (e.g. picture the scenario of a professed anarchist or anti-statist having nowt but public-sector slots available as sustenance—it is to laugh…and cry!).

And then, she goes and throws those pesky Muslims into the mix:

Should Muslim bakers be allowed to refuse?

Absolutely not.

This will be hard to articulate, and I am going to do a clumsy job of it. I apologize. Fundamentalist Christians who oppose gay marriage and refuse to bake cakes for gays are on the wrong side of history when it comes to how the Christian public sees the issue. North America is still a Christian nation, founded on Christian principles, adhering to basic Christian doctrines like forgiveness, honesty, kindness, sin, redemption, etc. It doesn’t matter if you personally believe in God, or believe in some other God: we are a Christian nation founded on distinctly Christian values. The occasional baker who refuses to serve gay couples doesn’t, and won’t, dramatically alter the landscape for the majority, who have no issues with gay couples getting married and eating cake.

Muslim bakeries are refusing to bake cakes on the grounds of a hateful, violent religious and political belief system that is murdering gay men in horrific ways right now. And given the opportunity, they will bring that religious and political system into force across the whole planet. Part of forcing them to integrate with our values includes forcing them to bake cakes for gays, and if they can’t handle that we don’t want them here because they pose a legitimate threat in a way that Christian bakers simply do not.

As if the cake mix wasn’t conflicted enough, she slaps this fallacy fromage into the bowl, rendering the whole concoction inedible. This incongruous slab of special pleading seems to be a by-product of an amygdala-affrayed animus towards Allah’s abids, no doubt fuelled by reports of beheadings, bombings, and multiple gang gropings. To quote a friend of similar inclination: “Islamists are so aggressively aggressive that they trigger aroooga! aroooooooga! levels of arousal in other primates….It’s hard to calm yourself down when you’re dealing with this level of hatred.”

That said, I’ve yet to see said friend albatrossed by Allahphobia to the same extent as JB; the latter, in a glaring display of blame by association, proposes to penalise American Muslims for the dastardly doings of their co-religionists across the Atlantic. Going by my observations, and the accounts of fellow infidels Stateside, the American acolytes of Allah generally strike me as the least god-pozzed adherents of their faith by a considerable stretch; thus, JB’s call to strip that demographic of their freedom of association comes across as doubly laughable. Imagine, for instance, being an Ahmadiyya Muslim—like the Sunni-slain shopkeeper, Asad Shah—and having to submit to Bloomfield’s Saileresque “solution” on account of those who murder and persecute those of your sect a whole ocean away, despite the fact that your subcreedal lineage stretches back almost a century in the States sans significant strife; the tragicomedy writes itself!

Whatever the stuffy, conservative views of Allahphile-Americans regarding homosexuality, refusing to bake a cake for two blokes tying the knot is still a considerable distance away, conceptually and geographically, from blokes tossing blokes off buildings for tossing off blokes. Besides, why would any homogamous couple trust a fuddie-duddie fundie to cater to their wedding wants; what if manhandled Muslim bakers suddenly decide that phlegm, faeces, boogers, and cum would make absolutely halal ingredients for their special confections?

gay cake

The issue of freedom of employee expression vs. freedom of employer association is one I intend to revisit in a future episode. For now, I’ll just say that if JudgyBitch fancies herself as a spokesperson for Western Enlightenment values, she really needs to step up her game; too much has already been compromised and conceded without her ordering fresh kindling for the dumpster fire.

Failing that, she might as well just quit wasting keystrokes, hand the ball over to the opposition, and bend face-down-arse-up in the direction of Mecca.


Posted in Civil Liberties, Culture, Economic Issues, Ethics, Halal & Hypocrisy, Libertarianism, Moral Panic, Religion | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Once Again, Fuck the U.N.!


Amidst all the usual bombings, bigotries, and bureaucracies that characterise modern life, it’s nice to have the odd thing to smile, if not outright belly laugh, about. Hulk Hogan’s financial ravishing of the sex-tape-leaking hacks at Gawker springs to mind, news of it giving me a raging schadenfreude stiffy a few weekends back. Prior to that, however, I found myself awed and amused by a bold show of defiance toward another organisation I hold in contempt—the United Nations.

Ostensibly formed as a global peacekeeping organisation in the wake of World War II, the United Nations, or U.N., has, over time, made it clear that the peace it means to impose on the world resembles the Pax Romana (or Pax Islama), mandated and managed by way of a top-down global hegemon.


This was illustrated to me in glaring Technicolor back in 2009, when the U.N. Human Rights Council, at Pakistan’s behest, democratically declared “defamation of religion” to be a human rights violation, effectively endorsing every fatwa and blasphemy law decreed by mortal men. Who’d have thought that, all this time, Dar al-Saud were fighting for social justice one flogged apostate at a time? A lash to the back is a privilege well and truly checked!

Speaking of social justice warriors, I didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh when the organisation—as part of a gynocentric drive to muzzle opinions inflammatory to the ol’ femorrhoids—invited game-policing special pleaders Anita Sarkeesian and Zoe Quinn to mewl into a microphone about mean tweets and the existential threat they pose to women everywhere. Clearly, coddling a coven of censorship-friendly “fucking cunts”, to quote a formidably furious Mercedes Carrera, is just as pressing a priority as stopping Saudi stonings and forced child marriages, if not more so; I can still hear those September sobs, even as I type.


With that precedent, the next thing to come to my attention hardly proved a great surprise, scorn-inducing though it was. Whilst browsing the social media feeds back in February, I cast eyes on a link from the Niche Gamer site detailing the U.N.’s latest liberticidal lunge:

The UN Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), will be examining (SOURCE, our mobile URLs show up the same as regular text – working on a fix) Japan’s record on women’s rights.

The reason this has gotten onto our radar is that one of the possible talking points is the “banning of the sale of video games or cartoons involving sexual violence against women.”

The wording of the phrase could imply that they’ll be discussing banning eroge games like Rapelay (or other games of that nature), but with no clear guidelines as to what “sexual violence” entails, it feels like the definition can be used to include games that aren’t even eroge.

As expected, the readership of said site reacted with uproar at the possible intrusion upon their entertainment by questioning the priorities of the organisation, what with more severe ills infesting the global landscape.


A glance at the U.N. commission report confirmed the corrosion running through the CEDAW cerebrum:

Among the possible issues for discussion between CEDAW and a delegation from the Japanese Government are:  Banning the sale of video games or cartoons involving sexual violence against women; employment equality, illegal dismissal of women due to pregnancy and childbirth; sexual harassment in the workplace; reintegration into school textbooks of issue of “comfort women”;  compensation for women with disabilities sterilised against their will; effect on women, particularly pregnant women,  of health programmes introduced after the Fukushima nuclear disaster; difference in pension benefits for men and women, poverty among older women.

In short, a few rapey pictures ‘n’ pixels constitute as much of an existential concern as poverty, irradiation, and forced sterilisation, in the mind of a CEDAW delegate: the kind of shitbrained sentiment which gets me thinking that a few forced sterilisations wouldn’t be such a horrible idea, applied to those jokers.


All that said, my scorn elevated to schadenfreude upon reading the response of one Kumiko Yamada, representative of the Japanese wing of the Women’s Institute Of Contemporary Media Culture; unimpressed by the UN busybodies’ piss-poor priorities, she took it upon herself to remind the retards that the rapey goings-on in hentai and the like weren’t fucking real and thus constituted no threat whatsoever to living, breathing women; furthermore, she went one better by drawing attention to the female mangaka, and other creatives, who would likely be out of jobs (and on the street) as a result of the U.N.’s meddling:

If we are asked to consider whether “Protecting Women’s Rights in Japan” requires us to “Ban the Sale of Manga and Video Games Depicting Sexual Violence,” then we must reply that that is an absolute “no.”

Reasons for Our Opinion:

Reason #1 – The so-called sexual violence in manga and video games is a made-up thing and as such does not threaten the rights of actual people; therefore, it is meaningless in protecting the rights of women.

Reason #2 – In Japan, and especially when it comes to manga, these are creative fields that women themselves cultivated and worked hard by their own hand to create careers for themselves. If we were to “ban the sale of manga that includes sexual violence,” it would do the opposite and instead create a new avenue of sexism toward women.


As stated above, we cannot say that banning the sale of manga and video games that “depict sexual violence” is valid, even if we were to agree that the goal of protecting the rights of women is correct.

There is nothing to be gained from regulating fictional sexual violence. However, while you’re trying to fix the rights of fictional characters, you’re leaving the human rights of real women in the real world left to rot. As well, in Japan, the entire reason we have a media genre such as manga that developed to take on themes such as the sexual exploitation of women came from an attitude to tolerate “drinking the pure and the dirty without prejudice.” It’s because we had the freedom to express our views and with that to express the view of a world of humans that live and die, that there are pure and wonderful things and dirty and nasty things mixed with each other.

To put it more succinctly, Miss Yamada told the U.N. to suck a tentacled dick, burning their pathetic pornhibition attempts to ash like Hiroshima.


The failure of the blue-helmet bluestockings to save cartoon cunny from a drawn demon dicking becomes all the more hilarious upon remembering the spate of rape scandals dogging their global “peacekeeping” efforts. Yes, “question and verify” still applies, even to the United Nations, but it’s rather telling that the wretched organisation initially suspended one of its own, Anders Kompass, for passing on reports of child sexual abuse by “peacekeepers” to the French authorities. With allegations of Nations noncing stretching decades back, to locales as diverse as Kosovo, DR Congo, Haiti, and Liberia, it wouldn’t surprise me if a raging inferno lay beneath the smoke (even bearing in mind that it’s not always the case); after all, don’t those who shout loudest often have the most to hide?


I mean, when one’s already suspect stable of troops works alongside another group of “peacekeepers” accused of forcing the local girls to gape for canine cock, protesting against forced fucks of fiction serves as a cheap ‘n’ easy means of distraction; it certainly beats getting one’s house in order!


For all the criticisms levelled at desert pirates Daesh, their M.O. seems to resemble the U.N.’s in several key ways, with its fatwa-friendliness, universalist aspredations*, and a heralded, hypocritical hard-on for pious prohibition and penile predation. If one didn’t know any better, it’d be easy to suspect the Muslim Männerbund of taking more than a few notes.

Have any sons, brothers, boyfriends, or any other males of note in your life? Be sure to shoot ’em a side eye should they suddenly develop a wanderlust-inducing fetish for burqas or blue helmets.

Then toss ’em a terabyte of tentacle porn so that they can stroke it well ‘n’ truly out of their systems.

ADDENDUM (5/4/16): It just came to my attention that the current chair of the U.N. is none other than one Faisal Bin Hassan Trad, ambassador for that Wahhabist desert paradise, Saudi Arabia; perhaps my Daesh analogy carries much more in the way of currency than I first thought! Granted, he’s only held the role since June, but quite a bit has taken place in his godridden land since then, including the lashing of liberal dissident blogger Raif Badawi.

Methinks the fuckery so far witnessed from this outhouse of an organisation won’t even touch that which is to come—assume that prayer position, infidels!


*Aspredation = aspiration + predation (…or perhaps ass-spread-ation is apt?)

Posted in Animé, Civil Liberties, Gender Issues, History, Japan, Moral Panic, News, Politics, Religion, Retinal Reprobation, Sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Taking the Rapp: A Qualified Defence of Paedo Advocacy


I first caught wind of Nintendo PR specialist Alison Rapp via a message thread in which someone linked to her blatherings on “intersectionality”; let’s just say I recoiled from the stink.

screenshot-twitter com 2016-03-02 21-03-54

However, my reaction to her wasn’t anywhere near as adverse as those more invested in the gaming world. As a result of her off-the-clock SJW sermonising and her on-the-clock employment at the the company’s Treehouse translation branch, already irate Nintendo patrons linked Rapp with the latest spate of “localisations” (read: censorship) imposed on Japanese games for Western markets, calling for her termination—post-haste!


As if their perfectly rational smear-by-association wasn’t a strong enough cudgel, the baying gamer mobs soon happened upon a veritable Excalibur of an épée with which to skewer their scapegoat: the dread spectre of paedophilia. A number of hit pieces emerged against Rapp, their writers clutching pearls over what they described as her “advocacy” of kiddy-fiddling, and, again, calling for her firing. The furore even crossed over to this side of the pond, with trashy tabloid The Daily Mirror picking up on the story of the Nintendo paedo activist “who wears a ring through her nose” (the deviant!).


In short, a group of anti-SJW gaming enthusiasts formed a virtual pitchfork-wielding mob in order to  drive an SJW out of employment for her unpalatable views, in a manner akin to, well…SJWs.


So, what lies at the heart of this irefest? Where do these allegations of paedophilia advocacy come from? From the links and screenshots provided by Jim Kelly in the thinly-veiled smear piece which caught the Mirror’s attention, the chief components of this allegation consist of a paper by Rapp, published in 2011, arguing against pressuring Japan into toughening up its child porn prohibitions, and a series of tweets criticising age of consent laws which penalise adult/minor sexual relations.

screenshot-archive is 2016-03-06 23-09-36

Whilst I can see how that would trigger those caught up in the perceptual pretzelisations of paedomania, I struggle to find much of anything to get worked up about. A reading of Rapp’s 2011 paper clarifies her stance on child porn for those of sufficient reading comprehension; while she sees the creation and distribution of live-action kiddy filth as “another matter entirely”, she likens penalising possession of it, and its cartoon counterparts, to be tantamount to thought-criminalisation. It’s a viewpoint I’ve encountered before, from thinkers as diverse as Libertarian Alliance director Sean Gabb and Pirate Party founder Rick Falkvinge, and one which, I think, has enough in the way of logic to warrant more than a reflexive dismissal of its proponents as Lostprophets frontmen (or Islamic icons) in the making. After all, viewing footage of infidel-beheadings, “witch”-burnings, and mob-meted murder hardly makes me a dogma-drunk lynch mobber—I’ll leave that shit to those who’d crucify Rapp and I for holding these opinions—so how does someone watching, or even owning, the worst kiddy porn automatically equate to, y’know, actually fucking kids (or even wanting to)? Perhaps the motivated incuriosity of the paedogeddon pushers simply makes some eager to find out what all the fuss is about. That or they just like looking at the pudenda of their pubescent peers.


But such a defence fails to stand up in the face of this pretty little paedophilia advocate’s desire to lower the age of consent, allowing adults to actually fuck kids…right?


Well, I guess…if your definition of “kid” or “child” is anyone under a state-decided age of majority rather than some primary-schooler yet to see her first cunt hair. Depending on the word-voodoo of the local legal codes, the scenario of an adult hooking up with, say,  a 16-year-old will either be seen by rulers and residents as totally kosher or a crime against God, Man, and the laws of nature. Those below the line of license, we’re told, lose all notions of agency and consent when faced with an amorous adult advance; thus, any coital contact between the two parties amounts to psychic, as well as physical, rape, what with teenagers being notoriously and categorically sex-averse.

Under this framework, Megan Stammers, the 15-year-old who ran off to France with her maths teacher, Jeremy Forrest, in 2013, was an unwilling abductee of a child, snatched from home and hearth by a libidinous predator. Many affirmed the narrative, casting Forrest as a “pervert”, “paedo”, and “nonce” as required; other concerns, such as the betrayal of the trust placed in him by his wife and employers, fell into near-obscurity.

More recently, footballer Adam Johnson found himself cast as a kiddy-fiddler for engaging in off-pitch ball games with another 15-year-old; such was his predatory prowess, he even had his “victim” bragging about her ordeal—back of the net!

Although I struggle to see why any adult male would go out of his way to exchange words, never mind bodily fluids, with teenage girls, given how annoying they tend to be (neotenic appeal only goes so far, fellas!), I struggle harder to see said teens as anything other than complicit in such couplings. Prizing consistency, I generally view such hook-ups as no worse than the tide of teen-male-fucks-female-teacher stories deluging the press, the very same stories which inspire high-fives from those who kvetch about “the CHILD” and “that fucking nonce” once the genders flip. As obnoxious as she can be, Katie Hopkins’ assessment of the Johnson case strikes me as much closer to the truth than all the herd-animal hand-wringing over “grooming” and “child abuse” (Stefan Molyneux, eat your heart out!).

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(As a side note, I wonder how many of the “anti-SJWs” out to ruin Rapp for acknowledging adolescent agency criticised those who kicked up a stink over the late David Bowie’s decades-ago dalliances with underage groupies a month of two back. Hypocrisy can be a helluva drug!)

With all that in mind, it’s almost tragicomic that I find the SJW “p(a)edophile advocate” the more sensible, less retarded party in this dispute; her “anti-SJW” detractors come off as rabid fanatics, afflicted by sloppy inferences, mind-mangling moral panic, and a  hotheaded herd mentality; all less-than-endearing qualities around these parts, not to mention amusingly reflective of those they claim to oppose.

With her working for a censor-happy branch of a major games company and being—despite her own thoughtcrime—a card-carrying SJW, there might indeed be a case for her as a self-undermining hypocrite, doing much more than PR for Treehouse’s truncated “translations”.

Such a shame that the pitchfork posse fail to make it.


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Listen and Believe?

Kesha GIF

Seasons may come and go (and come again), but a timely convergence will never get altmodisch.

Last weekend saw an outpouring of grief and obits in response to the death of Harper Lee, esteemed author of the acclaimed and adapted novel To Kill a Mockingbird; much of said acclaim for her brainchild no doubt arises from its theme of fighting for justice in the face (and a place) of entrenched and vehement prejudice, a theme to which any so-called “social justice warrior” can signal solidarity.

Speaking of such, the same weekend saw an outpouring of outrage in reaction to pop starlet Kesha’s claims of contractual and coital coercion at the hands of her producer, one Lukasz Gottwald, more commonly known as “Dr Luke”. Predictably, a swarm of SJW social-media solidarity glommed around her, urging those with the power to #FreeKesha, and all and sundry to take Kesha’s word on the matter as holy writ.

From my somewhat limited reading of this case, it looks like a long and messy battle over contractual constrictions, spanning a number of years. One could make the argument that having entered into said deal voluntarily, Kesha has the obligation to honour its terms as agreed; one could also make the argument that, to quote John Badcock, “the binding power of a promise has limits”, that what may have been to mutual benefit today may become decidedly lopsided tomorrow, necessitating a rearrangement, or severance, of terms. Both viewpoints have their merits and, in some cases, may even be reconcilable.

What I’ll never see merit in, however, is the wretched line of thought best exemplified by the inane SJW slogan “listen and believe”.

I mean, I understand why otherwise well-meaning everypeople might be tempted to do just that in regard to allegations of “misogyny”, “sexism”, and all, what with being deluged with torrid testimonials, sloppy stats, and Lifetime lamentations asserting the radical notion that women are perpetual victims. Couple that with the overwhelming (and ever-replicating) urge to breed, the relative statistical neoteny of the double-x demographic, and the propensity of the average homo (non)sapiens to respond to feels over facts, and it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that folk who can’t see will just herd.


However, when it comes to those who aspire to be more than bipedal bovines, who actually give a fuck about weird concepts like “justice” and “due process”, I’m audacious enough to expect more in the way of rigour, scepticism, and critical thinking. Take Kesha’s claims that Dr Luke force-fucked her whilst pinning her down in a contractual chokehold: her own words in a previous out-of-court testimonial call the veracity of her current claims into question, with the singer stating that Luke made no sexual advances toward her, never mind roofies and rape.

Of course, alternative explanations for this discrepancy have been offered. Stockholm Syndrome. An overdeveloped sense of obligation. Capitulation to threats made by the good (?) Doctor. Indeed, any or all of these motives could’ve given rise to her previous protestations, and the fact that said testimonial hit the press in an edited form further fuels the aforementioned speculations. Whatever stance one takes on the matter, I think it safe to say that she’s lying about something, making the whole listen-and-believe proposition all the more laughable.

Insensitive? I’m too amused to give a fuck, especially given that those who espouse the sentiment flagrantly disregard it when it runs counter to their narrative, subjecting denial to far more in the way of scrutiny than affirmation. Having recently seen this dynamic play out elsewhere, the tragicomedy certainly isn’t lost on me.

My bitter laughs intensify upon contemplating the grand feats of social justice these hectoring herd animals could achieve if only their words were heeded more readily:


My, my…what does that remind me of?

Ah, yes…


If anyone can explain how the mobs who murdered/condemned Will Brown and Tom Robinson weren’t the finest, most proactive examples of Listening Believers, I’m all ears; their modern-day Twitterati counterparts have quite a way to go to top those epic feats!

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As for myself, I’ll take “question and verify” over “listen and believe” as an operating slogan, whether the topic be Keshagate, Cologne, Jimmy Savile, Rotherham, or any other media panic, rape-related or otherwise. Opting for light over heat, epoché over emotionalism, reflection over reaction, and hard fact over herdsteria may not accrue clicks, insta-gratification, or even anything approaching a clear answer; it may accrue me a reputation as a “denier”, “rape apologist”, and other such sweet nothings; hell, I may even fall short more than a few times, despite my best intentions. Still, I think it worth a shot: sure beats the asinine alternative!


Posted in Culture, Gender Issues, Moral Panic, News, Politics, Racial Issues, Religion, Sex | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Obliterating Oblomov:

2015-11-29 23.57.42

A month into 2016 C.Y, and I finally see fit to relight the fire of this long-unkindled Inferno. I’d planned to knock something together a little earlier to mark the transition into the new 365-day calendar cluster, but a combo of preoccupation and inertia put paid to that plan. During my period of near-Oblomovian despair and disrepair (punctuated by a stint or several at the gym, thank fuck!), quite a lot took place. The resident grinches of Dar al-Islam saw fit to ban Christmas in both Brunei and Somalia; New Year’s Eve saw celebrations get very much out of hand—or, rather, in hand—in cities across Germany, with the bulk of media coverage (which started days after the fact) focused on the fondlecaust in Cologne; Obama turned out an Oscar-hungry performance, squeezing forth  a press-conference tear for child victims of gun crime (whilst remaining dry-eyed over drone-bombing kids half a world away); rock icon David Bowie—along with a who’s who of other prominent celebs—succumbed to the big C, eliciting a cavalcade of commentary, both interesting and insipid; the Zika virus made its presence sorely felt in Latin America, resulting in the striking spectacle of heads of state telling their subject populations not to breed; a career of rape, genocide, and terrorism with desert pirates Daesh became significantly less lucrative due to pay cuts; and I had a good laugh at their enablers in Dar al-Saud telling UK critics to “respect” the death penalty in their god-pozzed shithole of a nation….weeks after calling presidentially-aspiring billionaire blowhard Donald Trump “a disgrace to America” for his Islam-averse immigration proposal: “Stop kill-shaming us, Britlords!”

Oh yeah…let’s not forget the current campaign to castrate Jonathan Swift (and his fanboys) for his “modest proposal”.

In short, how can I stay inert when there’s a whole wide world out there to hate?

Whilst I’m pretty pleased with last year’s output, various distractions kept me from writing as frequently as I wanted, resulting in me falling short of the goals I set myself last January; as such, I see the current year as more of a continuation than a fresh start, moving more in the direction decided in the previous solar orbit. Expect me to tear into both the political class and public as the need and mood arises, with the jeremiads, invectives, and philippics you, my readers (all five of you), know and love (or hate: masochism can be a helluva drug). As ever, I’ll happily challenge, critique, and even clawhammer the wonky ways ‘n’ whys of god, man, and beast…including the worldviews of those (un)near and dear to me.

Alongside all that, I’ll toss in some reviews and overviews of things I like, whether they be books, movies, series, or that really tasty kebab I had from the local (and not-so-local) eatery; and as for dusting off my more creative chops—watch this space!

My overarching credo for 2016: to set Obmolov’s bed aflame—and properly this time!


Posted in News, Personal, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments