Feminist Karma

Bullied Michael Brown: Another Victim of White Racism

 By MILES GLORIOSUS

Another day, another saintly black child killed by a white racist.

Here's how the story looks from news media accounts:

• Michael Brown, trying to get some candy on his way to church, was viciously assaulted by a store clerk who was at least half his size.

• The clerk insisted that Brown pay for the candy even though his ancestors were slaves and he never benefited from white privilege.

• Moments later, a psychopathic WHITE COP accosted Brown in the street for NO REASON except that he was black.

• Brown dropped to his knees, put up his hands, and started singing church hymns about love and universal brotherhood.

• The cop then murdered Brown in cold blood out of pure racist malevolence.

Eugene Robinson, a columnist for The Washington Post, put it best:

"We’ve been through this so many times. Brown, from all reports, was a good kid who had just graduated from high school and was about to enroll in college. But young black men are automatically assumed to be dangerous thugs — and are not given the benefit of the doubt that young white men are accorded. This is racist and wrong, and it must change."

Feminism Finally Fulfilled

By MILES GLORIOSUS

Drag queens try to look like women, and Eurovision song winner Conchita Wurst seems finally to have achieved the feminist ideal.

He is that to which modern feminists aspire: He pretends to be a woman, but he's really a man; he got lots of attention by being on television; and he's even got the right kind of genitalia, the kind that all ideologically proper feminists wish they had.

Congratulations, sir .. ma'am .. oh, whatever.

The 10 Principles of Modern Non-Faith

By MILES GLORIOSUS

Watch what you say. It can get you fired.

Ousted Mozilla CEO Brendan Eich got into trouble because he once gave money to oppose gay marriage.

Movie actress Kirsten Dunst got into trouble for saying that men should be men and women should be women.

Nobel Prize-winning biologist James Watson got into trouble for saying he was pessimistic about Africa.

All of them sinned by denying sacred truths of our non-religion.

As a public service, I here present modern society's 10 principles of non-faith.

Memorize them. Repeat them loudly in public. Persecute anyone who denies them.

You might still get into trouble, because new principles are invented every year. But you'll be safer if you mindlessly parrot these 10 principles and keep your mouth shut about everything else.

Principle 1

There is no God. Only the material universe exists. Science has proven it. Traditional religion is simply an excuse for heterosexual white males to oppress women and Africans.

Principle 2

Human beings are just animals with delusions of grandeur. They are nothing more than biological machines that interact with computers.

Principle 3

Because human beings are just animals, it doesn't matter what you do to them. Their fate and their happiness have no significance.

Principle 4

Because you are just an animal, it doesn't matter what you do. Your actions have no moral significance.

Principle 5

Abortion is a holy sacrament that must not be doubted, criticized, or limited in any way. The little buggers have it coming for making their mothers gain weight.

Principle 6

The sexes are equal in every way, except where women are better than men.

Principle 7

All differences between men and women result from discrimination by the patriarchy, except when they favor women, in which case they're only fair and natural.

Principle 8

Sex is just a social construct, anyway. Check your privilege.

Principle 9

All racial groups are equal in every way, except where other groups are better than whites and Asians.

Principle 10

All sexual practices are okay except for normal heterosexuality, which is rape, oppresses women, and sometimes leads to (ugh!) babies. But see Principle 5.

Gold Digger Culture vs Rape Culture

In light of ugly feminists' recent whining about so-called "rape culture" (which they can't define and doesn't exist), I think it's time we started a conversation about "gold digger culture."

Gold digger culture refers to women's common practice of using men as financial objects. They say that they want to be treated as equals, but when the time comes to take half of a man's earnings, his house and his children, they play the role of "helpless little me" in order to get what they want.

What they want is to enjoy the benefits that men give to them, including a prosperous society in which they are free to whine about sexism (in spite of getting affirmative-action preferences at the expense of men) and in which they have the leisure time to do their whining. Men's fatal error has been to indulge their malicious foolishness.

Then, in gratitude, American women want to rape their benefactors financially and emotionally. As an added bonus, they make up horseshit slogans like "rape culture" to demonize all men as rapists. Talk about projection!

Their real complaint about men seems to be that they, themselves, aren't men. They take Sigmund Freud's concept of "penis envy" to a whole new level.

I, for one, am getting damn tired of it. Angry feminists have ruined American women and turned them into, as one columnist remarked, "an international horror."

The next time these insufferable termagants wonder why men don't want to get married, they should just look in the mirror.

Don't Like the West? There's the Door ...

By MILES GLORIOSUS

Copyright 2005 by Miles Gloriosus.

Today's London Times reports that Muslims in Britain are demanding the abolition of Holocaust Day, which the Blair government instituted in 2001 as a memorial to millions of innocents killed by the Nazis in the 1930s-1940s.

According to The Times, "A member of one of the committees, made up of Muslims, said it gave the impression that 'western lives have more value than non-western lives. The very name Holocaust Memorial Day sounds too exclusive to many young Muslims. It sends out the wrong signals: that the lives of one people are to be remembered more than others.'"

Now, to begin with:

• I'm no fan of Tony Blair, better-known as "George W. Bush's poodle."
• I opposed the invasion of Iraq and its occupation by the Bush-Cheney-Halliburton administration.
• Muslims are entitled to their opinions (though if they express their opinions in Muslim countries, they can easily get killed for it).
  

Those things being said, Britain is a Western country. It is only in Heaven that all lives are valued equally. In Western countries, as the Muslim complainer puts it, "Western lives" are indeed more valued and more to be remembered than non-Western lives. The same thing applies in Arab countries. Get over it.

To value all people equally means to value no people specially, and that's the real point of the exercise: it's less that we must value Arabs or Muslims, but that we must refrain from valuing Britons, Christians, Jews, or Europeans. Promoters of "multiculturalism" employ the same deceptive strategy to the same destructive ends: They seek not to force us to value all cultures, which is impossible, but to forbid us to value our own culture.

In Britain, we remember Boadicia and Thomas More and Shakespeare and Isaac Newton and Henry V and Winston Churchill, not Saladin or Mohammed.

In the West, we remember the lives of Socrates and Jesus and Thomas Aquinas and Charles the Great and Thomas Jefferson and Stonewall Jackson and Mark Twain, not Abd-el-Wahab.

Our Muslim brothers are immigrating to our Western countries as aliens, with no desire or intention to assimilate. They are then demanding that we assimilate to them. That is perfectly consistent with their desire to impose their own barbaric form of culture and their religious law of sharia on the countries that they have invaded -- excuse me, on the countries to which they have immigrated. What is incomprehensible, and indeed a crime, is that Western governments often take the side of Muslims, against their own people and their own civilization.

For Mr Blair, and indeed for the residents and governments of all other Western countries, there is only one appropriate response to Muslim immigrants:

"If you don't like the West, we invite you to return to the Arab paradise from whence you came. God bless, and don't let the door hit you on your way out."

My Interview with George W. Bush

By MILES GLORIOSUS
Copyright 2005 by Miles Gloriosus.

Morning. I was getting my laundry out of the dryer and preparing to see my girlfriend. Well, she's not actually my girlfriend. She's a model on the provocative-but-tasteful "Republican Vixens" Web site. There's something fascinating about a blonde born-again Christian who mouths neoconservative war slogans while dressed in black leather. I firmly believe that if she knew me, she'd want to be my girlfriend.

The phone rang. I picked it up.

"Gloriosus?" the caller said.

"Yeah? You and what army?"

"The president wants to see you."

"Roosevelt?"

"No."

"Larry Summers?"

"No."

"Martin Sheen?"

"No. Bush. George W. Bush. That one."

It was starting to sound authentic. Secret Service agents are notorious for having no sense of humor.

I ended up that evening at the entrance to Blair House, a diplomatic residence across the street from the White House. A couple of thick-necked types with black suits and earpieces hustled me inside, then through a tunnel that led under Pennsylvania Avenue to a lower floor of the White House. We climbed some stairs and went into an office in the residence. Bush was sitting at a desk reading some papers. He waved the agents to wait in the hallway outside.

"You know why you're here?" he said.

"I suppose that you're either going to talk to me or have me killed. Or both," I said.

Bush laughed. "You've got a pair on you, boy, I'll say that for you. But it's nothing so lurid as you might imagine. To tell the truth, you're no threat. Do you own a TV network? Can you out-shout O'Reilly? Can you untangle Hannity's non sequiturs? Could you even get a letter to the editor published if we didn't want it to happen? Not a chance. Killing you would be more trouble than it's worth."

"On the other hand," he said, "you do seem to have figured out a lot of things. I don't often get a chance to talk to smart people who don't work for me and aren't trying to kiss my kiester. I just thought we could chat. It's more fun to do that when you're talking to someone who can understand."

I pulled a microcassette recorder from the pocket of my sport jacket. It's standard equipment for an old ex-newspaper reporter like me. I said, "Do you mind if I tape this, just to make sure that I quote you accurately?"

"No taping," Bush said. "I'll take that recorder, please."

I handed him the recorder. Not much point in arguing about it when there were half a dozen heavily-armed Secret Service agents just outside the door.

Bush opened a desk drawer and tossed the recorder inside. He pulled a $50 bill out of his wallet and gave it to me. "That should cover a new recorder. Don't worry. I'll expense it."

"Now, here are the ground rules for our chat," he said. "You can take notes. That's all. And when we're finished, on your way out, don't try stealing any of those White House coffee cups or ballpoint pens. The FBI warned me about how many Ramada Inn bath towels you have in your apartment. What you get is a one-on-one with the president. What you don't get is anything that would prove you were really here."

"Fair enough," I said.

Bush got up. There was a Mister Coffee machine on a table in the corner. "Do you want a cup? It's fresh. Then we can get started."

"Sure," I said. "Black …"

"… with three sugars," he said. "I take mine the same way. Aren't those FBI boys amazing? By the way, I can get you an introduction to that girl of yours on the Web site. Nice young lady. She's in the neuroscience Ph.D. program at Johns Hopkins. That stuff about her being born-again was just to keep Ashcroft from raiding the Web site. He always had a bug up his shorts about that kind of thing."

He gave me the coffee, sat down in an easy chair, and took a sip from his own cup. "All right, we're comfy. Ask your questions."

I took a deep breath. "Everyone thinks that you lied about Iraq having WMDs and being connected to 9/11. Did you?"

"You bet your sweet bippy I did," he said. "But that's not the question to ask. The important question is, why did I lie? That's what makes me either a traitor or a true patriot."

"All right, why did you lie?"

"Because whether you like it or not, the world economy still runs on oil. The country that controls the largest oil reserves will have guaranteed prosperity at home and irresistible clout abroad. Which country do you want it to be? Russia? China? Japan? For me, there's only one acceptable answer: the United States, and only the United States, is going to control that oil."

Bush dropped another lump of sugar into his coffee cup. "What's the alternative? Picture gas at $20 a gallon," he said. "Picture unemployment that would make the Great Depression seem like the roaring 1990s. Picture Don Rumsfeld prancing around in one of J. Edgar Hoover's old pink dresses."

I broke into a cold sweat. I had a bicycle, and I was financially secure. But the image of Don Rumsfeld in a dress … I finally understood the kind of terror that the P.O.W.s at Guantanamo had to endure.

I said, "As for the 9/11 attacks, some people think that they were staged. They believe that your administration either let them happen or actively helped them happen. Did you?"

Bush waved his hand dismissively. "No matter what I say, people are going to believe what they want to believe about 9/11. A lot of them think it was damn suspicious that I kept sitting there with the schoolkids reading 'My Pet Goat' after learning that the attacks were underway. Others think I was a coward for flying all over the country in Air Force One instead of going right back to the White House after the attacks. As for me, I don't worry about that. I focus on moving forward, not on looking back."

I said, "I notice that you didn't answer my question."

Bush grinned. "No I didn't, did I?" He chuckled. "My, aren't you the observant one? It's too bad that The New York Times and The Washington Post don't have anyone quite that perceptive. They might have caught on to my little Iraq scam in time to prevent the war. If they'd had any cojones, which of course they don't, they might even have asked me a tough question or two."

Bush got up and started rummaging through the piles of books on his desk. "You know what Ralph Waldo Emerson said? 'Most of the great results of history are brought about by discreditable means.' Emerson wrote that in his book The Conduct of Life. I have it here someplace, if I can just find it … It's a really nice edition. One of those leather-bound jobs from Easton Press, I think."

Bush stood up from his desk. "I can't find it," he said. "But getting back to your question about Iraq. Sure, I lied my head off to start that war. It was discreditable as hell, as Emerson said. But if my analysis of the geopolitical situation was correct, then my discreditable little war will save the American economy from ruin and preserve our country's status as a world leader. I care more about that than I do about my pristine moral status. And though it sounds terrible, I care more about the welfare of Americans than I do about the welfare of Iraqis."

"My job as president isn't to be a 'fair arbiter' between the needs of Americans and those of everyone else in the world," he said. "My job is to protect the interests of Americans and America. God bless the rest of the world, but if they get in the way of what I think is best for America, then I'm sorry, but screw 'em. Bombs away."

I said, "Excuse me, but you seem to have a very limited notion of who's American. You aren't doing what's best for working people who see their sons and daughters killed in Iraq, whose jobs get shipped overseas, whose wages go down and whose taxes go up while giant corporations and multi-billionaires pay almost nothing in taxes on incomes higher than they've ever had before."

Bush sat back down and took another sip of coffee. He thought for a minute. "America is an abstraction," he said. "It means something different to everyone. It means people you know, places you grew up, holidays and customs you cherish. It means your family, books you like, and TV shows you watch. At a slightly greater remove, it means people similar to you, whom you think you understand."

"For you, America is those working people you talked about so eloquently. It's the soldiers who fought beside you in the battle of Macho Grande. It's cab drivers and unemployed computer programmers. For me, on the other hand, America is rich people. Very rich people. People who either inherited their money or made it through graft, monopolies, and crooked deals. I don't apologize for it. I was born into that estate. So when I talk about standing up for America, I'm being perfectly honest. I stand up for the America I know. I'm not indifferent to the 'little people' you love so much, but they're not on my 'A list' any more than I'm on theirs."

I said, "You also talk ad nauseam about how Americans are free. And yet we've now got your so-called 'Patriot' Act, pre-emptive arrests, and no-fly lists that stigmatize people as terrorists when they've done nothing 'wrong' except criticize your administration. We've got a government that taxes and regulates almost every aspect of life, from toilets to cars to our personal speech and conduct. How does that make you a defender of freedom?"

Bush nodded. "Yes, all that endless prattle about freedom bores me sometimes, too. But define what you mean by freedom. Is it everyone doing whatever he wants? Then you have no society. The freedom to fly on Air Force One? I've got it. The freedom to get thrown out of your house and live in a shelter? You've got it."

"I support the freedom for myself and other members of my social class to extract wealth from millions of working schnooks like you and to commit egregious crimes with impunity. But notice that in all my public statements about freedom, I never define what I mean by it. And nobody ever asks me. Just like standing up for America, when I say that I'm defending freedom, I'm being perfectly honest. I defend what freedom means to me."

"Let me tell you something else about freedom," Bush said. "Most people really don't want it. They want to be told that they're free, because it flatters them and makes them feel like Davy Crockett. But when it comes to actually being free -- and having all the responsibilities that freedom entails -- they'd much rather have Uncle Sugar looking out for them and telling them what to do."

He stretched in his chair. "What the American people want isn't freedom," he said. "What the American people want is cheap gasoline. Dirty movies and cable. Sports. Bread and circuses. They want a shot -- even if it's a very small shot -- at the big score. Yes, the chances of an honest person getting rich are lower than ever before. But if he or she does hit it big, the payoff is bigger than ever before. That's what I provide to every American: not a fair shake, but a shot at the big payoff."

"Mr. President, may I ask you something … a little sensitive?"

"Ask away," he said. "I might not answer."

" I don't agree with you about anything," I said. "But you seem … well, smarter than I expected."

"Ain't it a bitch?" he said. "Do you think I enjoy letting everyone believe that I'm a drooling moron who's just a sock puppet for Dick Cheney and Karl Rove? I don't. I'm a human being. Sometimes it hurts my feelings to hear what people say about me. But it's like Sun Tzu said in The Art of War: 'Though you are competent, appear to be incompetent. Though effective, appear to be ineffective.'"

"What that means is, trick your adversaries into underestimating your strengths and overestimating your weaknesses," he said. "It worked for me in Texas, and it works for me now."

There was a knock at the door. A Secret Service agent stuck his head into the room. "Mr. President, they're waiting for you in the theatre."

"What's the movie tonight, Frank?" Bush said.

"It's 'Sleepless in Seattle' again, Mr. President. The First Lady insisted."

Bush snorted and looked at me. "Chick flick," he said. "I'd invite you to stay, but I know that you have to file your story. Frank, would you conduct Mr. Gloriosus out?"

"Yes, sir," the agent said.

Bush stood up and stuck out his hand. I hesitated for a moment, then I took it.

"It was good to meet you," he said. "And if you ever get to be too much of a pain in the ass, we'll always have Gitmo." He laughed.

"Thank you, Mr. President," I said. "Goodbye."

With Frank and another thickneck at my side, I walked back through the tunnel to Blair House.

When we reached the entrance, Frank handed me a piece of paper. "The President told me to give this to you," he said.

I looked at the paper. It said "Ilse, she-wolf of the Young Republicans, 301-555-1111. Don't call after 11pm."

I hopped onto a Metro train and headed home. I still thought that Bush was a disaster for America, but at least now I understood him.

And I really liked the White House coffee cup I had in my jacket pocket. I hoped that Ilse would like it, too.