Saturday, March 18, 2017

The Alpha Asshole

According to evolutionary theory, man shares a common ancestor with chimpanzees, diverging into separate lineages some millions of years ago. Unfortunately, and I am sorry to have to report this, but not all the men made the divergent cut. Ape men still live among us, some cleverly disguised as real men.

Worse yet is that these ape men have infiltrated every rung of the social hierarchy and not just the lower ghetto levels where you would rightly expect to see them. They are down there of course, terrorizing, molesting and raping women and children, stealing from them, exploiting them, psychologically abusing them, beating the shit out of them on a regular basis and generally acting like their physically aggressive brothers in the wild, the alpha male chimpanzee. So that is bad enough, but at least they are relatively easy to spot when that careful but cunning shark, Justice, decides to do something about them.

Most alarming, however, but only because he isn’t as easy to discern as his lower status brethren, is the predatory alpha chimp roaming the upper echelons of society. These are sly assholes, disguised as paunchy peacocks in glittery cloaks of power, credentials, misappropriated intelligence, wealth, fame and charisma – disguises that work to divert everyone’s attention from their clandestine, sleazy motives and crimes.

They strut around fooling people, dazzling them with their shiny objects, clever arguments, bloated conceit and self-important blethering. They spout off in personal sound-bites, engage in shameless self-branding, write and say incredulous, sometimes dangerous things that influence masses of people like a social contagion, and otherwise make bombastic statements about the worth of their own self-serving ideas and abilities, while dismissing, demeaning or attacking those who might disagree with them.

They are hairy blobs of greed and disgusting self-gratification to an excess far beyond the reach of the average person. Those they do not fool – who see them for the repugnant filth they are – the chimps are quite good at harassing into silence.

And while these narcissistic ape men may not have evolved along with the good real men they masquerade as, their top-heavy egos CERTAINLY have grown beyond the confines of their skull, which as karma would have it is often their ultimate downfall.

The main problem with these morbidly obese egos is that they give the egomaniac the illusion that he is an invincible god, that his desires and actions are above reproach, and that he is exempt from the conventions and laws of civilized society. When that sense of entitlement is paired with the urges of your typical smooth-talking, phallic-centered ape-man, particularly a seemingly ingenious one in a control position, no female is safe.

This then should be of concern to everyone because when the girls aren’t safe, society as a whole isn’t safe. The dream is that one day the ape men will be seen for what they are and put in the cages where they belong. To stop them, though, you have to have an eye for the signs of their presence, a mind open to the possibility that "a nice guy" isn't a nice guy but a conman, a nose for their stench and an ear for their sound, paying particular attention to the chatter that invariably swirls around them, especially chatter the chimp handlers are quick to discredit, often with the inane “slut or nut” defense  or the always popular "I didn't know" defense or the "I'm deeply sorry, I'm a changed man" defense. 

Rarely are they ever changed. They just become better liars.

Or perhaps the chimp himself, a chimp such as Jian Ghomeshi, with a delusional belief in his right to do whatever the hell he pleases to whomever he pleases, will take matters into his own hands with an absurdly grandiose and rambling Facebook post that has the audacity to compare the drivel that is Fifty Shades of Grey with the literary brilliance that is anything Lynn Coady writes. How dare he. He should be "hate-fucked" by Satan's minions forever and ever for that cross-reference alone.

I digress.

You see the same out of control ego in the crack-smoking mayorRob Ford, who thinks his “unique” apology is somehow a superpower that magically erases criminal or morally reprehensible behavior with a simple “sorry”, the senator who makes false expense claims, apparently believing the taxpayer is his personal piggy bank, and the world-famous actor who drugs and rapes a series of women over the course of many years and gets away with it even though everyone knows perfectly well he’s doing it.

You also see it in the police officer who sexually harasses a female officer and “kids” with his buddies about "stringing her up on a meat hook and gutting her like a pig". You moreover see it in the successful comedian who generates big laughs with rape jokes, the minister of pretty much anything, whether church or state, who uses his position to sexually impose himself on his tyrannized “inferiors”, and the physician who likewise uses his position to sexually attack and coerce female patients. 

You furthermore see the predatory male ego at work in the Dalhousie dentistry students who saw nothing wrong with starting a Facebook page that openly glorified the disgusting fantasies of nerdy, dim-witted, would-be-dentists who longed to drug and rape their female classmates. These men should not have been merely "suspended". They should be publicly branded with a scarlet P for "Predators", so that when mothers are looking for dentists for their daughters they know who to avoid, but again I digress.

You finally see a grotesquely swollen ego in the corrupt venture capitalist, with a string of dewy young minnows on the fishing line, who made his billions with dirty oil and shady deals, and boasts it all came from hard work, implying the rest of humanity doesn’t work hard. Don’t ask HIM for a charitable “handout”. Sweat harder! The downtrodden masses deserve everything they suffer, as far as he and his male privilege are concerned.

But don’t worry. Nothing lasts forever, even though it feels that way when injustice and barbarism seem to be the predominant flavour of the ages. Even so, with patience, one day the chimp will be taken off guard and instead of a pretty little minnow at the end of his line, he will inadvertently snag a large, divinely-guided predatory female with a cause and a fin and get her attention. And she, the shrewd, carnivorous beauty that she is, will sense the potentially gratifying taste of chimp blood, and with a slash of her teeth reveal his true hideous form as she rips the smug right off his dumb face.

In the meantime, the ape-men are toppling over all on their own, one by one, under the extreme weight of their engorged egos and getting tangled up in nets they themselves unwittingly set.  It is truly a spectacular Darwin Award style extravaganza to behold. They are ruining their careers, losing their jobs, their health, their money, their people, their status, their allure, their book deals, their following and their freedom.

Some are even being returned to their mothers.

Thursday, May 28, 2015

Barbie has some Pretty big shoes to fill with those Pretty big Feet

What has happened to Barbie’s feet? They are humungous. Everything else about her seems pretty much the same, maybe a little more hippy and slightly less busty, but those differences are barely perceptible. Her feet though?

Barbie's old school generation feet before the gender wage gap was considered an issue.  

Barbie's millennial generation feet kicking in doors, closing wage gaps and breaking glass.

With all the feminist concern and speculation over the years regarding Barbie’s possible negative influence on the burgeoning self-image and cultural status of little girls, this is the result? Bigger, flatter feet?

Is this going to be a thing now? Girls will start stuffing their shoes so their feet look a few sizes bigger than they actually are and then flop around, tripping over their own flipper-like feet in a futile attempt to be just like Barbie?

Social commenters and experts of various persuasions will blame pop culture in general and Barbie in particular for an epidemic of clumsiness seen in female preadolescents, as well as an alarming trend towards risky calcaneal implants and phalangeal fillers amongst young women old enough to give surgical consent.

People will reminisce with a sense of loss and nostalgia over the good old days, when girls had normal sized feet and could walk without twisting an ankle or doing a face plant in the pavement. There will be an explosion in the number of ER visits related to fractured bones and bloody noses. Barbie will thus be implicated in an overburdened health care system, resulting in a public outcry that Mattel resize its Barbie molds yet again.

Even more troubling, some investigative journalist will uncover a new and up-until-then little spoken of foot fetish spreading throughout the male population, whereby a significant number of men can no longer be aroused by small to average footed females.

The word “paw” transforms into a crude misogynist slur and eventually a grassroots movement is born to reclaim the “P word”.

There will be a surge in feminist outrage and a long overdue rise in masculine shame, leading to a rash of 12-step groups popping up near orthotic centres and shoe stores everywhere.

Podophillia becomes a crime and police put out an alert to be on the lookout for online predators posing as podiatrists with an unusually intrusive interest in toe jam and plantar warts.

More disturbing than that, foot rape also becomes a crime and females are warned against enhancing the size of their feet, the implication being that if a girl makes her foot too out-of-proportionally appealing then she’s “asking for it”.

There will be much debate regarding what constitutes consent. If an abnormally lengthened second phalanx unintentionally extends beyond the confines of an open-toed sandal and accidentally brushes against a nearby male foot while commuting on a bus, for example, is that akin to consent? There are, after all, A LOT of easily excitable nerves in a human foot, especially when said foot has not been permanently numbed by botulism and the unsteady hand of a second rate plastic surgeon with a drinking problem.

Is it reasonable then that a foot rapist overcome by the overwhelming physical sensations of involuntary pedal spasms be held criminally responsible? To what extent, if any, should a victim, conditioned by societal foot norms and fashion trends, be blamed for the assaults on her augmented feet?

These polarizing questions will elicit angry responses from all sides with the less intellectually evolved factions arguing if a girl is going to traipse about town with swollen, heaving feet ballooning out all over the place then she must be begging for, and thus deserve, an assaultive foot massage from some random perpetrator covered in facial hair and wielding a pair of menacing nail clippers.

In retaliation, loosely organized Paw Walks and flash mobs will spontaneously sprout up in cities across the country with women baring naked feet, fungus and all, and holding signs that read: “These Paws Were Made for Walking and Walking is What they’ll do. These Paws are gonna Walk all over You!”

On the bright side, Barbie and her pretty little head always did have some pretty big shoes to fill. Maybe now she can actually fill them.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Dumb Politicians and Female Bodies

I thought I was listening to CBC’s Rewind when I got in my car, turned on the radio and heard this retro-trope:

"They can't get on any more skin tight, it looks like sausage casings. Their belly button is pushing through the material and I kinda look at that and I go, 'I get it, you're pregnant, all right.' Now why, why, why such a desire to push that out in front of everyone?"

It wasn’t until later in the day that I came to understand the above was not some archival soundbite dredged up from patriarchal antiquity. It was one David Chesney, White Rock council member, currently expressing the opinion of not only his fine pasty self, but that of others who have made their revulsion of the pregnant form known via email and social media regarding a meteorologist named Kristi Gordon, who had the audacity to get herself pregnant and not go into hiding.

In reality, the only thing that should go into hiding is not the visual evidence of human reproduction, but the ignorant opinions of old, doughy-brained politicians and like-minded individuals regarding the various states of the female body, opinions such as this:

"The fact is that the styling was much different through the '50s, '60s, '70s — even in the '80s women wore a little bit more loose-fitting clothes. But as I say, nowadays, how they can yank on those Lululemon sweatpants and body dance skins, and go out in public at eight months pregnant ... I don't find it repulsive (obviously he’s lying) I just really have to question, why that?"

“It’s a touchy point, but that’s just my opinion and by golly I’m entitled to it”.

With the world’s population projected to reach 10 billion by 2050 at a rate of something like two babies born every second, witnessing a reasonably dressed pregnant woman out in public or on TV should be one of the least shocking, most natural sights any citizen on the planet comes across.

If you’re going to question “why that?” then, you might as well jump into the existential rabbit hole and question why the human race exists to begin with? Why does it persist? Why is there something instead of nothing? And the most perplexing question of all: Why all the cognitive dissonance when it comes to the female human? It’s this weird mix of fear, hatred, lust, obsession, revulsion and worship. When will it stop because it is getting really, really boring. We’re here, you’re here. Deal with it. Master your testosterone.

Master your testosterone, ESPECIALLY if you have a problem with pregnant women. It seems counterintuitive and dumb otherwise.

And while you’re at it, show some respect for your mothers, mothers-to-be and potential mothers (in other words, WOMEN), for god’s sake.

The David Chesneys of the world with their “by golly” entitlement would not be here at all, sharing oxygen and pompously spouting their confused, outdated opinions if not for a mother, who through much mental anguish, physical discomfort and pain, first prepared the way for them.

Don’t stand on the backs, hard work, sacrifice and suffering of those who came before you, who made your quality of life – nay, your very existence – possible, and disregard, minimize or act contemptuous of what was done for you, that you could never have done on your own, and that enables you to enjoy whatever freedoms you exercise.

Honour your mothers, "repulsive" pregnancies and all.

And if you still want to question “why that?”, how about the epidemic of unnatural, pregnant-looking, large-breasted men lumbering around like Neanderthals, not in Lululemon sweatpants but in stained, saggy, grey sweatpants that although loose-fitting, STILL leave nothing to the nightmares of imagination. I have the misfortune of witnessing these sausages without casings, these abominations of nature, every day, often getting out of vehicles with bumper-stickers indicating their admiration for the yoga pant and child brides.

This double standard of objectifying the female form and then abhorring it when it doesn’t fit into the sexualized ideal, while simultaneously humoring, even celebrating an overtly disgusting version of the male form has been eating me alive since I was young enough to notice such gross injustices. It’s turned me into a pissed off human being, not because I was born bitter, but because the world has made me this way. No one likes to have a cabbage-roll stuffed down her throat while she gags and told she likes it. Gag reflexes don’t lie, and oppression will either kill the spirit or ignite it into a raging fire of revolt.

If society in general doesn’t want to deal with outraged feminine energy, then stop with the degradation. It’s not difficult. Just don’t do it. There is nothing easier in this world than not doing something. For example, David Chesney could have easily not said this: “When you become a public figure as Kristi Gordon chose to do, you are put to a higher standard”.

I won't mention pots and kettles because a womb evidencing the miracle of life is hardly the hypocritical equivalent of a culturally irrelevant politician from White Rock with probable karmic erectile dysfunction regurgitating the same tired misogyny, but the only person in this equation displaying dismal conduct, poor judgment and stupidity is David Chesney. Kristi Gordon has conducted herself with nothing but grace and beauty. Pregnancy will do that to a girl.

She definitely deserves a professionally done belly-cast for having to deal with this bullshit when she is pregnant. David Chesney? Buck up buddy boy.

Thursday, April 16, 2015


“It says right across your forehead, integrity for sale,” isn’t just a catchy Nickelback lyric. It’s a reflection of our times. It’s also a hard cultural truth we are constantly being forced to face by those who, whether intentionally or not, take the public stage hostage and use it as a platform to show the world just how despicable and stupid a human being can be.

For us Canadians, though, this cultural pain was largely, at least ostensibly,  felt vicariously through our neighbors to the south: Those living large, gun-slinging, fast-food, Walmart Americans with their bizarre, over-the-top celebrity worship and cartoon politics.

But then the Mayor of Toronto, Rob Ford, and his long suffering wife, Renata, came along like a counter-superhero with a cunnilingus-receiving sidekick to ruin the day and obliterate any smugness Canadians might have been harbouring regarding their superior level-headedness and decorum.

He is Rob Ford! The Apologizing Man! His special anti-power is his sincere-insincere apology…sincerely.

Not even a cancer diagnosis can stop this man from apologizing.

It would in fact appear that he never leaves his house without an apology in his right pocket and up until relatively recently a crack pipe in his left. 

And while the call of fate might have forced Rob Ford to put his crack pipe down in order to deal with a physical body that will no longer cooperate with his base desires, nothing will EVER make him give up his Special-Shield-Apology-Badge. Give me apology or give me death! He defiantly keeps it with him at all times for those inevitable occasions when he still needs to publicly apologize.

In the past, he has found this badge of dishonor useful in situations where he has been caught in drunken stupors while jay-walking or getting high in  the midst of plotting the demise of one of his many perceived enemies.

When he’s caught doing or saying something he really should not – which he always gets caught – he whips out his badge with an unsteady hand, staggers to his knees and offers up an apology after the fact, the way a sinner prays for forgiveness while committing his sins. The difference is that unlike the praying hypocrite, Rob, the Apologizing Hypocrite, falls to his knees not out of genuine contrition, but because he is weak in more ways than one and letting empty words drool out of his mouth requires a lot less effort than being accountable.

Basically, this privileged, undisciplined bowling ball of a man has made a deal with the devil – albeit a Looney Tunes Tasmanian one – in which integrity has been exchanged for addiction and all the corruption and soul-erosion that goes hand-in-hand with the kind of self-indulgent substance and food abuse Rob Ford enjoys.

No one can know for sure if Robby Boy, whose denial is so great he refers to himself in the third person because he cannot bear to accept the buffoon that he is in first person, ever had any integrity to begin with. But if he did, he lost it along with the definition of “sincerely”.

He has made so many public apologies using the word “sincerely”, when clearly he is NOT sincere, that one has to wonder if he has dyslexia in addition to his other glaring issues.

It is as if he believes the word “sorry” literally works like a delete key and that its mere utterance completely erases deplorable behavior, as if the behavior never happened in the first place. He has convinced himself of this so thoroughly that he actually becomes self-righteously offended when asked by reporters and others to explain himself.

He has never understood what the problem is. As far as he’s concerned, he might be a man who likes to have a good time outside of his job, but so what! Who doesn’t? And sure, he’s “a little rough around the edges”, but he’s also a man who “calls a spade a spade” and up until his unfortunate liposarcoma diagnosis never missed a day of work.

Rob also likes to point out, all apologizing aside, that he really is a good guy who, for example, NEVER took advantage of the free zoo pass to which he was entitled as a council member and NOT just because he's a baboon fearful of zoos. He is quite proud of all his self-sacrifice, as any self-congratulating baboon would be.

He furthermore thought it was a DISGRACE that other counsellors, who don't even resemble zoo animals, would waste taxpayer dollars by taking advantage of ANY of the varied perks allowed them. Rob Ford, for one, would NEVER rip off the electorate in such a blatantly unfair way.

While other counsellors were living large with free metro passes, for instance, Mayor Ford resigned himself to blasting around in his own gas-guzzling Cadillac Escalade using fuel he paid for himself. He furthermore apologized REPEATEDLY for many, many things and continues to do so. What’s the problem? He’s sorry. There is nothing more he can do.

Watching any one of Rob Ford’s apologies, absurd rationalizations and deep affronts to the social order is the funniest thing to ever happen to Canadian news. He will be missed.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Spectacle of Poverty, illusion of Choice

There is choice and there is freewill say the consumers of spectacle, directors of fate: Dirty ecstasy fed by pure misery. 

In a country well governed, poverty is something to be ashamed of. 
In a country badly governed, wealth is something to be ashamed of 
― Confucius

It's all in good fun: the poverty, the degradation, the addiction, the insanity, the pain, the suffering and the sin punishable by eternal hell. They – the consumers of miserable spectacle and partakers of freewill – drive down the garbage strewn streets of the East Side, as if they are sauntering down the popcorn littered aisles of a movie theatre.

The shows are tragic, satirical, alluring, perverse, deserving of contempt and ridicule. But the choice is up to the spectator: a game and not someone's reality. The unwitting players are game pieces, the consequence of amusement. They dress in spandex and torn denim and have scabbed, ruddy complexions. They need money and compassion, but the spectators deal strictly in Monopoly funds.

The elite audience, the watchers, falsely proposition the indigent and stigmatized and then laugh with windblown freedom in the wake of so much despair. Their carefree Mustang low-profile wheels whiz by the prostitutes and beggars, the psychotic, mentally challenged and the physically disabled. Reckless disregard that comes with dominance paralleled by the oppressive consequences of recklessness. Exquisite madness echoed by laughter.

"Hey Mister, ya need a hand?!"

More laughter.

The veteran amputee wearily looks up in time to see the blur of gel-tipped streaks and tanned, steroid-pumped biceps — one man's lost limb a found treasure of conviviality for those with privilege.

A penny hits a woman in worn-out stilettos like a hard flick. They assume she’s a hooker and dispensable.

Penny for your thoughts? More laughter.

She trips and looks up angrily. Privilege drives by celebrating as usual — a show for them, but for her the painful sting of an unanticipated projectile. But she is as habituated to the stigmata that clings to her as those kids are to their entitlement, so she carries on, limping down the street. What else can she do?

The woman passes George who caresses his brown paper bag, alcohol-stained along the edges. He doesn't care about anything and he too is accustomed to the stigmata of his skin. But he doesn't like to think about it and stumbles along in drunken oblivion. He vaguely hears the celebration – the hoots and hollering of the "rebellious" young people who mistake conformity to the status quo for rebellion. George lets out a half-hearted, slurred "yahoo" in response. He still recalls, like a nagging at the darkest recesses of his mind, when life was fun.

He has financial restitution tucked into his boot from the government man and lawyer guy. He doesn't remember their names, but he recalls the memories they lured out of the deep crevices of his pillaged mind and quickly shakes his head. He clutches his paper bag and takes a big chug. This is why his cash is almost gone – he spends it chasing those unwanted recollections with whisky as if it’s his choice, as if he has any control over his tremulous hands or the relentless voice in his head demanding he drink.

He worries during rare lucid moments of what will happen when the blood money runs out. He knows as well as anyone that money is finite, but memories are until death do you part. Without the booze, those once repressed memories will no longer be biting at his heels – they’ll be eating him alive and wolfing him down in agonizing chunks.

Money might buy his poison and a bed for the night, but it doesn't buy away the priests with their molesting hands or the nuns with their generous whips. He hears his great grandmother's language from the grave, and they tell him he’s schizophrenic. He doesn't understand his choices, but he is told he has some.

Sherry isn't even 16 yet and she doesn't understand her choices, either. She robotically injects another nearly collapsed vein. Her mother died yesterday — just another overdosed junkie. "Deado-Stinko," as Sherry’s barfly stepfather, her "groomer", would say.

Sherry will miss her mother – she taught her daughter every trick she knew.

Too bad for Sherry, the one trick her mother never knew and never taught her was the biggest trick of all, the only trick that saves anyone: free will, free choice.

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Rape Culture: Exposing the Rot

In today’s information age, we are exposed at an unprecedented rate to horrific accounts of sexual assault.  It is making some of us uncomfortably aware. And while ignorance may be bliss, it is only blissful to the ignorant. To the socially conscious, to the street-wizened and to the victimized, ignorance is a tool of oppression and a means of propagating injustice and misery. 

This awareness – that our blissful ignorance has been complicit in the brutalization of a significant portion of the human race – is often coupled with a compulsion to act; in other words work, and possibly unpleasant, frustrating, thankless, unblissful work; hence the ignorance is bliss thing. It’s less work and bother to blame the victim. But once you know, you know. You can no longer snuggle up in a threadbare quilt of ignorance and still expect to be cozy.

In the past if you were raped, few people heard about it, unless it was a particularly sensational or gruesome story. As for you, the anonymous one, you were more or less condemned to suffer in the privacy of your own head, with only the pain of your battered body to remind you that you were indeed a human being and not an inanimate object meant for male consumption and communal use, like a public toilet.

Then again maybe that really was all you were worth. Perhaps you deserved it. The societal messages that surrounded you certainly suggested you deserved it or worse yet “wanted” it.

But you didn’t deserve it and you absolutely did not want it.

It seemed the only available options to reconcile this cognitive dissonance between what you were told and what you knew were acquiescence, suppression, denial, rationalization or a big ass bottle of booze and a bevy of pills. There was no easy therapy.

If all else failed, a self-applied noose around the neck and a suicide note would take care of the problem. You were already dead inside anyway, and no one seemed to notice that. They didn’t know about your ordeal nor did they care to know. You were utterly alone.

You were also ashamed.

You were ashamed because even though it conflicted with your reality, the culture and era in which you found yourself told you in subliminal and not so subliminal ways that not only did you want to be raped but you were MEANT to be raped.

All girls, in fact, were hardwired and physically formed to desire rape and used their sexuality to manipulate men into raping them. It wasn’t the man’s fault; he was just doing what the reptilian part of his brain told him to do. Men had no more control than a dog in heat over their natural urge to copulate with any accessible female they could get their molesting hands on, even if that female was an actual duck.

It was thus left up to women, who were NOT cursed to wander the planet with debilitating thoughts of ejaculation every 12 seconds, to act as bodyguards. Men were vulnerable and needed protection from their overwhelming testosterone-directed impulses – impulses which could be triggered by virtually ANYTHING.

Nothing like a sexy gouty toe to tempt a guy.

The male libido was a handicap for men. Women, who did not possess this same handicap, were by default held accountable (because someone HAD to be) for whatever happened to female bodies, even as they were paradoxically prohibited from making choices that affected those SAME bodies.

If you were female and someone raped you, assaulted you, insulted you with gendered hate speech and rape jokes, or impregnated you, the only person you could blame was yourself. You should have been a better bodyguard.

The “good” women who covered their parts, averted their eyes and did as they were told were not a threat to the practice of NOT randomly raping people. These upstanding ladies were still raped mind you, just not as much, or so society was told to believe.

The “bad” women who had opinions, disagreed and dressed how they wanted based on personal style, fashion trends and comfort were fair game. Their appearances and mannerisms prodded at men’s fragile self-control like a fool prodding a rabid beast with a stick.

It was only a natural inevitability then that a man would succumb to his weakness and sexually impose himself on whoever or whatever (there was a guy who couldn’t control himself near a cow and was forced to marry her) inadvertently provoked his hypersensitive arousal.

Stupid people who goaded aggressive animals deserved what they got (although it’s hard to say how the cow provoked her rape. Was it her sexually stimulating “moo”?)

Consequently, accused “rapists” were seen as rape victims. They were lured to rape in the same way Eve lured Adam to defy God. Females were responsible for the evils of men because at the heart of the matter, even though women were the inferior gender, feminine sexuality was a tool of mind control. It didn’t make sense, but when it came to rapists it didn’t have to make sense.

Men were so afraid of this magical feminine power that tricked rapists into committing rape that in certain places women were forced to hide their wicked femaleness under loose fitting clothing, in some cases to the point of wearing heavy black cloaks over their heads like body bags.

Apparently the thinking here was (still is) that females lost their power when men couldn’t objectively see their femininity, when they blended into the background like black ghosts floating before a white sky.

However, there did remain a few astute men, who although may have been blind to stark contrasts, nevertheless understood covering something with a sheet did not literally make the thing disappear. The thing still existed – it still had genitalia – and women were still raped.

But again, since all women were genetically programmed to be consenting whores who trapped men into raping them, rape was not technically rape anyway. There was no such thing as consensual rape, even evidently if one of the people “consenting” was not consenting willingly.

No did not mean no.

Besides, everyone understood that genuine rape was only committed by alcoholic degenerates, drug addicts and psychopaths. Normal men with jobs didn’t rape.

But some of us understand things differently now.

And while the aforementioned attitudes towards rapists and their victims obviously persist today in our, what has been dubbed, “rape culture”, the difference is that what was once ignored is now being examined. This piece of seemingly fresh meat has been kicked over to reveal its rot and the maggots are scattering.

We are seeing things we’ve never seen before.

Just as advances in science and technology have revealed errors in many other once widely held manufactured beliefs, these advancements have also, perhaps unintentionally, revealed gross misconceptions and willful denials regarding rape.

There is no hiding from these realities. The shared knowledge travels along the information highway faster than a rapist can find an alibi or zip up his pants.

Any despicable thing a person does can potentially be recorded by a passerby and shared with the world in the blink of an eye.

It is more difficult, although not impossible, to make the “she asked for it” defence when there is a video that’s gone viral of you and your buddies gang raping an unconscious girl or a girl who is fully conscious and can be heard, seen and felt screaming in terror and agony, begging for it to end.

It is also more difficult to argue rape was actually consensual sex when there is a corpse and a suicide note in the form of a Youtube vlog, which unequivocally conveys the message that the “sex” was not by consent but by force. If a girl would rather be dead than alive with the nightmare of her assault replaying in her head every breathing moment, how can any reasonable person say she “wanted it”?

It is furthermore harder to claim rape only happens to women who behave and dress provocatively when every day we are told of innocent children being even more barbarically violated than their older rape-victim counterparts. 

Then there are the countless women who are raped while minding their own business, walking down the street in anything but a seductive manner, or housed in the seclusion and “safety” of their own homes. Men are also raped.

And we won’t even go into how rape is used as a weapon of war and terrorism.

What is exceedingly clear from this steady stream of rape reporting and female shaming is that the criminal act of rape has little to do with the actions of the person who is raped. The rapist can choose NOT to sexually assault people, it’s as simple as that.

Rapists can walk away from an unconscious, semi-naked or even fully naked girl passed out on a sofa and it’s absurd to claim otherwise.

Despite the dangerous myths surrounding rape culture, the mere sight of a girl, particularly one who is intoxicated and physically vulnerable, does not literally suspend male freewill as all sense drains from his brain directly into his disgusting erection.

The human brain has evolved beyond its limbic system and does have access to higher levels of cognitive functioning. The male brain CAN make the decision to not rape someone despite the state of his body and the rationalizations of his peanut mind. Even rapists were trained as toddlers how to control their base urges, otherwise more of them would be constantly shitting their pants in shame.

But of course there will always be the usual misogynists, religious fanatics and misguided apologists who will refuse to place the blame squarely on the rapist’s shoulders. They will continue to argue, as Nick Ross did, that “rape isn’t always rape”; the victim must take some responsibility. He likens a provocatively dressed female to a “sack of cash” left unguarded at the front door of a bank, or in the middle of a poorly secured airport.

Ah, sorry but NO. Giving in to the temptation of stealing a bag of unchaperoned money that does not breathe, feel pain, have emotions or a brain is NOT the equivalent of forcing yourself on another human being who finds you repulsive. And even if you didn’t make her sick to her stomach – even if she was attracted to you – she STILL would not be interested in having you sexually assault her.

But none of that matters does it? Lowlifes and sadists who choose to think of rape as welcomed seduction are not, as a rule, impressed by pleas to a sense of humanity, video-recorded facts, expert and reason-based opinions, or eye witness testimonies that conflict with their depraved bias. No one, however, was going to enlighten those lesser evolved, semen-controlled cretins anyway.

But don’t give up trying to sway them. Until a thing is dead there is always a grain of hope – no matter how unlikely – that a metamorphosis could occur.

For the more advanced human, though, the ongoing accounts of rape and brutality torment the intellect and generate awareness. Ultimately, it is this awareness that revs up the enormous, slow-to-start, gas-guzzling engine of social change.

The epidemic rape stories are morbid, but they are also vital sources of fuel that can be mined, exported, consumed and recycled. This is the power of the people driving the engine.

Granted, it is not unanimously conceded rape is or ever was an epidemic, nor is it accepted across the board that a rape culture exists.

There remain those who choose to believe rape is nothing more than a minor nuisance that’s been blown out of proportion by radical feminism and mass media, with an agenda to either malign men or create sensationalized news stories for the sole purpose of increasing viewer and readership amongst the unthinking masses.

But whether you believe a disease is a disease or the product of choice makes little difference to the disease’s progression. A carcinoma left unencumbered, undetected and unaddressed will spread. And while the relentless reporting of rape on a daily basis might seem like the cancer, it is actually the first flush of a cure.

As some of humanity takes notice it’s under attack by sinister phenomena and always has been, it is no longer okay to passively sit by as rape after rape after rape occurs without restraint or protest.

Some appendages of humanity, while not completely awake, are beginning to show signs of life. An army of social activism is being assembled in response to the river of human sludge that snakes its way throughout the internet, infecting humanity, spreading hate, inciting violence and ruining innocent lives.

Change is a foot.

But it is a painful change and it doesn’t take much effort to find the source of this pain. Do a quick Google News search and you will find a self-replenishing supply. Turn on the TV or stroll down the street and chances are your brain will be sucker-punched with this repugnant information.

There is the seemingly endless stream of rape cases out of Pakistan, Afghanistan and India involving children and young women, such as the recent report of a 4-year-old who was lured with the promise of a banana and then ripped apart in a violent act of sexual assault. She was found hemorrhaging and later died of cardiac arrest.

The week before, there was a 5-year-old from New Delhi who met a similar fate. New Delhi was also the setting of a gang rape that ignited huge protests demanding something be done about the pandemic of violence against women and girls in India. The 23-year-old medical student was taken hostage on a bus and gang raped by six men in particularly gruesome and sadistic ways while the bus kept in motion. Her companion was beaten to near death. The bloodied twosome was eventually discarded on the side of the road and 2 weeks later the young victim died from her injuries. The family did not want her name released for fear of the shame it would bring the victim’s family.

On this continent, no one will soon forget the deeply disturbing, news-breaking story of Ariel Castro kidnapping, confining, torturing and raping three girls who he kept imprisoned in his Cleveland shack of a house – in the SAME neighborhood they were snatched from – over a TEN YEAR period. How does something like that go unnoticed when there were SO MANY indicators? This is the same insidious cancer referred to above.

Then there are the stories of sexual coercion and persecution that utilize social media in some way. There is the story of a 12-year-old girl from New York who was raped at gunpoint by three teen boys, one of whom recorded the whole thing. The video was then shared on Facebook like a trophy to be admired.

Facebook seems to come up a lot in these tales of horror.

The NY attack is just one in a vast library of instances where a gang rape has been recorded and then proudly shared on Facebook or You Tube as if the rapists had actually accomplished something worthy of applause and recognition.

As the war on rape wages in the US, with cases such as the Steubenville trial where two teenaged football players were found guilty of repeatedly raping a drugged 16-year-old girl at various parties throughout a single evening, in Canada 17-year-old, Rehtaeh Parsons, hung herself as a result of being raped at 15.

After the rape, Parsons was systematically shamed and harassed over the next two years, with the by now familiar custom of sharing images of the assault and engaging in rape-encouraging propaganda via the internet. Before Parsons, a similar fate befell Amanda Todd, who was painted with a virtual Scarlet letter and then mercilessly cyber-bullied until she too was pushed into suicide.

We could carry on with the stories, but there are too many – this blog would never conclude and hopelessness would ensue, brought on by the sheer impossible volume of cases.

But there is, I’ve discovered, an antidote for such despair in stories of protest, action and justice. These are the stories where the muted bystanders and the victims, the apathetic and the apologetic, the paralyzed and the indecisive begin to move and make noise. They stand up from their kneeled positions, readjust their averted eyes, and break free from their restraints to say NO. Enough is enough.

This awakened outrage is seen in the protests of India where common people have been revolting against the tyranny of rape and violence towards women and children, letting their government know they will not stand idly by anymore.

We see the antidote in the groups and projects that spread awareness and take action around the world, such as Everyday Sexism and the Girl Effect, as well as the heroic efforts of the Global Fund for Women and Amnesty International, in addition to many more.

And while these entities are grand, noble, necessary organizations that address large scale human rights issues and the legalities involved, the coolest part of the pushback against rape culture is the boots on the ground stuff. These are the people who are not necessarily fighting to change laws – they are fighting to revolutionize the minds that make and support those laws and the cultural practices and beliefs that justify rape. They are shifting cultural paradigms, informing ignorance and slowly but surely changing the world.