With the banning of “Baby It’s Cold Outside” by numerous radio stations we are exposed, yet again, to the whacked out #METOO movement! Everyone’s afraid to address this directly because no one wants to be labeled misogynistic. Since I’m too old and ugly to get a date the job has fallen to me to throw my two cents in, so here we go.
Back in the day rape was when you snatched a girl into the bushes and forced yourself upon her. Bad choice of words. Sorry. Anyway, where was I? It was a class “A” felony, and the punishment was a class “A” rope, and a class “B” tree. And you’d just better hope it was the sheriff who hung you with a proper long drop, and not the girl’s family.
Then capital punishment was removed from the recipe and rape morphed into sexual assault, molestation, sexual harassment, with all the various sub-categories therein. The victim could be questioned more aggressively than the perpetrator. The age of consent blended in where one minute before midnight the act of intercourse could land you twenty years, and one minute after midnight it was just a date.
- The Free Love generation came of age in the sixties, and girls started burning up their bras and smoking cigarettes in public, but they completely forgot they WERE girls and that there were guys out there who would take advantage of them if they did drugs or drank too much. Then came #METOO!
What started as a small movement on a college campus to address the alarming number of sexual crimes got traction, and spread across the country. Women who had held a secret in for years came forward, some with legitimate cause, but more than a few like Professor Ford, reached deep within the well and accused men of “assaults” that were just the carryings on of a bunch of high school kids at a beer party. But by this time #METOO was so galvanized with political correctness nobody with good sense dared challenge it.
During all of this evolution of social consciousness the understanding of what real rape is was buried. The act of forcing a crying woman to submit to non consensual sex is dehumanizing, painful, and awful! Men who do that need to be sent to prison where they will learn what rape is all about. There are no “Fifty Shades of Grey” there. There are only three. Red, blue, and clear. Blood, bruises, and mental!
That’s not saying that women who end up having sex after a party that while the didn’t absolutely consent to aren’t traumatized. They know they didn’t say “Yes” but that they didn’t absolutely say, “No” either. The explanation of their having been drunk puts the full blame on the man, but what if he were drunk, too? His and hers #METOOs? The personal dealings between two people alone in a room are hard to examine. The simple difference between, “Don’t! Stop!” and “Don’t stop!” shows the slippery slope the courts stand on.
Then there’s the case in Waco, Texas of fraternity president Jacob Anderson. Mr. Anderson spikes the punch of a co-ed, takes her literally “behind the barn” and rapes her continually until he’s just plumb tired of her. She stumbles to a friend, who takes her to Scott White Baylor hospital, where she is examined, and a right proper rape kit is obtained. She didn’t wait twenty years, she did make a police report, he was arrested, tried, and convicted. And he got three years probation with no registration as a sex offender! Boys will be boys.
I’m amazed that this happened in Texas! We’re supposed to be rednecks. A lynching was in order. Where’s Bubba? This kind of thing should be reserved for California. The #METOO movement has clouded real rape and assault with so much innuendo that men are afraid to even look at a girl in the supermarket. I know I am. I can remember when you could see a girl with her “501” jeans, and a nice pair of Justin Roper boots, and she’d just give you that little grin, knowing you appreciated her beauty. Now, you just stare at the floor as she walks by.
Girls should look pretty. Men should be attracted. If all goes well she’ll be the one you take home to mama. If the chemistry isn’t there, you pay for the dinner, and take her home. HER home, not YOURS Ted Bundy! It’s called “decency.” Girls are equipped by evolution to filter the candidates down to a prime choice to be the father of their children. The lyrics of a song aren’t the problem. Our society is the problem. The undercurrent of disrespect for women being referred to as “hos” and the over compensation of #Metoo reaching all the way to a Supreme Court nomination has produced a generation that can’t even spell “chaperone” much less knows what it means!
I have an idea. How about meet a girl. Go meet her parents. Take her on dates. Always bring her home on time. Do this for a while. Get to know her. Become engaged. Then discover the best birth control device the world has ever known. Wedding cake!
The Butcher Shop