I wonder if Hugh Hefner in his last days, as he tottered around his crumbling, piss-stained McMansion, knew what was happening to his empire. I kind of hope he did:
For the first time in its 64-year history, Playboy magazine will feature a transgender Playmate, a decision that Cooper Hefner, a top executive at the magazine, said on Thursday was in keeping with its founding mission of embracing changing attitudes about sex.
Ace mentions this, but I can’t imagine anyone under the age of 60 still subscribes to Playboy. They’re following in the desperate footsteps of GQ, Esquire and plenty of other once-unique publishing brands by appealing to the SJW crowd.
It won’t work.
Sure, people will laud them on Twitter and maybe sales will get a minor bump, but can anyone really see a bunch of feminists suddenly deciding that Playboy is a great magazine that deserves their support? SJWs infiltrate. They don’t care if the host lives or dies.
Aside from that, if every other outlet is now posting social justice clickbait, what differentiates Playboy from anyone else? A chick with a penis? That’s almost passé at this point.
There are lots of old institutions these days that have sped up their own decline by submitting to this garbage. I’m glad to see that Playboy has joined them.
No doubt Hollywood is hoping that Harvey Weinstein will serve as a proper sacrifice to their false gods. Hey, the man is sick, right? Wealthy people always have an “illness;” everyone else is a criminal or a pervert.
Well, I am not satisfied with this, and one thing that I have discovered as I approach middle age is that if I have a problem with something, I’m probably not alone. The entertainment industry, whether it’s the NFL, Hollywood or the network news channels, expects us to believe that it can impart morality to us plebeians and any evil going on right in front of us is somehow an aberration.
“Pretty little slut boy,” was a phrase one lecherous homosexual used to use, in reference to people like me. “Young, dumb, and full of [—],” another slang term often surfaced. I had started in as a dubbing & acquisitions coordinator, so at least I was on the buying end rather than the selling end. If you were trying to break into ad sales, and all you had was your youth and ambition, the pressure was even higher on you to work around the usual rules of ethics to get ahead. Like many young workers in the company at that time, I was not “staff.” I was working under a temporary labor category and “promoted” to coordinator so I could get neither health insurance nor overtime.
I was lithe and had an athletic build, plus I was obviously Puerto Rican. The market niche in which I would fit was quite predictable. What went on, back then, explains the origination of my obesity later in life, after I got out of the Army. Once I was in my late thirties, a part of me hated everything that came with having a “good body.”
I stepped into the empty conference room, which I remember had glass windows so everyone in the work area outside could see what was happening. The tall, overweight guy on staff stuck his hand up my shorts and grabbed my private parts. “Just let me explain,” he said. This was clearly the usual routine.
Please read the whole thing by Robert Oscar Lopez. This is a game that we all knew was happening, but most of us, and I mean us, chose to ignore it because…I don’t know. We all knew Hollywood is crazy? The movies were fun? I don’t know, but there’s no time like now to start letting them know that we no longer need them.
Well here’s a story that’s about as surprising as the sunrise this morning:
After the New York Times belatedly broke the news of Weinstein’s predatory behavior, the rest of the dam of silence has begun to collapse. At least three women, two of which went on the record, now accuse Weinstein of rape, while dozens of others have come forward to discuss being victimized by varying degrees of sexual assault.
Let’s put this through what I’ll call the Wonkette Rape Matrix of male feminism:
A) Is the man a in question accused of rape?
B) Is the man in question a powerful Democrat?
Now, we have a dilemma on our hands, or perhaps a contradiction in terms. A powerful Democrat cannot, by definition, be really guilty of rape. That being said, if a woman accuses a man of rape, he must be guilty and cannot possibly be a good feminist. Let us turn back to Rebecca Schoenkopf for clarification:
I can absolutely see Bill Clinton doing this (then, not now) and not even thinking of it as rape, but thinking of it as dominant, alpha sex. I can see a LOT of men doing that during that time period, before we started telling them in the ’80s, “hey, that is rape, do not do that.” I can see YOUR NICE GRANDPA doing that, back then.
So, because a powerful Democrat once raped a woman and didn’t really think of it as rape, it wasn’t really “rape rape,” to use Whoopie Goldberg’s phrase. Moreover, that must mean that all men did this in those long ago 1970s. Hell, the 70s might as well have been 2005, right?
To sum up, I think Bill Clinton could very well have raped Juanita Broaddrick; that it doesn’t make him an evil man, or irredeemable (I’m Catholic; we’re all forgiven, if we’re sorry, and Broaddrick says Bill Clinton personally called her up to apologize). It doesn’t even necessarily make him a bad feminist — you know, later, once he stops doing that.
You see, all it takes is one female feminist (read: Democrat) to forgive the male feminist in order for him to maintain his feminist credentials; it doesn’t even have to be the woman he raped. Jesus said that. It’s somewhere in the Bible: “Verily, he who is forgiven has to be really really sorry. He doesn’t have to stop doing that shit, and he doesn’t even have to believe in Me” (Gospel According to Andrea 66:6).
Now all we need is one feminist to lay hands on Harvey Weinstein (not in that way, you weirdo) and he will remain a male feminist in good standing.
Hillary, we’re looking at you.
Update: Hillary Clinton sort of releases a sort of statement:
“I was shocked and appalled by the revelations about Harvey Weinstein,” Clinton said in the statement. “The behavior described by the women coming forward cannot be tolerated. Their courage and the support of others is critical in helping to stop this kind of behavior.”
Notice that she doesn’t actually say anything about Harvey Weinstein in this bit of meandering Clintonism. This may be a job for a real feminist: Meryl Streep.
Update 2: Vox Day is more optimistic than I am. From a post entitled “The fat pig is toast”:
What a joke. This loser is not at all powerful, he’s overtly and observably pathetic. Just listen to the pig whine and beg. The sickness of any industry that would allow this sort of disgusting creature to have any influence at all is an indication that it should be burned to the ground.
Well, I don’t disagree with the sentiment.
Regular Right Guy beat me to this one, which I heard about this morning on the radio. Apparently a pack of “youths” figured out that the LAPD was too busy in Crenshaw with the rioting and the fact that it’s Crenshaw, so they headed to the world famous dingy tourist trap at Hollywood and Vine and made general nuisances of themselves.
The problems began shortly after 8:30 p.m. Tuesday, when 911 dispatchers started receiving reports of problems on Hollywood Boulevard near Vine Street — a stretch full of restaurants, clubs and shops. A group of a few dozen young people, callers said, was running in and out of traffic, knocking people over on the sidewalks and snatching their belongings. Some stole food and souvenirs from stores as they went.
I suppose that any excuse I can make the next time my girlfriend wants to go to Hollywood is helpful. “But dear, we can’t go to Grauman’s. There might be Trayvon riots.” I’m also a little bit surprised that a bunch of punk kids weren’t instantly torn to shreds by the out of work actors dressed as superheroes that take pictures with tourists for tips. What’s bad for tourism is bad for the bottom line, and that bed bug infested hotel room isn’t paying for itself.
But enough with the cracks.
RRG touches on something that I want to take a little further:
For the politicians George Zimmerman is about guns. Tuesday night’s mischief was about straight-up pissed-off fun. It takes an on-the-make First AME Church pastor to make it anything else.
Now, I figured I should write what I’m going to say next, because I think it’s true and I haven’t heard anyone else say it. If the reason for that is that it’s blindingly obvious, apologies in advance.
Apart from Trayvon Martin’s intimate circle, no one cares about Trayvon Martin. I don’t. You don’t. Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson don’t. The thugs who made messes in Hollywood and Crenshaw don’t. The Armenian guy who drives the dilapidated bus around showing tourists Lucille Ball’s house doesn’t. The celebrities in Hollywood don’t. Everyone talking about this, myself included, has an agenda.
I promise that Pretty Girls on a Thursday is still on the schedule.