Ammo Grrrll greets BYE BYE, BONNETS. She writes:
You can only imagine the vast experiential knowledge that a short old woman who grew up in the 1950s in a small town in Minnesota has of street gangs. I know from History of the west side that “when you are a Jet, you are a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last day of death”. Those lyrics alone should suggest how ferocious the gangs were in 1957 when I was a pre-teen and that “modern” Romeo and Juliet story debuted. These were tough guys SMOKING! Cigarettes! I’m not even kidding. Very, very bad guys.
In the hit and the Broadway movie, Puerto Rican gangstas wore purple T-shirts and skintight black pants and danced in the streets. My teenage friends and I sang and acted in full History of the west side soundtrack. Hey, nobody had a television or video games, we had to have fun alone! We particularly liked “Agent Krupke”: “Agent Krupke, I’m on my knees. Because nobody likes a boy with a social disease. “Golden Comedy!
Judging by the current bunch of mindless losers shooting funerals, baby showers, and freeways in Chicago, I’m going to pop in here and imagine there’s a lot less dancing from the gangs today. I certainly hope that on page 5.328 of the “infrastructure” bill ready for the shovel there is a provision for more accurate target training for Crips and such that these criminals only kill each other and not some little girls doing their homework. in their homes or jump on a trampoline.
Many decades later History of the west side, my husband and I have welcomed a black foster child from Honduras. Since I was working nights, he and I went to a lot of gangsta movie matinees in the 90s. I was often one of the few white people and even fewer adult women in the theater. A lot of those gangsta movies were about dealing heroin or crack, sports jewelry the size of hubcaps, irresponsible casual sex, and murderers of rivals, always with the gun horizontally like an idiot. No wonder they never hit their targets.
A common theme was the trajectory of gangstas’ lives. If they can survive long enough, they may “retreat” into a life of great respect like OG or Original Gangsta. No matter how much the young studs thought they were cooler, they SHOULD respect and admiration for the ones that came first, the OGs and it was imposed.
Not so much the current group of mentally deranged feminists, some of whom are now dressed men. The Revolution, it is said, always eats its little ones. You can never keep up with the latest zig or zag in orthodoxy.
First they came for the real pioneers of the feminist movement: Betty Friedan, Simone de Beauvoir, Germaine Greer, Kate Millett, Gloria Steinem. The OGs (Original Grifters) who are still alive have been brutally turned on for not being ENOUGH radical and above all for being too white and too little awake. I mean, if you have a book called Feminine mystique, this could imply that there was a male mysticism. or The second sex, which would be an admission that there were only two genders, that our current asylum-deserving ruling class has decided is about 55 genders – and counting – too few.
Then they came for every woman who said aloud that testosterone gave men the advantage of being faster and stronger than women (Martina Navratilova). They quickly moved on to deleting any women who were mildly concerned that the WORD “woman” would also be deleted to satisfy the Tampax crowd in the men’s room. Sakes alive, JK Rowling was overwhelmed by that particular Stalinist purge because she dared to dream that there was still such a thing as a “woman”. You foolish sucker.
Fortunately, JK is a billionaire who can tell the Twitter Mob to step in the sand. The mafia has the attention span of a gnat, however, and so “the moving finger tweets” and, in Omar Khayyamm’s prescient quatrain (1048-1131), “have Twit, go on”.
And so they did. Look, look, always looking for their next victim. Twitter is a humorless succubus, populated by legions of sad professional victims with no moral center, no life of their own. Jack Dorsey would seem to be his perfect creator.
If I had to bet which OG they would attack next, I would have lost the proverbial ranch. Because – wait – their target was 81-year-old Canadian widow MARGARET ATWOOD herself! That these brave trans warrior Twitter activists insulted, threatened and insulted, posting his home address for the crime of sharing a slightly critical article of them.
Poor Margaret is pure as beaten snow on her bona fide climate. She is a vegetarian who admits that she occasionally eats fish or shellfish. Yet she is in the illusion of being a WOMAN and being able to just throw that word around, like it or not, without the slightest hint at the mutilated men who will show her what is what.
London-based writer Erin Perse, in a PostMillennial article in defense of Ms Atwood, showed an example of the type of Twitter attack she was subjected to. Included in the article is a cartoonish Twitter meme that says, “There are: girls with penises; Boys with vulvas; and Transphobia without Kidneys “. And it shows a girl-like creature with a knife. Cute. How is it not a terrorist threat?
For those who have never read the book (myself included), Mrs. Atwood has written a very successful dystopian novel, The Handmaid’s Tale, about a time in the future (in America, but of course), when the population has dropped dramatically and the few remaining fertile women are forced to be herders for prominent men. Evil male theocrats in office would dress us the way ALL men like to see women: in ugly shapeless red suits and bonnets of yesteryear. Damn.
Evidently, poor Margaret has never seen an episode of Star Trek in which all future women, no matter what reptilian planet they came from, had huge bazooms and snug or revealing dresses. At least one of them has always fallen madly, albeit inappropriately, in love with Captain Kirk.
So it looks like it could be “Bye, bye to the caps” as a lovely protest costume. Boy, if women in headphones could terrify lawmakers by scratching the door of the Supreme Court, imagine how scary it would be a fool like The Giant Hardware Store Freak in Eye Makeup who went crazy to be called “Lord”?
Who will be the next? Perhaps starting a Twitter was with Texan Ray Wylie Hubbard, who wrote “Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother” when he should have written “Up Against the Wall, Neck of Color Birthing Person with a Cervix”. FYI, Ray Wylie’s 75th birthday is tomorrow! You must love a guy whose autobiography is called A life … well, lived.