Saturday, June 14, 2008
Bludgeon Me Not With Roe v. Wade
I know that John McCain is a sexist pig. He's a Bushist Fascist Republican, after all. I expect him to be a cunt-calling, dumpy-wife-dumping, Chancellor-Merkel-petting, pubic-hair-on-the-coke can, government-forced maternity kinda guy.
Liberal/progressive Democrats I expect not to be cunt-calling sexist pigs.
Or even regular old garden-variety sexist pigs.
Litmus test: IF sexist, THEN non-progressive. Q.E.D.
I mean, how hard is that?
So when those on the left side of the aisle begin shrieking like those on the right, I get a little worried.
And not just about poor little cotton-candy pink Unity Pony with her big round sad eyes, puking and retching in the ER, waiting for 2 days to be seen because the hospital found out her health insurance was bogus and tossed her out of the ICU.
What worries me is all this stuff about Hillaryists being responsible to save Party Unity Pony.
Uh -- not.
It's the malign acceptance of sexism (in Big Tent Democrat's term) among so-called progressives that is driving large sections of its base into the arms of -- someone.
Someone else. To McCain/The Greens/sitting out this election/none of the above/not sure yet call me later.
This breach was caused by the behavior of deeply gender-biased otherwise adult boyz who just don't get it, and needs to be healed by actual progressive men who do 'get it'. Like sending Nixon to China. Those boyz -- and you know who they are -- aren't going to listen to girlz in the first place, and they haven't. If they'd listened when we first spoke up -- and speak up we girlz did -- they wouldn't still be in the mess that they're certainly in.
And it is their mess, not ours. It is the bilious stench of classic neanderthal testosterone-deficient sexist sniggering fratboy crap, coming from, of all people, "progressives," that has contaminated our Democratic political environment and spread through the body politic like Ebola.
It's got to stop.
Real progressive men can save Unity Pony, so
this is a call to arms.
Arise, cool dudes, and join the Sweetie Rebellion.
Ball's in your court. ;)
(Note to self: did one just indulge oneself in a rescue fantasy? Hm.
Let's reframe: Marine on point discovers dangerous enemy target, calls in airstrike, transmits relevant coordinates.
Yes, it's just a metaphor, people. But it works.)