A Letter to Christina Cauterucci

Women already have a very good way to protect one another without trampling on the rights of the accused. It’s called, “the criminal justice system”.

* * *

Dear Christina,

You’ve neither met me nor heard of me before, but I’ve read your articles on Slate for a number of years, now. Not terribly closely, as I find you to be of the “castratress” school of feminist thought; but you still temper it with a degree of humanity and sympathy for things such as “the rights of the accused” to make your work significantly more worthwhile than, say, your fellow Slate alumnus Amanda Marcotte.

I write not as an insult – though I have no intention to sugarcoat my appallance towards beliefs of yours which legitimately discuss me, no matter how many times I get called a “mansplainer” for whatever reason. I write because you seem to be having a crisis of conscience on the apparent incompatibility between criminal justice reform and the ability of sexual-assault victims to find justice against their assailants. You feel that these two positions are apparently incompatible; and the actions of the compilees to the “SHITTY MEDIA MEN” Google-spreadsheet, whilst both immediately regrettable and potentially devastating to every legitimate claim of abuse that gets paired together with something anyone on earth could make up for any reason real or imagined, is but a Machiavellian means of putting a permanent end to the horrors of sexual abuse by women at the hands of powerful men.

This disturbs me for a number of reasons: not only have you refrained from considering the possibility that such a list’s compilation could just as easily actively damage the cases of who-know-how many real aggrieved whilst simultaneously ruining innocent lives and doing nothing to catch a single real predator, even in the universe where it wasn’t pulled immediately upon publication of the recent Buzzfeed story on its existence; you’ve completely avoided looking into the reasons why criminal justice systems were created in the first place, and the terrible consequences to their abandonment.

It is true – both now, and today – that many women (and men, as those whom followed the Michael Jackson story can attest) refused to report their rapes and assaults to police out of shame. However, the far-less-rosy component to this story which most every modern anti-rape activist neglects to mention is that these women’s silence on the matter to the courts were not joined with silence to their friends and family. Women raped in the Older Centuries wanted their assailants brought down just as badly as women from modern times, and one common action for them to take was to call men they trusted to extra-judicially execute their rapist before word could spread of the defilement of their honor.

No tears need be shed for an executed rapist, by vigilante nor the state. Rapists commit terrible crimes, and the World is better off with them dead. The problem with death by vigilante is that vigilantes are, by their very nature, incapable of objectivity and accountability. Another of your fellow Slatesmen, Jamelle Bouie, detailed exactly this in his post-Dylan-Roof piece on the longtime American practice of lynchmen executing black men caught engaging, alleged to be engaging, speculated to be engaging, or even speculated to be interested, in flagrante delicto with white women. Such cases were far too sensitive to the populi for such a thing as courts: men of all degrees of honor were treated exactly the same as men of all degrees of criminality when the noose came coming to their doors, and we in modern times will never come close to even guessing how many innocents joined the guilty to their graves.

About now, you might be tempted to say “such a thing could never happen, as long as these extreme measures are used only as a means of taking down the privileged”. Such a thought has tempted all frustrated in the face of a seemingly-insurmountably powerful upper-class, and will continue to remain a temptation as long as there is power; but these emergency measures are, without exception, least likely to be used against any upper-class aside from one which has already been supplanted and replaced by a new group with even less interest in the standards they force onto others applying to themselves. The rate at which the recent extreme measures of Obama’s “Dear Colleague” solution to campus rape wasted no time in disproportionately going after interracial cases, and this is in what should supposedly be a left-wing refuge. No activist should think any other emergency measure will have lower rates of abuse.

The only legal system any society has discovered worth anything at all is the one where the highest possible transparency of the courtroom is coupled with the straight-forwardest means of allowing the accused to make the case for their innocence. Rule of Law’s very purpose is to make emergency measures of any sort obsolete. Not to mention, the end result of these normal measures leads to the truly guilty being removed from society, either temporarily or permanently. A Google-doc with no barrier or qualification to contribution puts no one behind bars, nor six feet of dirt. Even a doc filled nine-tenths with guilty men merely tars ninety percent of possible court cases against the listed whilst unjustly killing the reputations of the one in ten.

That doesn’t even get into the fact that the widely-varying behavior described pairs offenses deserving of jail time with the likes of “flirting” and “groping”. This is nearly as disrespectful as comparing war rationing in 1940s Warsaw with 1940s Chicago: Harvey “Noted-Male-Feminist” Weinstein couldn’t pay the New York Post enough money to come up with a better story to tarnish his complainants than exactly the sort of practice you – and a depressingly large number of others – dismiss as “possibly problematic, but what else are we supposed to do?” at worst. The fact that the creators could think such an exclusively damaging creation to be a good idea should be greeted only with distress, assuming this whole “SHITTY WHITE MEN” doc wasn’t an act of provocation meant for nothing but sabotage against women accusing big-and-small-screen bigshots of sex-crimes. (a.n., keep an eye out for Jennette McCurdy’s social-media activity.)

No victims of any crime of any sort will ever have an easy time going to court. No one wants to admit they were taken advantage of, and those quickest to do such are often just as repulsive and criminal as the people decent societies look to lock up in the first place. It is, and always will be, normal to feel shame to fall prey to the predatory: but we, as a society, gave up the comforts of vigilantism’s privacy and secrecy for the sake of exactly the transparency thousands of American gravestones never received.

And while I’m occupying you’re time, there’s something else on sex-crimes that greatly bothers me which noöne else seems to talk about:

The infantalization of women “being brave” in their silence to their assault is exactly the sort of poison that could undo this hard-fought victory for the rights of the accused, and transparent-justice upon the guilty. Real bravery is Ambra Battaliana in a sting operation, trying to prevent others from meeting her own fate, and succeeding. Cy Vance, the cocksucker prosecutor, killing her case via well-timed donation is exactly the kind of problem public shaming is actually useful at solving; and, thanks to the good work of Ambra and the New York Police Department, we now have irrefutable proof of this particular act of mob retaliation being entirely justified for the public to carry out. Should this happen again – say, when Ariana Grande wears a wire to entrap Dan Schneider, and a well-timed donation to an Orlando D.A., or Rick Scott, or whatever other subhumans work in Floridian public-service, kills the effort – exactly the same response’ll be justified anew.

Who knows. After enough persistence, we might one day live in a country where D.A.s don’t generally deserve to be ground into powder and sold as pet food. With enough Ambra Battalinas, we’ll get their in This Century.

You’re right to feel conflicted, but you will be in the wrong as long as you consider those men’s occluded coffins to be an acceptable price for your squeamishness.


– O.R. Welles

P.S., this would’ve been posted a day earlier if it weren’t for #WomenBoycottTwitter. I also would not have been nearly so nice had I read some of the truly heinous things you tweeted on the 12th.

Quite frankly, what you wrote was evil. I won’t ask for an apology: I believe those should be voluntary only, but I have no intention on ever being generous to your positions again so long as you continue to support such despicable practices as good for society.

* * *

O.R Welles is a writer coming off another failed publicity stunt. To be fair, his publicity stunts are always done for things he genuinely believes in, and he has no intention on ever doing otherwise for as long as he shall write.

#InTRUMPigenceQuotient: Explaining a Petition

Hashtags are now more important to titles than majuscule.

Is https://www.change.org/p/donald-trump-intrumpigence-quotient-challenge too “on the nose”?

* * *

Sometimes, the worthiest causes are the least likely and the most ridiculous.

If Donald Trump manages to beat Rex Tillerson in respective I.Q. scores, I understand the signees will mostly rely on the honor system when pledging their public fealty to the Republicans for the next decade; and this means little on account of honor being the least valued public commodity in the Nation, with “privacy” a close second. Even if every celebrity currently on social media promoted this petition in the next week, the public takes their pledges to honor anything nearly as unseriously as they do with pledges from elected officials. I have less reason still to think President Trump’d be persuaded to take part in this ridiculous contest: the man is a lifelong coward who, on the significantly more valuable celebrity-word than POTUS’ of Clay Aiken, couldn’t even pick who to fire on a rule-free reality show without the producers telling him who to pick beforehand, let alone get past the “bone-spur” that 4-A’d his pussy-white ass outta Vietnam.

Not only do I hope I’m wrong on all that, I’ll be happier should Donald J. Trump, Sr., score against Rex Tillerson the higher the gap. I even made my own hashtag for the matter that I put in the title, just to see if I can start a storm worthy of it’s own cable-news headline containing a word ending in “-gate”, regardless of #InTRUMPigenceQuotient’s outcome.

Make no mistake: nothing on Earth could make This Author love or like a man who named his youngest son after his imaginary friend*. I dislike the man on a personal level more than I have ever disliked another human being, including those whom legitimately have committed worse crimes than the Alt-Reichmarschall will ever conduct. (Compliments solely to centuries of precedent and the labors of the Founding Fathers. Even Hitler himself couldn’t be Hitler himself under the constraints of the Rule of Law.) This assertion alone will get me plenty of abuse, but Christopher Hitchens was right to note the only meaningful criterion to judge a politician by is the one most routinely dismissed as a red-herring by desperate partisan hacks and the sociopathically corrupt: Personality, or “the trait immune to flip-flops”.

Intelligence is also immune to flip-flops, and it’d be refreshing to see irrefutable proof that Donald Trump possesses a quality that can be put to a useful service, even though not one accomplishment yet sighted by his fanatics as proof of their God-Emperor’s “best words” has any claim to legitimacy when cast under the slightest scrutiny:

* * *

  • He wasn’t the creator of The Apprentice (Survivor‘s Mark Burnett), nor did he pick who to fire on the show (see, Aiken), nor does selling unbranded lemonade provide any business experience to anybody with an active pituitary gland (a.n., 20 million people watched that!? No wonder Nickelback got famous.), nor could a real job of any sort be possible with Omarosa Manigault as a top-tier applicant.
  • His tough-guy machismo bears no connection to the substance of his life: He never served in the military, nor worked a job involving manual labor, nor have any of the jobs he’s had in his life – bar one Stone Cold Stunner in 2007 – required any degree of danger nor physical exertion on his part.
  • Millions of people in the most powerful country on Earth think disliking him means supporting Hillary Clinton, an assertion nearly as insulting as calling Winston Churchill a Stalinist.
  • He eats well-done steak, yet still had the nerve to set up a Trump Steaks® line. You might as well hire War Machine to guard a battered-women’s shelter.
  • Millions of people in the most powerful country on Earth like him personally. They cheer for him, pray for him, and admire him more than they’ve ever admired anyone they’ve voted for in their lives because they never checked the cover of The Art of the Deal and ran “Tony Schwartz” – a name equal in font size to Trump’s own on the cover! – through a search engine. Surely they could’ve devoted themselves to a more deserving politician? say, Strom Thurmond? or Sarah Palin? or Silvio Berlusconi?
    • Trump has never refuted anything Tony Schwartz said about writing The Art of the Deal by himself. He sued Timothy O’Brien for less damaging assertions. Why hasn’t he done the same for Schwartz when this information directly affects the sales of the book that made him a star?
  • Wrestlemanias IV and V had the deadest, shittiest crowds in the history of ’80s pro-wrestling. Because they were both hosted at Trump Plaza.
    • No offense to the wrestlers. They did the best they could with what they had.
  • He has access to the most powerful intercontinental-weapons system on Earth. A witch-doctress’ son in Office can’t cause much damage outside of Equatorial Guinea: the spoiled-cunt son of a Yankee real-estate mogul in Office will solve Global Warming with Nuclear Winter.
  • Speaking of “Yankee”: what the hell is the Stars-and-Bars crowd doing giving their undying support to a Goddamn New Yorker? Tens of millions of you down in Dixie were happy to vote for the cuntiest Yankee since Rudy Giuliani? You people are a disgrace to your ancestors.
  • His supporters – and a disturbing number of his opponents – think that supporting him needs be a permanent stance and a binary choice. It’s not. Nor was it ever in Our Country. Trump’s election in and of itself is proof that there’s no such thing as “electability”, nor “predictability”. The amount of violence and corruption it takes to truly render a country powerless unto their government is beyond anything that a country where judicial decisions are binding, and fiat is tinder built on sand, could ever experience without at least twenty years of sustained assault.
    • Every cunt who shouted “Flight 93 Election!” was wrong, no matter who they voted for.
  • The one skill I admit he has is his talent for: celebrity. In my opinion, Donald Trump has more talent for celebrity than anyone else in the World today; but being a celebrity has no bearing on any other talents, least of all the complexity of governing the World’s largest and most powerful liberal democracy. Celebrities include the illiterate, the addled, the insane, the felonious, child-beauty-pageant contestants, unwed teenage mothers, and children of real-estate moguls.
  • After his victory, The Federalist went from printing articles like “How Close Was Donald Trump to the Mob?”, to “Why Anthony Scaramucci Is The Man Trump and America Need”. Articles which, as the attentive reader’ll notice, come from the same author.
    • “Cuckery”, thy name is “Ben Domenech”. Crucified Christ, The Learning Channel took better care of their reputation.
  • Every time his yearslong friendship with Jeffrey Epstein is brought up, his supporters immediately assail you for approving of Bill Clinton’s Epstein connection; as if this is not only a binary choice, but one they themselves refute automatically by taking this position, since the doing of such does nothing refutes Trump/Epstein, nor does it show any concern for the alleged pimping of middle-school-age girls to America’s one-percenters ‘less a ‘D’ hangs next to their name on CNN.
  • The theater must always be a safe and special place. – Donald J. Trump, Sr.
  • Between his ties to Eduard Nektalov, David Bogatin, Dana Rohrabacher, and Felixs Komarov and Sater, he has the least-plausibly innocent relationships of any American celebrity since Michael Jackson decided to exclusively befriend male child-stars between the ages of eight and fourteen. These are not allegations of a tape with Russian prostitutes: these are provable associations going back nearly two generations, and the Democrats’ soft-balling on Russian corruption before it was politically convenient to oppose the Kremlin again doesn’t change the connections’ fundamental nastiness.

* * *

None of the above will go away should Trump pump out a score worthy of nothing less than 111-D chess grandmastership. Plenty of unlikeable and evil people have high I.Q.s, and plenty of the decent and good have low I.Q.s. Nor am I among the fantasists who think I.Q. doesn’t actually measure intelligence; nor do I fail to recognize that I.Q. is most valuable as a group measure, but far less so individually.** The contest – if, by some dark miracle, it comes to fruition – is an embarrassment to God and Man already for having seriously been considered publicly by the sheriff of a nuclear standoff unequaled in seriousness since the most-recent Indo-Pakistani war.

I’d still take comfort in Trump winning with a Mensa-worthy score and backing all Republicans enthusiastically for the next ten years of my life, including Future-Senator Kid Rock. I’d be happy, because whatever the condition of his soul, it’d show Trump to be qualified and capable beyond my own summation of his talents, the talents of the hundreds of millions of Americans I and others are currently convinced could be picked from randomly and do a better job, and the summations from the tens of millions of Americans who openly and secretly think his intelligence subpar for a child schooled exclusively by Studytech, much less an adult from a first-world country destined from his father’s bank account to attend Our Nation’s best academe.

I don’t care about any insults I’d get from Gavin McInness, Daniel Harris, Stefan Molyneux, That-Canuck-Cuck who thinks he’s a pigeon, Julian Assange, or anyone else who’d wish to amuse themselves by tossing eggs at the face of Someguy, who wants a fanciful job like “independently-wealthy writer” in a country with 300,000,000+ writers and publishers.

I don’t care about the smug, obnoxious Yankee cocksucker the Southerners had the temerity to forgive – for once, amongst all others – gaining yet more bragging rights.

I don’t care if the Republicans exclusively pick candidates from ADX should Trump attain #InTRUMPigenceQuotient victory, just to see what they can get away with, and the Democrats respond by running only candidates from Guantanamo Bay.

I care about living in a country that’s better than I think it is, and having proof of such. It’s high time Our Nation remembered such a thought to be both possible, and sincere.

* Poor Melania’ll never forgive herself for taking the same deal Ivana got on child-naming rights. There’s no way she knew about John Barron before last year.

** Hi, Scott Alexander!

* * *

O.R. Welles is a current writer and aspiring independently-wealthy writer. He learned long ago the whole thing is quite hopeless, so it’s no good worrying about tomorrow. It probably won’t come.

He also learned to be fine with that: the World is full of pleasure and enjoyment beyond count, all amount of it enjoyed previously shall ne’er lose value, and even those fighting for a right side are guaranteed to lose shall live better and happier than any whom take victory in the name of evil or stupidity shall e’er see.

#StopBetsy and #GamerGate

There’s a good chance someone made this connection before I did, but I’m confident I’m a better writer than they are.

There’s a headline that could go either way.

* * *

There are many reasons for a human with a moral compass to despise the atrocious “Dear Colleague” letter of the overrated Obama years: the ghoulish civil-rights violations in the name of security for a crime epidemic; the two-faced neo-liberal strudel-hiders who completely disavow their credibility as advocates for criminal-justice reform because they couldn’t resist the chance to punish male sexuality — make no mistake, plenty of gay men get railroaded on this fiasco; the fact that the crime epidemic being used to justify the despicable overreach of Title IX just happens to be occurring during the largest decline of America’s crime rate in living memory, in what statistically has been the safest location for teens and twenty-somethings in all other respects to live for the last one-hundred years, and that the moment you opine the epidemic being a fantasy drawn from the same hysteria as the Satanic-abuse panic of the 80s, your accused of being a rape apologist. But worst of all, “Dear Colleague” has now forced me to stand up in favor of Betsy DeVos – and among other reasons, her support of federal dollars going to the teaching of creationism is still more than enough reason for me to hate the bitch for life no matter how much she needs support rolling back this unpardonable policy.

The recent #StopBetsy movement on Twitter could very well be the next #GamerGate in terms of whatever value a Twitter Hashtag possesses: a sexually-charged culture war between the left and right where the thrill of battle takes precedence over figuring out the truth. Like #GamerGate, I imagine left-wing cultural hegemony – damaged, though it may be – will pull far more people into standing up for what is otherwise obvious nonsense out of a sense of moral obligation to feminism, nevermind how the evisceration of civil rights to advance a proceeding that – best case scenario – doesn’t even end with actual rapists ever getting sent to prison has anything to do with advancing women’s rights to anything. Like #GamerGate, I imagine many alt-righters who gain attention from #StopBetsy will eventually poison the well by doing something similar to what Ethan Ralph, Davis M.J. Aurini, and Milo Yiannopoulos did to kill their careers (respectively: assaulting a police officer, blaming the Holocaust on the Soviet Union, and supporting their own childhood pederasty with a gay priest).

And, like #GamerGate, I also see how easy it would be for those on the left to flip the script if they chose to focus on different details in the same case. With #GamerGate, you have a first-generation son of immigrants from the chronically put-upon nation of Albania, repeatedly dismissed by the public as an abusive ex-boyfriend when he published screencaps on his WordPress site of his ex-girlfriend repeatedly admitting to cheating on him, and said screencaps have been confirmed real by the wife of the man said ex-girlfriend cheated on said Albanian with. It’s both a disbelief of a woman whose trust was abused by her husband, and the unfair dismissal of a man belonging to a historically-abused ethnicity. A reasonable person would never do this. Hatred of Albanians is more a Balkan or Arabian or Turkish prejudice than an American one, and the merits of Eron Gjoni’s claims against Zoë Quinn can be seen clearly enough by those looking at Chelsea Van Valkenberg’s record of failure in court and litigation towards her unfortunate former beau and her habitual hostility to reality (Quinn spent seven years pretending her brithdate was August 13th, just so she could say her birthday occasionally fell on Friday the 13th).

With #StopBetsy, you have a system which lowers protections against the accused in a country with the highest incarceration rate on the planet outside North Korea. A multi-ethnic country with drastically-deteriorating race relations and deeply disproportionate conviction rates for Black men (and Black women, for that matter), who also represent the highest portion of exonerations for sexual-assault in the entire country. Knowing these statistics, it’s easy to extrapolate; if Black men are more likely to be accused of crimes and later found innocent in actual trials, Black men will not see improvements when they lose the ability to cross-examine, 5th Amendment protection, protections from double-jeopardy, and the right to know what they’re being charged for – even without considering the statistics that show Blacks as disproportionately likely to be abused by the also hideous “Zero-Tolerance” policies in public schools wrought from post-Columbine hysteria, which itself happened during an era of declining school-shootings.

By both lean and robust standards of the term, “Dear Colleague” required institutional racism from America’s public universities. By their own standards, supporters of #StopBetsy are required to support racism, all for a proceeding that can’t even put an actual rapist in prison and a “one-in-five” statistic that’s clearly not even believed by its own promoters, or they’d’ve abolished co-ed schools altogether.

I have little hope DeVos dictum will mean what it should. She’s a widely disliked boss of a department in an incompetent and reviled administration. The hideous “Yes Means Yes” standard of consent shall remain the rule of the land in California, and the policy feeds just enough to the “Law and Order” psychopaths of red states to make friends among those who otherwise complain about feminism and political correctness. DeVos efforts could also very easily end up tanking due to the roving storm of incompetence, corruption, and disaster that swipes up all attached to the Drumpfstag – even if Mike Pence manages to survive 2020 with 270 intact.

But if there’s hope, it lies in the lawsuits. Every unjust expulsion, every abuse inflicted on the accused even when they’re lucky enough to be declared innocent at the end of the mess, not to mention the inevitable day when an actual rapist gets expelled but not imprisoned and goes on a Bundy-esque rampage that could’ve been nipped in the bud had the case gone to criminal court like all serious sexual-assault accusations should go at all times: all these create chances for lawsuits and lawsuits create payouts. Even places that charge four or five figures a month’ll grow sick of paying out the ass for a program that can only punish the innocent and let the guilty off with a slap on the wrist. No amount of SocJus screeching can save “Yes Means Yes” by then. The only question left is whether the length of time Americans allow this ridiculous panic’s continued infliction matches that of the Satanic Panic, or the ongoing War on Drugs – which still hasn’t managed to teach a moral lesson to the public consciousness in half a century.

* * *

O.R. Welles is a current writer and aspiring independently-wealthy writer. He writes “never mind” as a compound word for the same reason he writes “be cause” as a compound word; and for this, spell-check can kiss his ass.

He would like to thank Twitter’s @notwokileaks for inspiring this article.

More White-Nationalists Should Hire Hookers

A meditation on angry male sexual frustration.

A practical solution to a longtime problem.

* * *

There were many poetic elements to the recent national embarassment that was the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally. None moreso than the event’s geographical significance. But unlike many who see the event as a callback to the hideous racist past of Dixieland, what caught my eye — and what should catch the eye of far more — is the fact that the event took place in the stomping grounds of the most infamous angry, unemployable, virginal, basement-dweller-who-lives-with-his-parents fanfiction writer of the 21st Century: Christian Weston Chandler. Better known as Chris-Chan.

Possibly the most mocked man in Internet history (no small accomplishment in a world with Mao Xinyu, Shia LaBeouf, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan), Chris-Chan has spent the entirety of his life running through a series of humiliations not even the combined cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia could top. Multiple sex tapes, none of which feature other human beings; a Sonic the Headgehog and Pokémon fanfiction comic bearing sub-elementary-schooler compositional quality — though the work’s violence and pornography would give away the age of the author even if he hadn’t made himself the main character; a bottomless naïvité not even the œuvre of Steve Carell has surpassed (the man drove eight-hundred miles from his home to rescue a Molvanîan woman from a kidnapping, after he was told Molvanîa was a fictional country): Chris Chandler is proof that no amount of imagination from Kenny Hotz or Andy Kaufman shall ever be enough to top the depths to which Reality can plummet on her own.

But of all C.W.C.’s achievements in failure, both before and after he became famous a decade ago, none shall surpass that of the Love Quest: a near generation-spanning effort by the C-villian against dying alone. Nearly every bad decision Chris-Chan has made since 2003 can be tied back to this disastrously-conceived undertaking against his sexual failures. He’s been banned from at least a half-dozen locations in the Charlottesville area for soliciting women with a poster-board sign, including his community college; he’s ruined every personal relationship with women he ever had by pestering them for sex; he took up crossdressing in 2011 solely to add lesbians to the list of women he can pester: all of it has been for nothing. The only progress he ever made was when he lost his virginity to a prostitute in April 2012 at the age of thirty.

For Chris, I only have one question: What took you so long?

For white-nationalists, I have an answer: Learn from Christian Weston Chandler’s example.

* * *

There have been countless jokes and observations made about the root problem with political psychopaths being sexual frustration. It’s the root of everything from the 12th’s popular Michael Rapaport video, to the plot of 1984, to the mono-testicular Hitler limerick, all the way to the countless jokes about the Houri in the Islamic Paradise. Tragically for Planet Earth, problems are more complicated than any amount of sex could solve; but there’s also a trend, mostly from third-wave feminists, to dismiss the very idea of sexual frustration as a motivation for human behavior as a product of the white-supremicist patriarchy. As seen in yesterday’s nonsensical article from Elle by Roqayah Chamseddine, written in response to the Rapaport video I just linked, in which the authress sincerely postulates even the very concept of virginity as a myth.

How in Hell anybody who’s ever had a conversation with a man could say something this ridiculous beggars belief. The fact that someone belonging to an ethnicity of the most sexually-dysfunctional region of Planet Earth today would think this shows that Feminism has detached itself from Reality to a degree surpassing that of Young-Earth Creationists.

It could very well be a cooincidence that Richard Spencer has a mail-order bride, that David Duke has been divorced since 1984, that Steve Bannon and Rush Limbaugh have three divorces each, and that the twice-divorced Donald Trump does not sleep in the same bedroom as his current wife Melania and both often reside in separate states. It could be chance that Elliot Rodger has been adopted as a posthumous alt-right butt-monkey, and that that alt-right ideology is the most popular political position among involuntary celebates — or “incels” for short (Good Christ, what a ridiculous term). There might be no pattern whatsoever to James Alex Fields Jr., Dylan Storm Roof, and Timothy McVeigh all being “confirmed bachelors” up to the date of their ghastly crimes. Brother Dean Saxton’s repeated boasting of his virginity — and no other accomplishments whatsoever — may have no relation to him spending years yelling at sexy co-eds being deserving of rape.
The same “maybe” as Casey Anthony’s searching for “fool-proof” suffocation methods on Google the last day her daughter was seen alive.

* * *

I will agree with Ms. Chamseddine on one point: no one should ever feel the need to pity-fuck anybody. There’s good reasons why all of the men I mentioned previously have their problems, and no woman should ever feel obligated to nanny some neurologically-dysfuctional pickle-polisher incapable of even quarter-ass effort at productivity.

Their answer is hookers.

Sure, in America, hookers are illegal. Sure, there are many who think hiring hookers would be immoral even where it’s legal. But even among those who believe the latter, of which I’m not at all aligned, the suggestion that taking an alternate route of soliciting randoes who will never show any interest beyond the pretend in groups among which Donald Trump counts in the number is downright dumb. How is it an improvement for someone to not break the law or a taboo when they turn themselves to a public nusiance at best in the process of legal and moral obedience? Why should the insipid lie of “there being someone for everyone” continue to be propogated in the face of such overwhelming evidence to the contrary? The personal, and often professional, growth it takes to make these losers presentable (much less desireable) is almost assuredly beyond their capability even if they had the willpower and the self-reflection to so much as get started.

There is no one for Steve Bannon! Nor Dylan Roof! There was, and will remain, no one for Christian Weston Chandler! But thanks to the magic of escort services, he found her anyway, and could find her again the moment he saves up $200.

Losing one’s virginity’s no panacæa. Nor are hookers. Anders Behring Breivik had sex with a few hookers before carrying out the worst massacre in Norway since World War II; and the social, economic, and political turmoil of the 21st Century transcends all easy solutions. They have yet to even fix Chris-Chan’s life, as the dozens of threads chronicling his failures made since 2012 on sites such as Kiwi Farms attest to. But if a time machine could be used to buy everyone who attended the Unite the Right rally an hour with an escort the month before it took place, I guarantee the rally would’ve been smaller.

Judging by the photos released of Christian Chandler’s fellow living-with-his-mom-er Fields, there would likely even be no loss of life.

* * *

O.R. Welles is a current writer, and aspiring independently-wealthy writer. He can be found thanking a hooker named Maggie McNeill. Without her inspiration, this article would never have been written.

Watching the World – Zimbabwe: Neria

On African in-laws.

Trouble with in-laws is a predicament that transcends borders and cultures. Getting along with one member of any given family is never a guarantee that the others will be agreeable in one’s relations, and the odds only grow less favorable of cooperation when material matters such as money, property, and sex are thrown into the mix. Combined with tremendous institutional and customary power to ruin lives, and a patriarch with no moral compass aside from his id; you get the 1993 Zimbabwean picture Neria.

Zimbabwe has never been a country known for her rich cinematic history. Most of the pictures made until the 1980s in this country were horrific propaganda pieces designed to terrorize the majority-black populace into submission towards the Rhodesians, including outright snuff films of guerrillas being eaten by hyenas (which I’ve yet to see uploaded to the Web, but can easily imagine existing in a world where the Dagestani Massacre is unfortunate enough to have been filmed). Combined with the economic ruin brought about by President Robert Mugabe’s brutal land-seizures against thousands of the Nation’s Whites starting in 2000, there has been almost no point in Rhodesian or Zimbabwean history since the invention of film where any kind of cinematic culture could thrive at all.

Aside from the 80s and 90s: when Neria, Flame, Jit, Everyone’s Child, and almost every other fondly-remembered Zimbabwean picture was released; concluding with 2000’s Yellow Card.

With the exception of Wrestlemania XX, it’s hard to think of a feel-good ending more retrospectively depressing than that of Neria. A film about the abuse of tribal custom at the hands of a greedy, selfish in-law named Phineas (Dominic Kanaventi: former Zimbabwe Actor’s Guild President and, as of 2009, an American citizen) who wants to bully his own brother’s widow (Jesese Mungoshi, the titular protagonist) into becoming his second wife; and whose plans are thwarted by the magic of the rule of law and a robust judicial system that cares about the well-being of the nation’s people. Phineas’ hideous disregard for his extended family may be extreme even by chauvanist African tribal standards — he not only steals Neria’s home, but refuses to drive his niece to the hospital when her appendix bursts, leaving Neria to carry her alone on foot — the problem of in-laws stealing homes from widows in Zimbabwe is sadly commonplace to this day.

Zimbabwe’s squander of her promise has been rightly mourned by all aside from the kleptocratic sociopaths currently ruling the unfortunate land; but the spirit of Neria shows not only that the desire for a fair society transcends cultures, those who wish it shall continue to fight for its achievement no matter how long they must tredge through failure on the way.

As for the actual quality of the film: I enjoyed it, but the limitations director Godwin Mawuru was under are more than a little obvious. Namely the audio-recording and the cinematography, which is reminiscent of a budget picture from the 1950s. The most famous person in the picture is a musician and composer of the film’s soundtrack, Oliver Mtukudzi; and during his performances with his band, it’s more than a little obvious that the audio you hear in the film is not the same as what was being performed on the stage. But none of Neria‘s production weaknesses are blatant or distracting enough to be a dealbreaker, and Mtukudzi’s music touches the heart regardless of the listener’s knowledge of Swahili.

I’m glad I watched Neria. The titular character’s triumph may be both literal and metaphorical fiction, but a fight that is righteous and deserving has no bearing on said fight’s odds of success. Literal and metaphorical doom for what is noble is worth more than any number of victories for the side of evil; and if Neria was ultimately on the wrong side of history, it was a loss any with a soul should happily take the dive with.

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O.R. Welles is a current writer trying his hand at film reviewing. He can be found working on his Watching the World series, and linking to the IMDb page of Neria in the post-script of his review.

Watching the World – Introduction: Shamelessly Ripping Off Ann Morgan

Is this how Dave Sim felt?

Of course not! He committed for thirty years.

I’ve found a gimmick, and I intend to see it through.

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When I started writing for my website, the earliest advice I received recommended that I find a topic no one else was writing about, still being of interest to a broad group, while remaining something I have both interest and expertise in.

Needless to say, this task is close to impossible. If it weren’t, everyone would be a professional writer. But eventually, I found not only inspiration, but an endless supply of material to work with and research. Eventually, I found the ‘countries’ section of IMDb.

Jean Cocteau once said that film will only become an art when it’s materials are as inexpensive as pencil and paper. That point has not quite been reached yet, but we still live on a planet where everyone from tech billionaires to Somali peasants has access to audiovisual recording technology, editing software, and distribution channels to uncountable hundreds of millions in nearly every corner of the planet. All this is well close enough to Jean Cocteau’s standard for my lack of patience to clear, and my silly gimmick to prop itself up.

So I’ve decided: I will go through the entire IMDb countries list, starting with the less-common countries section and saving obvious countries like Spain and Japan for a later date, until I’ve seen at least one film, documentary, or series of shorts from every country that has — or ever had — produced a film with an IMDb page. I shall do so starting immediately, hopefully working my way through the list of less common countries by August of next year, and I shall go through the list in reverse-alphabetical order for no reason other than my personal fancy.

It’s the perfect idea for WordPressers like myself. So perfect, an almost identical idea was already accomplished by London authress Ann Morgan in 2012. But I’m nowhere near stupid enough to care against shamelessly ripping off successful ideas as long as they’re worth taking. As Jim Cornette says: when you steal from one person, it’s plagiarism, when you steal from several, it’s research.

Ann Morgan, stealing from you is an honor.

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O.R. Welles is a freelance writer of aspiring notoriety and financial compensation. He’s still stunned that the people of Zimbabwe haven’t yet resorted to eating their cameras to stave off micronutrient deficiency.