“The proximate cause of all our woes is/
Civilizational apoptosis”—My Ling Gum, late Tang (or early Gatorade) Dynasty
In my role as chief social oncologist of the Republic (remember it?) I offer the following diagnostic snippets. Although the patient is dying, the disease remains of interest. Let us begin with the Secretary of State. A headline:
Kerry: ‘I’m Working Hard to … Have Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender Ambassadors’
From a curmudgeonly point of view, this is wonderful. America is going to be represented abroad by a freak show. The country is going to hell, sissified neocon Tamerlanes in panties bankrupt us with brainless wars they don´t understand, the schools make us an international joke, but the Secretary of State rushes to fill the consulates with sexual abnormalities.
Washington begins to make a Weimar bordello look like Mormon Sunday school. I picture myself showing up at some embassy for an interview and being told, “The ambassador will be with you in a moment. Just now, he’s fucking a sheep.”
Male or female? The sheep, I mean. With the ambassador, it would probably be hard to tell.
I am losing track of the various weirdities whose tiny concerns and wounded vanities are now the chief concern of policy domestic and for eign. It used to be only homosexuals. Now we must reverence bisexuals, transsexuals, transgendered (what is the difference?), transvestites, sadomasochistic hobbyists, perhaps bisexual transsexual homosexuals, and so on. I often see initials like LBGT, which I at first understood to be a sandwich (Lettuce, Bacon, Tomato, Garlic….) Can bestiality be far behind (so to speak)?
What is an actual man like Vladimir Putin going to think of an American ambassadress when he knows that she has a surgically implanted silicone penis and a hairy chest from testosterone injections?
“Oh please, cut off my willy/
I know you think it’s silly/
But Sally wants a schlong/
Says she was born all wrong/
/o get me my bottle of Elmer’s Glu-u-u-ue….”
Excuse me. I am a frustrated Milton.
This is nuts. It is one thing, and a good thing, for a decent society to leave the sexually disturbed in peace, for the police not to harass homosexuals or raid known but discrete “gay” bars. (Though, if we can have homosexual bars in which the normal are not welcome, why can we not have normal bars in which homosexuals are not welcome? Can we not choose with whom we want to drink?) (No.) If discrete (that word again) sex shops deep in the city wants to sell motorized dildos, hig-fashion whips, and male chastity belts, well…the buyers do no harm to others. It is another thing to turn the whole damn country into Caligula’s bedroom.
Apparently the greatest transgression in America today is “homophobia.” The word is etymologically absurd as well as linguistically inaccurate, but these are concerns for the literate, who are rapidly going out of existence. “Homophobia” ought to mean “fear of homos,” but nobody is afraid of them, just tired of endlessly hearing about them. Go in peace, but go. Or just shut up.
Next we have the firing of the commander of the Navy’s Blue Angels precision-flying team. Why? Well, someone complained. These days, someone is always complaining. Anyway, says the Washington Post: “The complaint described an atmosphere rife with sexually explicit speech, the open display of pornography and jokes about sexual orientation.”
I nearly spewed coffee on my keyboard on reading this. Did some iddle-widdle person, or personette, get his, or her, or its, or to-be-determined, or some of each, knickers in a knot because …soldiers talk dirty? Did someone, some heartless, you know, male, make a joke about not bending over in the shower while Jim Bob was around? Oh, the heartlessness of these…Ohhhh! It makesth me want to hiss! And they look at dirty pictures of girls!
Clearly the only course is to recruit transgendered, bifurcate, cross-dressing and surgically modified fliers in a nonviolent military. We need compassionate fighter pilots, none of this horrible masculinist aggressiveness.
The military is rotten with this stuff. I maybe first noticed it perhaps twenty years ago when some girl Marine complained that she couldn’t keep up on morning runs, and it made her feel uncomfortable, or devalued, or unesteemed, or something. (It would have made me feel slow, but that’s much too straightforward.) I think she was a lieutenant, but she backed the commanding general down. The runs were abolished. The purpose of the military is to make women, incompetent minorities, and the sexually baroque feel good.
The generals know that putting girls in the military is a terrible idea, but they all belong to the Order of the Empty Jockstrap, and may well have a cocktail dress or two in a hidden corner of their closets. I have more respect for Third-World generals gorgeous as cockatoos in flashy uniforms with feathers. They at least have the courage of their corruption and do not pretend to be serious soldiers.
Next we have the browning of America, which has become a sort of geographic toaster-oven. The country is merging with Mexico, as hard as it can. It is an astonishing thing to do for no particular reason. Nobody can quite explain why. At the highest level, it makes sense: We have a black president and attorney general who do not like white people, whom they believe to have mistreated blacks. What sweeter revenge than to turn their country a nice mahogany color? And businessmen want cheap labor. But to drastically changes the nature and prospects of what was the world’s leading nation so that McDonald’s can have its burgers flipped at lesser cost—here is a marvel new under the sun. Countries deserve what they tolerate, and this one will tolerate anything. Except freedom of association or expression, or civilized levels of schooling.
Finally, we have criminalization of children. If a little boy points his finger and sys “Bang!” he is handcuffed by the police and dragged from school, to be subjected to psychiatry. This in the planet’s most militarily aggressive country, in which said little boy is constantly exposed to war movies and murderous video games. Dodge ball is violence, but join the Marines and be a man among men. Oh god, I said it. No. I mean be a transgendered transvestite caring person among persons.
What has gone wrong with the continental asylum? Dunno, but it’s a hell of a show. Buy the ticket, take the ride.
(Reprinted from Fred on Everything by permission of author or representative)