Busy Body

British "Man" Gives Birth: Lose Your Fucking Mind and Hate Him!

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We live in an amazing, Technicolor, sci-fi world. A world where you can almost literally be anything you want. I mean, you can’t actually be, say, a cat or a polar bear. But you can dress up like them and fuck other people dressed up like zebras and mice, which is basically all you would want out of that kind of life anyway. So, no, you can’t actually be anything you want, modern science hasn’t quite gotten us THAT far, but say you’re a woman and you don’t like that, you can be a man. Then say, you’re a man now, but you want to be a mommy. “Tough shit” you say? “You made your penis and now you have to lie on it!” Well that’s where you’re wrong gender Nazi! Now you can have your masculinity and your mother’s day too!

Wait, follow me here: A man in England, who was a woman in England is now a mom… dad… in England.

Why is this news I hear you asking? People push smaller people out of the appropriate organs every day, what makes this special? Well I’ll tell you. It’s a freak! Look and point at the freak thing doing a freak thing that makes us uncomfortable! Any time anyone different does something normal, people shit their pants.

What grabs the attention initially is “Man has baby” which is not true. A man did not have a baby. Let’s get that straight. A woman, now identifying them self as a man after surgeries and hormone treatments, who looks very much like a human man as long as he’s wearing pants but who still possesses working lady innards, had a baby. Now I’m not saying that he isn’t a man now or maybe wasn’t all his life and now just externally matches the person he was all along internally. What I’m saying is that this is not a person born a man, with male baby making mechanics, giving birth to a child. This is a biological woman with all of the inner workings as such, doing what those things do. So cut it out with “Man Has Baby! Holy Fuck!”… You’re not helping.

Cut it our y'all, I'm all powerful. Fer serious!
Cut it our y'all, I'm all powerful. Fer serious!

But even then, that’s STILL not the real reason anyone is taking notice of this. It grabs the attention sure, but once someone reads “man with left over lady parts” they understand that a miracle has not occurred. And maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe it would be better if it WERE miraculous. ‘Cause there’s no other reason that the news that somebody with the appropriate parts (the very same that God done gived ’em to make it possible) having a baby should be a big thing to anyone, except of course, you know; God.

It seems, for an all knowing, all powerful, omnipotent creator of everything everywhere ever, this “God” fellah sure seems to get his mighty will gone against an awful lot. Fortunately there are plenty of defenders of this flimsy excuse for a deity ready to call these disgusting perverts who have had babies the way they were designed to, monsters who have destroyed any chance of happiness for the people they just made.

“We have to sit up and consider these things,” Busy body, Josephine Quintavalle, of ‘Comment on Reproductive Ethics’ said when no one asked. “I don’t think it is in the interests of the child to distort nature this way. We are prepared to do anything possible to fulfill the rights of the adult. But I think it is at the expense and rights and welfare of the child.”

She went on to say that “there needs to be a proper inquiry in to the issues surrounding these births.”

To which I can’t help but wonder: why?

A person with ovaries walks into a doctor’s office and asks for help in creating another human being who may or may not also own a set of ovaries, depending on the whimsical fancy of an invisible sky grandpa. The doctor gives the womb owner magic lady juices to make their parts more baby ready. Some time later, usually a couple score months and then some, VIOLA! Baby!

What makes one baby maker less ethically acceptable than another? A beard? Because a good amount of lady ladies have facial hair problems, this one just seems to be more comfortable with it. What makes the soft, smooth mother with fertility assistance more fit to mother than the gruff, less traditional mother? If this man woman had perhaps had a dozen children and a reality show, would the ethics then be less of a sticky wicket?

Trevor Stammers, director of medical ethics at St Mary’s University College, London, said: “You are hardly going to end up with a baby that’s going to have a happy, productive and optimal childhood.”

Now you’re just being a dick Trevor Stammers, director of medical ethics at St. Mary’s University College, London. And I fucking assume it’s a college if it has “University” in the name you redundant cunt.

Is that a beer gut or do you just have a secret womb destroying God and family?
Is that a beer gut or do you just have a secret womb destroying God and family?

What “Mr.” Stammers is saying, is that this horrible, selfish person, who bore this child solely to mock creation and “Mr.” Stammers’ basic belief system, has damned this child to an unhappy, unproductive, unoptimal childhood. Because this person decided that they more associated with manliness than ladyliness, but still wanted to have a child with the equipment that they were given, they are somehow unfit to raise a child in anything but a hellish state of Godless confusion.

OR, Mr. Stammers is a fucking hateful douche who’s own carefully shaped world view, molded by a pretty mommy with boobies and makeup, is a living example that how frilly your mom is don’t really dictate your potential future seething unhappiness.

Love is love people. And doesn’t it stand to reason that someone who loves them self more due to choices they’ve made to re-shape their lives, will likely be able to bestow upon their child a pretty solid level of unreserved love. It seems a family with this sort of base will likely be hindered less by judgement and shame, except of course for all of the judgement and shame heaped upon them by the outside world who’s been taught by good, wholesome families to judge and shame.

Read your own books folks. This flawless lord of yours told you to love. That message seems to be pushed aside by your searching out reasons where you think your book tells you to hate and justifications for why you do. But I’ll take a thousand dickless dads over a single nuclear family that says man mom is wrong to bring a child into the world because his life choice makes them feel icky.

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Lesbians Take Down Plane With Heat Seeking Kissle

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“Get these monkey fightin’ lesbians off this Monday through Friday plane!”

The greatest threat to American air travel, right now, as I am typing this very important piece of internet fluffery, is not exploding shoes, or slightly larger than tiny bottles of shampoo, or the stinky guy. No, commercial air travel enemy number one, is lady kisses!

And somewhere, an airport exploded.
And somewhere, an airport exploded.

Now, you and I, being people of a reasonable nature who exist in a world where things happen, have likely seen a lesbian before, whether we like it or REALLY like it. We, being human animals with the ability to move our heads a not unreasonable degree (I mean, not like, owl levels or anything, that’s crazy and unreasonable, let’s not get all fantastical now gentle reader) and have a fair working knowledge of what it is that we prefer to bear witness too and what it is that we simply will not linger upon, no matter how pant tighteningly hot it is. And while the majority of us do not own aero-planes, dirigibles or any other manner of flying machine, we do own something, be it a mode of transportation or posession otherwise, that we likely would not clutch fearfully to our chest sobbing uncontrollably simply because a lesbian happened to be lesbianing in, on or near to it.

But then, I guess that’s what makes us different from Southwest Airlines.

It seems a lady (to call her a “celebrity” would be KIND of stretching it. She’s known, more than I am, sure, but “celebrity”? meh) kissed another lady while in mid air and that caused quite a stir, and not just the trousery kind that that sort of exchange usually engenders. It seems as little as one flight attendant and as many as one flight attendant and “several” passengers were unable or unwilling to employ their neck muscles to avoid the horrible, ghastly sight of two sets of soft, warm lips, coming together in a loving face embrace IN FRONT OF GOD AND EVERYONE!

Oh for the days when a flight attendant recognized a playful pat on the ass for the compliment it was...
Oh for the days when a flight attendant recognized a playful pat on the ass for the compliment it was...

This interaction prompted a talking to by Southwest staff and resulted in these filthy consenting adults being thrown from the plane upon its landing. Which is a confusing part of the story to me, perhaps because I don’t do a lot of plane flighting, what what with my uncanny power of unaided human flight (a direct result of my prolonged exposure to your planet’s yellow sun) but I always thought that once a plane had landed, it wasn’t strictly necessary to escort someone from it, as, unless they planned on paying rent, that was the entire purpose of a plane’s landing, so that one could then disembark and continue on toward the destination that the plane flight had aided in expediting. So it just seems that escorting someone from a plane after it lands is just kind of a dick move. Is there a fear that, without the forceful prodding of Southwest employees these two lady pervs would continue to face slam one another willy nilly, further endangering all of those around them to varying levels of arousal depending upon their personal proclivity?

I get that people have personal tastes and beliefs and dislikes and prejudices. I understand. I myself can’t stand to see people. But when I see one or more of these “people” doing anything ever I don’t immediately tell them to stop doing it because I don’t like that I’m able to see them doing it. I don’t ask the nearest other person that I don’t like to stop the activity of two people who have absolutely nothing to do with me simply because what they’re doing is visible. So why should anyone, in this dazzling age of spinal rotation, be so offended by something that they have to actively look at, when the other 340 degrees of potential visible landscape would likely offer unto them something that even their hateful little minds would find inoffensive?

I guess just the fact that they would KNOW that someone was in some way happy near them would just be too much. And the only thing that gets THEM hard, is interfering in the happiness of others. So thanks for ruining it for the rest of the passengers, haters of sexy things. Now I’m going to have to jerk off to the over priced electronics gadgets and lemon bar recipes in the in flight publications… again…

One Million Moms Hate Balls

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During the winter break of my Sophomore year at the University of Nevada, Reno (go fighting Soft Sixteens!) I took a backpacking excursion through the inhospitable wilderness of the South American rainforest. I hiked for nine days with my trusty guide Tuo Uu-nu Eepchak. I was but a fool child, ill prepared for the conditions I would face in these endangered woods. Tuo became more than a guide to me, through our perilous journey he became mentor, teacher, father, lover, and the night that he boiled his freshly severed foot to provide us the nourishment we would need to see us home, I knew not to refuse the plate, and ate every last bite without once breaking eye contact.

I could have chosen Amsterdam, instead I will die here.
I could have chosen Amsterdam, instead I will die here.

As Tuo carried me, in an uncomfortable one footed hobble, back to civilization we collapsed, unable to journey any further. I was certain this was the end, so as to not let any of my brave friend go to waste, I began chewing on his left hand. As I drifted off into unconsciousness, suckling upon the sweet, caramel colored digit I was prepared to welcome death’s clammy embrace. But to my surprise I awoke again, laying on a straw thatch that a pungent combination of my profuse perspiration and seeping diarrhea had bedamped. Beside my bed of natural fibers sat a woman of indeterminate age and coffee complection. Her heavy, naked breast swayed gently as she reached into a loosely woven basket that sat in her lap, retrieved a single nut and carefully fed it through my cracked, blistered lips.

Over the next week I was nursed back to health by this plump, wizened woman and adopted by her tribe. I received a native name, “Kuh Naya”, which I chose to believe translated to “Brave Explorer” but which I knew was more likely to have meant “Oozer of Liquids”. My strength returned almost immediately as my diet of native legumes replenished my vitality. When I was finally well enough to resume my journey home I asked the elders for their permission to take a supply of their restorative food back to the states to offer the civilized world a chance at the restorative effect of these native people’s hidden miracle bounty. The elders refused, but I could not take no for an answer. As the tribe slept I filled my back pack and slipped off into the night.

Upon returning to Reno I packaged my ill gotten prize for presentation to a friend in the grocery business. I told him about my adventures in the jungle and my encounter with the natives and offered him a taste. The flavor assaulted his dulled western taste buds and the burst of vim and vigor shot through his body with one bite. He grasped at my collar, begging me for my secret, offering me anything in the world for this wonderful prize.

“What do you call these?” he pleaded, tears welling in his eyes.

With no small swell of pride I straightened up and smugly replied.

“These are the native nuts of the ancient and wise Haree tribe of South America.” I beamed. “What you have in your mouth, are my Haree Nuts.”

A group calling themselves One Million Moms is leading a boycott against Ben & Jerry’s over their new limited edition ice cream flavor based on a Saturday Night Live sketch; “Schweddy Balls”.

“The vulgar new flavor has turned something as innocent as ice cream into something repulsive,” the group of humorless hags said. “Not exactly what you want a child asking for at the supermarket.”

One Million Moms, a “division of the Mississippi-based American Family Association” also hates Ben & Jerry’s commemorative flavor “Hubby Hubby”, a special edition of “Chubby Hubby” celebrating gay marriage.

“It seems that offending customers has become an annual tradition for Ben & Jerry’s.

This ice cream embarrasses me. NO ONE MUST HAVE IT!
This ice cream embarrasses me. NO ONE MUST HAVE IT!

One Million Moms (which I am almost certain, does not consist of one million actual mothers) hate fun or gay ice creams.

People actually live their lives hating jokes, being offended by tasty frozen treats that don’t hate gays and threatening people that sell things that others rightfully don’t think are insulting them, that they’re not going to buy something that they likely weren’t buying in the first place. This is important to these people. It makes me want to punch everything, ever.

I do not know what my parents expected me to learn from the people of your planet when they launched my escape rocket only moments before my birth home exploded millions of miles from here. But what I have learned so far I do not like.

It's Never Too Early to Learn That You're Not Good Enough

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Hey you, portly meat child, put down that bacon glazed ham turkey and mash your thick, meaty fingers into the keyboard over here, I’ve got something to tell you: You’re not okay!

Did you know that people hate fats. They do. Especially fat children. Nobody hates anything in this world more than they hate rotund rotoddlers. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved when you have to tell a friend who is the parent of an oval kid how “handsome” of “beautiful” or “not sweating profusely from merely existing” their baby is. Your non-tinyness isn’t just hurting your young circulatory system, but our ability to see your parents as anything but grossly neglectful.

"No, silly Maggie, that dress isn't cake. No! Maggie! SOMEBODY HOLD HER DOWN!"
“No, silly Maggie, that dress isn’t cake. No! Maggie! SOMEBODY HOLD HER DOWN!”

Fortunately, one intrepid author is using the fat kid’s second biggest weakness (behind marshmallow covered chocolate stuffed with marshmallows), to trick them into pulling their shit together: books. Books are to fat kids what friends are to regular, popular, healthy and well adjusted “normal” kids. Fat kids trust books because they take them to places that they might otherwise have to use their over burdened legs to discover. And since most overweight youth can’t get to the outside world to be told how they can never be loved as they are, the wonderful world of self loathing and poor body image are brought home to their cake plates, in the form of “Maggie Goes on a Diet” by Paul Kramer.

See Maggie is a fat little red headed 14 year old girl who:

“has so much potential that has been hiding under her extra weight.”

Because as everyone knows, you can never reach your full potential if your gut keeps getting in the way. It’s so far, and your arms are so heavy with internally stored ice cream! You see, your personal and professional successes are directly associated to your Body Mass Index. Think of it as your ranking as a human being. The lower, the less disgusting.

“This inspiring story is about a 14-year old who goes on a diet and is transformed from being overweight and insecure to a normal sized teen…”

Now, to be fair, Maggie almost IS a normal sized teen, and more than likely in the next hand full of years, WILL be. One in three American kids is overweight or obese, so the Largeican Americans are going to stop being the minority soon and then the thins are going to have to watch their tender, bony asses.

“Through time, exercise and hard work, Maggie becomes more and more confident and develops a positive self-image”

Everyone knows that fatties hate themselves, so they eat. Then they hate themselves for eating, and they eat some more, which makes them fatter and more eatie. Books like these, telling fat people that they’re fat and will never be happy until they stop being fat are exactly what is going to save our children. No amount of responsible parenting or thoughtful food choices for your children can do as much to benefit your child as a picture book with “normal” sized kids calling a little cartoon girl “fatty” and “chubby”.

Another of Mr. Kramer's books, apparently featuring sinister drops of piss...
Another of Mr. Kramer’s books, apparently featuring sinister drops of piss…

So while this book isn’t due out until October it’s already gotten people (fat people) up in arms (fat arms). People who say that targeting the insecurities of young girls and enforcing negative body image stigmas is somehow “wrong” and “evil” and “yum, butter!” But those people are clearly just trying to invent a problem where there is none. Of course, author Paul Kramer knows that a 14 year old shouldn’t be dieting, in fact, he told Fox News that very thing.

“I’m not advocating, never did, that any child should go on a diet.” said Mr. Kramer while apparently not promoting his book about a dieting teen.

So there, you’re all getting it wrong fatty lovers. When Mr. Kramer said “Maggie Goes on a Diet”, what he CLEARLY meant was “Maggie Makes Sound Personal Dietary Choices, Resulting in a Better Over All Lifestyle, Which Coupled With Exercise Can and Often Will Result in a Healthier Maggie For Years to Come, Rather Than the Potential Weight Loss Roller Coaster of Dieting”… But everyone knows that the most expensive part of self publishing a book is paying for extra cover words. Which is why my autobiography is going to be titled “Book”. And don’t worry fatty, it’ll be your best friend and take you on the magical journey of the most awesome humorist to ever ride the internets.

It’s Never Too Early to Learn That You’re Not Good Enough

Posted on Updated on

Hey you, portly meat child, put down that bacon glazed ham turkey and mash your thick, meaty fingers into the keyboard over here, I’ve got something to tell you: You’re not okay!

Did you know that people hate fats. They do. Especially fat children. Nobody hates anything in this world more than they hate rotund rotoddlers. It’s uncomfortable for everyone involved when you have to tell a friend who is the parent of an oval kid how “handsome” of “beautiful” or “not sweating profusely from merely existing” their baby is. Your non-tinyness isn’t just hurting your young circulatory system, but our ability to see your parents as anything but grossly neglectful.

"No, silly Maggie, that dress isn't cake. No! Maggie! SOMEBODY HOLD HER DOWN!"
"No, silly Maggie, that dress isn't cake. No! Maggie! SOMEBODY HOLD HER DOWN!"

Fortunately, one intrepid author is using the fat kid’s second biggest weakness (behind marshmallow covered chocolate stuffed with marshmallows), to trick them into pulling their shit together: books. Books are to fat kids what friends are to regular, popular, healthy and well adjusted “normal” kids. Fat kids trust books because they take them to places that they might otherwise have to use their over burdened legs to discover. And since most overweight youth can’t get to the outside world to be told how they can never be loved as they are, the wonderful world of self loathing and poor body image are brought home to their cake plates, in the form of “Maggie Goes on a Diet” by Paul Kramer.

See Maggie is a fat little red headed 14 year old girl who:

“has so much potential that has been hiding under her extra weight.”

Because as everyone knows, you can never reach your full potential if your gut keeps getting in the way. It’s so far, and your arms are so heavy with internally stored ice cream! You see, your personal and professional successes are directly associated to your Body Mass Index. Think of it as your ranking as a human being. The lower, the less disgusting.

“This inspiring story is about a 14-year old who goes on a diet and is transformed from being overweight and insecure to a normal sized teen…”

Now, to be fair, Maggie almost IS a normal sized teen, and more than likely in the next hand full of years, WILL be. One in three American kids is overweight or obese, so the Largeican Americans are going to stop being the minority soon and then the thins are going to have to watch their tender, bony asses.

“Through time, exercise and hard work, Maggie becomes more and more confident and develops a positive self-image”

Everyone knows that fatties hate themselves, so they eat. Then they hate themselves for eating, and they eat some more, which makes them fatter and more eatie. Books like these, telling fat people that they’re fat and will never be happy until they stop being fat are exactly what is going to save our children. No amount of responsible parenting or thoughtful food choices for your children can do as much to benefit your child as a picture book with “normal” sized kids calling a little cartoon girl “fatty” and “chubby”.

Another of Mr. Kramer's books, apparently featuring sinister drops of piss...
Another of Mr. Kramer's books, apparently featuring sinister drops of piss...

So while this book isn’t due out until October it’s already gotten people (fat people) up in arms (fat arms). People who say that targeting the insecurities of young girls and enforcing negative body image stigmas is somehow “wrong” and “evil” and “yum, butter!” But those people are clearly just trying to invent a problem where there is none. Of course, author Paul Kramer knows that a 14 year old shouldn’t be dieting, in fact, he told Fox News that very thing.

“I’m not advocating, never did, that any child should go on a diet.” said Mr. Kramer while apparently not promoting his book about a dieting teen.

So there, you’re all getting it wrong fatty lovers. When Mr. Kramer said “Maggie Goes on a Diet”, what he CLEARLY meant was “Maggie Makes Sound Personal Dietary Choices, Resulting in a Better Over All Lifestyle, Which Coupled With Exercise Can and Often Will Result in a Healthier Maggie For Years to Come, Rather Than the Potential Weight Loss Roller Coaster of Dieting”… But everyone knows that the most expensive part of self publishing a book is paying for extra cover words. Which is why my autobiography is going to be titled “Book”. And don’t worry fatty, it’ll be your best friend and take you on the magical journey of the most awesome humorist to ever ride the internets.

Alrighty Hippies, Cut it Out

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Seriously…

Knock it off.

We get that everyone’s created equal and that it’s a beautiful thing and that we should all celebrate each other’s differences even though we’re equal and beautiful just the way we differently are. And that’s beautiful. In an equal kind of way. A way that doesn’t discriminate against any other beautiful thing and equally celebrates beauty. And we all go home at the end of the day with a trophy and an ice cream cone, because we’re all winners of beautiful, different but equalness.

You can call 'em best friends, but we know what we're imagining them really doing... Which seems to say more about us than anything really...
You can call 'em best friends, but we know what we're imagining them really doing...

What I’m getting at is: stop trying to make Bert suck off Ernie.

There’s a petition going around the internetted webbing, trying to “encourage” “Sesame Street” producers to have their pair of bath sharing confirmed bachelors joined in holy matrimony.

“We are not asking that Sesame Street do anything crude or disrespectful,” the petition reads. “It can be done in a tasteful way. Let us teach tolerance of those that are different.”

Oh, well, good, it’s not like they’re asking for hot, muppet on muppet butt sex. They don’t want any graphic “rubber duckie” action. They just want to tastefully teach children to stop hating homosexuals. Because as we know, the audience of Sesame Street is made up almost exclusively of gay bashing infants and intolerant toddlers.

Every episode ended with Paul Reiser tied to the bed with is own Cosby sweaters...
Every episode ended with Paul Reiser tied to the bed with is own Cosby sweaters...

The argument is built upon a fraudulent premise, and I would hope they understand it. Children don’t hate gay marriage. Some children’s parents may not like it, but I don’t think it’s the Children’s Television Workshop’s job to adopt all of the children of hateful parents around the world. So you’re not about teaching tolerance. Do I think that it’s wrong to present a married same sex couple to children? Absolutely not, when I was growing up I watched “My Two Dads”. What I disagree with is someone trying to force an agenda upon someone based on the supposed solution to a problem that they’ve manufactured.

But it’s the equality hypocrisy that gets me the most. Because while crusaders will likely shout down and ridicule anyone who opposes this as homophobic and closed minded, let’s not act like they wouldn’t be similarly shitting their carbon neutral, zero impact, humanely harvested hemp onesies if someone was circulating a petition calling for Snuffleupagus to come out as a Soldier of Christ.

Do I want Elmo prancing around asking everyone on Sesame Street if they have accepted Jesus Christ as their personal lord and savior? Fuck no. Nor do I want Oscar the Grouch pushing his Freegan lifestyle on kids, or Grover teaching preschoolers the joys of autoerotic asphyxiation. Your agenda doesn’t have to define you. You don’t have to make it your life’s quest to make sure that what you believe in is in front of everyone’s face at all times. Preaching about gay marriage is the same as preaching about anything else, preachy.

But listen to me; preaching against the preachyness of preaching. Isn’t this just the african american cookware calling the indigenous person’s leaf drink water warmer a racially insensitive epithet? Feel free to go back to not listening to anything I’m saying and calling me names for saying it. It’s what gay married Jesus would do…

Dr. Keith Ablow is Really Angry By How Turned On He Is By Little Girls

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While browsing the e-www’s this afternoon in search of the ridiculous and wrong to scream at, I stopped, as I often do by FOXnews.com. I stumbled upon an article written by a “Dr.” Keith Ablow with the headline “Dr. Keith: Is Vogue Magazine Creating Pedophiles?”

Am I missing the sexy part?
Am I missing the sexy part?

I could do a thousand words on the headline alone; the sensationalizing of fear and absurd reactionism being used to draw people in to his asinine argument by shouting “Pedophile” in a crowded internet. But that would be too easy. To really get into the pure unbridled directionless anger of this Keith Ablow, I have to really examine the heat of his meat… Which upon review, is probably not the best way to preface the thing, but there you go, because my delete key doesn’t work.

The entire article is written with the same self righteous chest beating and finger pointing that most crazy reactionaries fling around in a way that if you even dare to question a word of it, you might as well be doing so from atop your naked child throne. But it’s dipped in the kind of anger that makes it sound like Mr. Dr. feels like Vogue is trying to tempt him into breaking a promise that he swore he would never break again. I’m almost certain that Vogue isn’t specifically testing Ablow’s personal resolve, but by the way he viciously digs into everyone even remotely involved in this photo spread’s existence it sounds like it was written during the angriest fit of masturbation in the history of the penis.

The French edition of Vogue is rightly under fire for publishing a series of photos of Thylane Lena-Rose Loubry-Blondeau, a 10-year-old who appears in heavy makeup and a plunging neckline exposing her nonexistent cleavage and stiletto heels.

Immediately Dr. Keith begins his article by forfeiting any objectivity, journalistic integrity or grammatical competency with his opening salvo. The battle is effectively over before it has begun. By saying that Vogue is “rightly under fire” Dr. Keith makes his feelings perfectly clear while telling us about a “plunging neckline exposing her nonexistent cleavage and stiletto heels”  it’s also safe to assume that his doctorate is not in medicine, or he’s been jerking it so hard and for so long that his eyes are crossed. 

Blondeau’s beauty has been compared to that of film icon Brigitte Bardot. She is, however, most likely years away from puberty and more years away from being able to have a consensual sexual relationship with an adult.

I could make a couple arguments, which admittedly sort of contradict one another’s point. For one, it’s been shown that with the hormones in much of our food children have been encountering puberty at younger and younger ages in recent years. The other that in France the age of consent is 15 and in much of Europe generally hovers around 14, while in Spain, it is only 13… Neither of which actually matter much to either of our arguments, just saying. Also one could argue the difference between “being able” to have a consensual sexual relationship and being legal allowed to, but then I’d kinda sound icky…

The images of Blondeau prove beyond any doubt that children are now being portrayed as erotic by mainstream media and industry. I’ve been warning about this trend for a long time, noting, for instance, that clothing companies like Abercrombie and Fitch were selling padded bikini bras for 8-year-olds (without any boycott of their stores), that Spanish toymaker Berjuan is selling a doll to little girls that encourages them to breastfeed (while wearing a vest that has flowers instead of erect nipples) and that fashion house Juicy Couture has no problem finding parents who’ll buy their little girls tight velour sweat suits with the word Juicy emblazoned across their bottoms.

It’s worse than I thought! Apparently the brave Dr. Keith has been trying to warn us for years that the mainstream media wants to fuck your children! I had no idea! The worst part about it though, is how they haven’t been doing that! Those tricky bastards! The Abercrombie toddler bra stuffing I can’t speak to, didn’t really see it. The Juicy pants are certainly ridiculous and while they simply make me groan at their stupidity, they seem to be iliciting an entirely different gutteral utterence from Mr. Dr.. But calling the breastfeeding doll an example of children being portrayed as erotic is a fairly clear example of one of Keith’s own personal fetishes. It almost sounds like he’s more disappointed that the vest DOESN’T depict hard little girl nipples, instead taking a little bit of the sexy out of it for him by replacing them with flowers. Feeding a baby naturally as mammals have since they were invented is of course lewd and pornographic, and teaching children that it’s okay is just turning them into deviants and objects for vague medical professionals to lust after.

In one Vogue photo Blondeau is pictured lying on her stomach atop a tiger pelt. She is wearing diamond earrings, lipstick, eye makeup and a red dress. In another, she looks about 20, with her mouth open and her finger gliding along her scarlet lips. The clear message is that it is A-OK to feel sexually stimulated by her (since that is the obvious intention of the photos), that little girls are inherently sexually desirable and that they desire men, in turn. Why else, the unconscious part of a man asks himself, would she dress that way?

Here we see plainly the conflict that this photo spread conjures in the loins of Dr. Keith. The entire thought was clearly transcribed from the “Doctor” justifying his own actions on himself, to himself, as he briefly lost track of the fact that he was composing an article.

The answer is, of course, because her reprehensible parents (no better than pimps) got paid to dress her that way by Vogue, and Vogue gets paid to dress her that way by selling magazines. But that doesn’t do away with the impact of the images themselves. Men don’t dismiss what they are made to feel sexually about little girls simply because they are looking at a staged photo shoot, any more than they dismiss their sexual feelings about female movie stars simply because they know the glib and erotic things they are saying and doing are scripted.

 

Oh yeah, and any girl who's ever played dress up is a dirty whore.
Oh yeah, and any girl who's ever played dress up is a dirty whore.

Now the full extent of the blame is being distributed. It’s the pimp like parents fault that Dr. Ablow has a funny feeling in his Doctor parts. It’s Vogue magazine’s fault for knowing just how to get Dr. Ablow’s juices running down his leg! And by simply changing a few pronouns “I don’t dismiss what I am made to feel sexually about little girls simply because I am looking at a staged photo shoot, any more than I dismiss my sexual feelings about female movie stars simply because I know the glib and erotic things they are saying and doing are scripted” sharpens the focus of the accusations the “good” “Doctor” is making a little more. For one, the photos aren’t that god damned sexy, I would go so far as to say they aren’t sexy at all, but that’s mostly because I don’t think that the ten year old girl on the other side of the page wants me inside of her any more than I want to be. The effect that you perceive the photos eliciting are equal to the effect you wish them to elicit. The question on Dr. Keith’s mind doesn’t really seem to be “Is Vogue Magazine Creating Pedophiles?” so much as “How does Vogue Magazine Know I’m a Pedophile?”

It may be that something about social media and the Internet and technology is contributing to this trend. The fact that little girls have assimilated glib, flirtatious turns of phrase harvested from the Web (without even intending to be glib or flirtatious) and that they own the props of adulthood—like cell phones—prompts damaged men to think of them as little adults.

And as if it weren’t bad enough that parents and magazines want you to finger bang a fifth grader, so do the facebooks and the Googlepluses! AND CELL PHONES! Dr. Keith Ablow thinks that cell phones make little girls doable. Let’s stop for just a half a god damned second to examine that little throw away nugget, shall we? In the pictures that I saw in reference to this photo spread, there was nary a one cell phone. So this isn’t even something he’s taking from the subject matter, this is just a kink that he’s admitting to on his own. That cell phones, one of the “props of adulthood” make children look bangtastic. Cell phones. Fucking CELL PHONES!

Not only do I believe Vogue is stimulating pedophiles to act on their desires, but I believe Vogue and Abercrombie and Juicy are creating pedophiles by coaxing dark, illegal desires out of men who would never have otherwise consciously felt them, let alone acted upon them.

Any time a child is abducted or assaulted by anyone ever from here until the end of time, it’s on Vogue and Abercrombie and Juicy’s hands. They are pushing men who would otherwise have ABSOLUTELY NO SEXUAL INTEREST IN CHILDREN, into wanting to violate them with their man penises, because of non-racy pictures, swim suits and sweat pants… That’s what this man, who presumably went to school to be able to type “Dr.” in front of his name, essentially just said. You have probably never thought your entire life about touching a child, but a pair of stupid pants has the power to make you want nothing more than that thing now. That is what this imbecile is saying…

Any adult woman who buys a Vogue magazine, or sets foot in an Abercrombie and Fitch store or buys a stitch of Juicy clothing (just to name a small number of examples) is on the side of those who would deprive our children of childhood and turn them into the targets of predators.

And in the end, this rant against a magazine, becomes an attack on women specifically. Any woman who buys this magazine, or those pants, or that bikini supports pedophilia. Supports, promotes, defends, and produces pedophiles. Apparently there are innumerous “examples” of how pedophiles can be created, but “Dr.” Keith would like to simply point out the specific examples how it’s women’s fault that little girls are raped. If it weren’t for moms “pimping” out their little girls, these poor, defenseless men wouldn’t be tempted into forcibly penetrating them. WHAT ELSE COULD THEY DO!? It’s not their fault, they didn’t even want to before things like tight sweat pants existed.

Dr. Keith Ablow, I know this isn’t the first time you’ve been told this, and it won’t be the last time you ignore it:

You’re a fucking idiot. If I believed you were capable of it, I would say that you should be ashamed. Now go ahead, if you ever see this, go ahead and ignore everything I’ve said here and just dismiss me as defending pedophiles too, rather than pointing out the ridiculous, knee jerk, reactionary rantings of a lunatic feeding red meat to the frightened idiots who listen to you, instead of trying to contribute to a rational, thoughtful discussion about something.

Happy weekend everybody!