Preferably in a nice padded room. Amanda, you're starting to worry us.
The phrase was deliberately sexual, and not just that, but in the family of smutty phrases that invokes violence, perhaps even coercion. If you give the wingnutteria a chance to romanticize a cheap, violent masculinity, they’re all over it. “Drill, baby, drill” was about way more than oil. It was about telling the rest of the country, “We’re going to make you our bitches.” In fact, the image was not just about conquering the not-real American majority, but about violating our very spacious skies and purple mountains majesty. The resentment runs that deep.
We do? The world must be a pretty frightening place for you - you're channeling Andrea Dworkin now, girl.
Men use the night to erase us...The annihilation of a woman's personality, individuality, will, character, is prerequisite to male sexuality, and so the night is the sacred time of male sexual celebration, because it is dark and in the dark it is easier not to see: not to see who she is. Male sexuality, drunk on its intrinsic contempt for all life, but especially for women's lives, can run wild, hunt down random victims, use the dark for cover, find in the dark solace, sanctuary, cover."
To which Fred Reed, in his classic and hilarious piece, responds:
I do?There there, Amanda. We don't want to rape your amber fields of grain or make you our bitch. Nor do we wish to turn down utopian, socialized health care because it would work, and because we're so drunk on our intrinsic contempt for life (it's only valuable if we can deny it to others, as you point out) that we don't WANT to save sick children and grannies. Actually, I find it a little odd that as an example of socialized medicine "working" you point to the fact that people in the UK kept voting for it - but then you seem to be needing your dosage checked, so I will just keep dealing with why the evil conservatives don't want it. It's not because, as you claim, we feel like making people lie down in gutters and kicking them repeatedly until they die under our boots. If a socialist economy worked and made life better for people (and could be done without crimes against liberty), if a socialist health care system had a shot in hell of being consistent with liberty AND working, or any other socialist collectivist plan you want to force on the rest of us (those hateful producers you would rather die than admit dependence on for implementing these utopian dreams) then I assure you they would find a lot more support. Anyone who actually knows something about that niggling little thing you refuse to learn about, ECONOMICS, knows how and why your pipe dreams will never be other. And it is not out of hatred for you and yours (if it was, I'd let you all die in your socialist wasteland and move somewhere very very far away right now instead of fighting for a return to the Constitution and LIBERTY in this nation), it is out of a deep love for my country, for the truth, for the Constitution, for our founders, and for my posterity. This is why I oppose you and will continue to do so. Your melodramatic accusations are as over-the-top as Dworkin's were, and it's sounding like medication time.
How does a man respond to such a broadside? The prose could use some lubrication, of course, and maybe a new set of plug wires, but I'm talking about the content. My first impulse is to reassure the poor woman: "There, there, Andrea, you're safe, nights just don't get dark enough." My second impulse is to wonder just how much radical feminists know about male sexuality, and what book they read it in.
I like to picture myself on a Saturday-night date in high school, parking on a back road.
My date: "You're driving kind of funny. I reckon it was the beer."
Me: "Why, no, Sally. I'm drunk on my intrinsic contempt for all life."
Sally: "You're so silly. Come here."
Me: "Soon...soon. Do you mind staying here by yourself for a bit?"
Me: "I need to, uh, you know, run wild for a few minutes. Hunt down a few random victims. Use the dark for cover. Guy stuff."
Sally: "You nuts or something?"
Me: "It's...night, Sally...the sacred time of male sexual celebration."
Sally: "You're gonna do it out there?"
Also, to whoever says "From each according to his abilities," I have discovered the perfect answer. Make me, bitch. I like many others intend to suck all the marrow out of this coming new socialist overlord plan and live the good and easy life for once. No reason I should work my ass off year after year just to barely make my mortgage when I can have all the same stuff for free, as a right. Gimme!