I’m irked. I’m irked in a way that is hard to describe. I’m irked in a way that feels like being eternally trapped in some nightmarish musical hell. (No judgment calls made here on musicals or those that like them. But for the most part, they suck ass.) I’m irked in a way that can only be put into song.

“The baby is going out with the bathwater.

But what gives? Red and swollen from yo’ diaper rash.

The world is the baby, people are the rash (or the diaper that caused the rash which caused the baby to cry and it makes sense ‘cause the people/diaper gets shit on by the man but either way it’s really fucking annoying cause she won’t shut the fuck up so we might as well let go of her.)

It’s like like like watching the short bus drift off a cliff.


One more time!”

If this has yet to be a significant clarification of my mood for those of you reading, let’s just get to the quick and dirty: People are rejects.

We managed to somehow spew forth from the womb only to multiply and unleash a torrential downpour of nutters and vagrants onto this sweet sweet earth. Why can’t everything be a Planet Earth episode where we exist in our natural habitats and have Sigourney Weaver narrate our simple day-to-day actions? (If you haven’t seen the show, I highly recommend it.) So, all said and done, what kind of creature features am I referring to?

After all the controversy about “bug chasers” in Rollingstone magazine, out comes this: Some Dutch gay bandits have been gang raping men and infecting them with the HIV because “it excited them.” Read: GHB is good for the soul. (Date rape! Sublime!) I had always pictured gay bandits to resemble My Little Pony more than , say, the Punisher. Oops. Although after considering their means of attack, you know those little ponies were some underhanded fuckers. Nice to your face but the minute you turn your back, you get trampled. And butt raped. At least the Pun had the decency to penetrate you face to face with a semi-automatic.

What saddens me more is that “the case has deeply unsettled the Netherlands, and caused it to cast a hard look at its easygoing views on sex…” Time and time again we are educated/imbued with the notion that aggravated rape is not sex, that rape is first and foremost, an act of violence. So when the case is as clear as day, why are we even considering the possibility that sexual freedom was partially responsible for a (self-) hate crime? The victims were VICTIMS. Sure, they went to a sex party to engage in some man loving but they probably weren’t expecting an extended invitation to that big homo orgy in the sky. (HIV, mind you, is not a death sentence. For those with sufficient healthcare.)

These gay banditos injected vials of blood into the unconscious victim. The premise might have been sex but the after dinner entertainment was a narcotic-laced drink and a syringe full of poison. The last time I checked my sex sessions never came with that added bonus. Well, the vanilla ones at least. (Poz blood, mind you, is not poison. Unless intentionally forced upon you.) And so, when the sex part of the crime is nary more than a lure for a greater, twisted plan, how are we still grouping the sex and the rape together?

If we don’t continue to make a conscious effort to differentiate between the two, compounded with more harebrained acts that will inevitably crop up, soon enough, we will be strapped into a Chrysler without brakes called “sexual censorship.” The words “Missionary for Life” will be the battle cry for the Religious Right, emblazoned on Abercrombie ads as witty t-shirt slogans.

Hell, to a point, the world would be simpler if we were just a bunch of sexless wonders but where would the fun go? And when you can’t get off the way you want to, what new potentially harmful acts will we be forced to delve into? In fact, is that not what the Dutch gang was experiencing to begin with? How much sexual censorship has already invaded our collective social consciousness?

Now, I’m more than aware that there are always radically opposing views especially when it comes to the hot button issues (and I know mine is nothing original) but sometimes things are just wrong. It was a despicable act. It should not have happened. However, no matter how cut and dry, it’s hard to pinpoint the real motive. Was it an act of revenge, of anger, of malice? When perhaps in playing the victim, you submit to the urge to claim your own. Sadly, all of this doesn’t come as much of a surprise. News isn’t news if it’s not news at all, is it?

The only thing I have to hold on to now is this creature. It’s new and shiny. I feel like I might have run across it on one of my last trips. Although who can really be sure? I was a little preoccupied screaming at the grass for stealing the 53 cents in my pocket. Damn it all.

Sigourney, what’s a guy to do?

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