Like those old John Hughes’ movies, the adults have been inexplicably though indispensably absent to the titillating plot line of politics in the Kwa. No youthful indiscretion has been too infinitesimal as the leaders of the world’s most powerful and oldest continuous government root around in details of beer-drinking and sex from parties that were cleaned up and forgotten long ago.
You may recognize the scene from Sixteen Candles above. I enjoyed being a young person in the early 1980’s, but unfortunately never got to make out with a drunken Haviland Morris.
Here’s Haviland now. She works in New York City real estate.
The 1980’s were fun times. I attended a number of those parties that Christine Blasey-Ford has been talking about. Ms. Ford is no Haviland Morris. (In fairness, I’m no Anthony Michael Hall.)
Speaking of, Anthony Michael Hall has ended up with a pretty interesting, pugilistic look. He’s also gotten tall (6′ 2″) and his estimated worth is $16 million. As I said, I’m unfortunately no Anthony Michael Hall.
I’ve been following this story to see if another member of my age cohort, Brett Kavanaugh, will have his Supreme Court appointment derailed by Ford’s completely unprovable and unrefutable allegation that he ravaged her fair white body at a beer-fueled rapefest in 1982.
Where are the grown-ups to tell us forget it, it was 36 years ago, we don’t know, we can’t know, and therefore we don’t and can’t care? We’re the grown-ups now: world-weary adults with thinning hair, arthritic joints, aging or deceased parents, furiously denouncing our peer group over drunken groping that may or may not have happened in the bloom of glorious youth.
As somebody who remembers those torrid years rather fondly, I’m astonished. I can recall lots of good and bad times, including being physically humiliated by a bigger, stronger peer. I could look this man up on Facebook. We have our own adult lives and responsibilities. Why would I seethe over any number of stupid incidents from high school? That’s what grown-ups do: they grow up. Christine Blasey-Ford is not a grown-up. Lots of women never grow up. We used to not bother counting their votes.
The hysteria has snowballed to encompass all manner of lurid allegations and minutiae. Grown-ups can tell you that’s what hysteria does: it feeds on itself, snowballs to attract all sorts of freaks. A woman named Julia Swetnick came out of the woodwork to say Kavanaugh and his friends ran trains on helpless, poisoned women. Wow! Except our big-brained media and savvy politicos forgot to notice that Swetnick was crazy as a fucking fruit bat and being shepherded around by a psychopathic lawyer.
The circus continues and will for some time. Women roam the Congressional office building, screaming in its halls. Millions cower at their computer monitors, convinced women are routinely assaulted at a level which would otherwise shut down much of society, with women refusing to leave the house and men fighting blood feuds over the constant attacks on their wives and daughters. It’s all nonsense.
There have been hopeful signs out of all this mess, and I’ll address them in the next post.