Orteil du Chameille. French. Cool. Translate.
Not trying to shock anybody. I thought the Gosnell trial would end today as a kind of Mother’s Day message. It didn’t. From what the jury has asked of the judge, it looks as if they haven’t even gotten to the Gosnell charges yet. Still dealing with the flunkies, factotums, and stooges who propped up this charnel house.
There’s been other relevant news. Cher’s mom shared that she was sitting in a chair in an abortion waiting room when she decided she couldn’t go through with it. That’s the micro. At the macro level, we have word of a virulent new strain of gonorrhea, completely resistant to antibiotics, that can kill people dead in days. While we continue to make it easier and easier for girls to get morning after pills with no parental knowledge or consent. The important thing above all being that they simply must be free to fuck to their heart’s content. Which serves who exactly?
Libertarian, right? Progressive. Post-Christian modernism, right? Right?
We’re all just supposed to accept that our precious daughters, whom we’d do absolutely anything to protect unless the government disapproves, are being taught to have sex as soon and often as possible. Institutionally approved sex education is about how, not if, or, perish the thought, how not.
So don’t take the link I’m offering. It’s not about any four letter word. And it’s filtered by Google’s “strict” setting. Meaning it’s not explicit or even moderately offensive. It’s harmless, well in line with acceptable cultural norms, whatever they are. But guess what. It gives us a portrait of our daughters. Not all, but way too many. And even your virtuous daughters are friendly with these girls, texting them and learning from them. Ignore me if you prefer. But this is what the millennial generation of young women has become. Staggering percentages of them have sexually transmitted diseases. So much so that antibiotics are simply ceasing to work. Many of them are going to die before they even get to an abortion mill.
The Link.
The so-called smart people want you to turn a blind eye. No man can. Every man knows how provocative this is. When will you stand up and say no? Ever?
Or do we just love NASCAR?
We dig racing. Deeply.
I clicked your link. Then activated moral filtering. Still a whole lotta cameltoe. I have no complaints, but then I’m not the dad of any of the toe-bearers in question.
In the late 60’s Alan Watts complained about the portrayal of fathers as doofuses on TV, and I’d be surprised if he was the first to notice it even then. I spent many of my early years simultaneously loving my dad because he was my dad (and crying when he left to work his two jobs), and resenting my dad because he took his responsibility seriously, which entailed making me learn to work.
Today’s society is down on dads, and the law and the media make being a dad an increasingly unattractive prospect, and that’s what is biting us in the ass.
As much as I’d love a daughter, I’m glad I have boys. I’m a good guy, but I know the hearts of men. If this is the situation now, what will it be in 15 years?
Why I gladly tackled dorm parenting of the freshmen girls’ dorm for three years with my wife. New rule (still in effect today, I’m happy to report): no boys in the dorm, ever. No visits, no common room, no boys.
But you’re right, the girls want to go find out for themselves. They all have the internet too, and perhaps we’ve protected them just enough so that they’re not appropriately frightened of what’s out there.
Lake. I meant to send you a text telling you not to look at this post. Sorry. Don’t want the Gestap… er, school admin to haul you away. I’m glad you have boys too. Reminded me of a thing on Fox & Friends this week. Steve Schirippa, late of Sopranos fame, has a new book out about being a daddy. Hilariously old school. He has rules. The first being, “Because I said so.” He went on a tear about girls versus boys, which made everyone watch Gretchen Carlson, including the cameraman and director. What he said was, boys are easy. Give them a ball and send them to another room. They may break stuff but that’s all. Girls, on the other hand, he said, are sneaky, conniving, complicated, treacherous, and in many ways impossible. Gretchen pursed her lips, frowned, and replied finally, “You’re right.”
It was funny. But for the rest of us it’s not that funny anymore. Except for the Christian compromise, which stipulates that they do have souls, whether it seems that way or not sometimes, and we’re duty bound to act as if we believe it. No other religion with any moral content has ever allowed as much.
Now we are reaping the whirlwind. Of forgetting the danger.
All boys here, too. Thank God.
One of the most asinine and toxic ideas to come out of our time is the notion of “safe sex”. Sex is anything but safe. Not for women, and not for men. (Follow that link… so much wrong in that piece it boggles the mind…)
My boys are a little young to have these conversations. But I intend to try to teach them two main points about sex: 1) Few actions they engage in will have the potential to destroy their lives as easily and as thoroughly; 2) Whatever her father will do to you because of what you did to her, I will do to you first — twice as hard.
I realize that any comment I want to begin with “In my day”. . . is doomed, so I’ll avoid that and instead ask a question that plagues me (probably unanswerable because it is intergenerational.) Is sex as mysterious, exciting, thrilling and lovely as it was when most everything outside of marriage was frowned upon by the culture? Some of my sweetest and most persistent memories involve unfulfilled desires, which I suppose would seem peculiar to my young adult grandchildren if we discussed such matters. In any case, I’m not sorry that I spent most of my life without the knowledge that a photo album of “camel-toe” shots would feature anything other than long-necked hoofed mammals from arid climes.
I’m not sorry either. We love you, Barbara.
Barbara. Still haven’t gotten your email with your address. Get on the stick. Got something to send you.