Some years ago I watched as a mouthy but entertaining young journalist called Milo Yiannopoulos was defenestrated, his career shattered. I was minded to write something about it now because of a statement Victor Davis Hanson recently made about how Wokeness has become the New Terror.
Milo Yiannopoulos was not destroyed because he is a conservative, despite the rabid political climate of the West today. His adversaries were stymied there, because Yiannopoulos has gay privilege. He is in a protected identity class. So how did they do it?
Yiannopoulos was expected, as a quid pro quo for his gay privilege, to conform to the woke political agenda; to wit, being left-wing, feminist and believing in the deadly trope — or should I say tripe – of ‘equity’. But he refused; indeed, he was making a career of refusing that ideology and for years he got away with it, regularly playing his gay privilege card, his Ace of Spades.
Twitter, a sewer, banned Yiannopoulos for pointing out that the ghastly, pointless remake of the classic eighties film Ghostbusters was a bloated, unamusing piece of feminist, politically-correct, virtue-signalling, woke garbage – an assessment supported by its box-office receipts and just about every reviewer on the planet.
(On the day of publication, it was announced that Yiannopoulos has had his Twitter account reinstated. We should all be pleased.)
One of the actresses in the film, besides being as funny as a Proddie funeral in March, has absolutely no tolerance for criticism and played her racism card. As far as Twitter was concerned, the feelings of an overpaid, undertalented comedienne trumped Yiannopoulos’ gay privilege, because the unfunny one is a black female and Yiannopoulos is merely a white male. No such creature may ever, in the modern lese majeste of Wokeness, criticise a black female.
But even that was not enough to see his career ruined; in fact, he soldiered on and played the turn of events to his advantage. No, that came for another reason. Yiannopoulos was challenged, on Joe Rogan’s talk podcast, to condemn the man who had introduced him, at the age of thirteen, to cock; which, he says, he loves to suck. And why should he not? He’s gay. Yiannopoulos, showing more integrity than most of his ilk, refused the betrayal demanded of him, arguing that it had done him no harm at all. Worse and even more horrifying to the bluestocking harpies, he opined that a gentle, caring introduction to sex, from an experienced lover, might actually be a good thing for a teenaged boy. Well, the man is entitled to an opinion, is he not? Especially as he actually lived through it.
You’d have thought people would accept Yiannopoulos’ word at face value and have done with it, given that it was his life and he had built his career on the fact that he’s a gay; especially as the New Gay Man is up to his scrotum in pederasty and that this is possibly the worst-kept secret since Elton John’s propensity for pillow-munching. But oh, no, there is nothing more horrific to a woko than a person asserting that sex which was supposed, under the Laws of Wokeism, to do harm, was actually quite nice, you know. That can never be allowed.
So someone who refused to condemn the man who first asked him to suck his cock, despite the fact that said neophyte sucker was evidently and determinedly homosexual and regarded the exchange as agreeable, had to be destroyed; because such a claim does not fit with what wokos consider to be ‘proper values’. If they say you must be a victim and resent till your dying day experiences that they consider abusive, then you must be that victim, even if you loved the experience and couldn’t wait to do it again. Individuality is not permitted in woke culture and hell mend you if you stand against them; as Yiannopoulos discovered, losing a lucrative book deal in the process, along with his career.
In the Philippines, not all baklas, that is, unmasculine males, are deflowered at such an early age but many are and most, never mind their age, actively seek it. They deliberately engineer situations, sometimes preparing the ground carefully before the event, in which they are likely to be pedicated by a thoroughly aroused, usually older, man. And every single one of them, if she is being truthful, will tell you that she could not wait to do it again – even if it hurt. ‘Oh, but it’s such a good pain,’ she’ll say, eyes rolling. ‘And once you’ve had a dick in your ass, you need more.’
Any Western man, well any honest one, living in southeast Asia, can tell of the numerous times when he found himself standing next to a ‘baby gay’, a batang bakla, whose eyes were wide with desire, staring at him, lower lip trembling; or when one just smiled and said ‘Hello, sir,’ in that creamy-voiced way that allows one to mentally complete the rest of the sentence — ‘Do you want me?’ Or perhaps one just noted your glance as she sat with her friends and delicately lifted a buttock, at the same time tilting her head and raising an eyebrow. The touch on the arm, the complicit look, the hopeful smile…they happen all the time, in the market, in the street, in the karinderya, at the local store.
In today’s climate of Wokeness, taking one up on the offer would indeed be a risky thing to do, with potentially devastating consequences, the least of which would be an extortionate bribe demand to avoid an arrest. So it is better avoided, especially by Westerners, though the local men do not appear to be so easily dissuaded, well, not if the baklas themselves are to be believed.
They are desperate to experience sex. They know what they want; they are not being ‘led on’. They know they’re baklas and they fail to see why they should wait to feel a cock inside them, because of some silly laws that appropriate their bodies, made up by entitled, authoritarian lesbians in a foreign country, famous for its intolerance of any opposition. Remember, they are males and regard sex exactly as any other male does: it’s a contact sport, to be played with enthusiasm.
Anyone who thinks that adolescent boys are not sexualised must be a woman. Yes, of course they are. They can’t stop thinking about sex. In my day we used copies of Reveille magazine purloined from Dad’s drawer in the bathroom, neatly stacked next to the condoms; this was the sixties. Today, without shadow of doubt, they use their smartphones. Sexual exploration is part of growing up. Sex is a part of growing up and it has always been; and I refer you to Laurie Lee’s lovely Cider With Rosie if you doubt me.
The notion that teenage boys can be made into sexless paragons of imaginary virtue would be utterly laughable, were it not so readily used to destroy innocent lives. It matters not whether the suppression of the natural sex drive comes from pulpit-thumping churchmen or their modern equivalents, the evil harpy priestesses of the cult of feminism. Boys think of nothing but sex and have done, since the dawn of time.
For good reasons, decent society arranges that boys in this stage of life do not have access to girls and so how are boys to educate themselves? By teaching each other. It is, at worst, a way to alleviate the dull repetitiveness of wanking alone; at best it can form strong positive memories and even, perhaps, bonds. It may well be a better way to prepare boys for the reality of sex with girls than the utterly ludicrous notion of it becoming a school curriculum item like Maths, or, may God give me strength, ‘Social Studies’. Is this ad hoc academy of sex to be criminalised because it does not suit the dogma of the ghastly gynocratic collective?
Men do not need porn to learn how to pleasure themselves; we can do very nicely inside our own heads, believe me. Certainly, as long as there are other boys, equally keen to explore their bodies, there will be teachers. The problem, if you are determined to control how, when and with whom they have sex, is the resourcefulness boys show in getting it.
I don’t care if I do die, do die
Just let the juice fly, juice fly
The spunk will out, in other words, no matter how much the harpies preach against it; and this is the gravest insult to them. When, like Yiannopoulos, a boy refuses to condemn a man who introduced him to sex, he spits in the face of the gynocratic collective, shatters its assumed power over his sexuality. For he asserts, in no uncertain terms, what feminists can never, ever, suffer to hear: men do not need women in order to have sex – and therefore, women have no power over them.
That was the fundamental reason why Yiannopoulos had to be cast into Tartarus: for telling the harpies and their fellow-travellers that no, he would not accept their dominion over his sexuality. That he would not be a good little gayboy and do as he was told, by women.
The wokeist gynocracy is absolutely totalitarian and can never stand even the slightest challenge. Its response to any such is ever the same: to destroy the rebel, hang, draw and quarter him and lock his corpse in a gibbet, as a warning to any other mere male who might dare to defy the power of the woko cult. As Victor Davis Hanson put it, we are right back to the days of Robespierre, the guillotine and the Terror. The Left, as it always does, has revealed its true nature: totalitarian, illiberal and violent.
I sided entirely with Yiannopoulos and still do. Sexual experimentation is a natural part of growing up. There is no escaping the fact that this must, as far as boys are concerned, involve penises, mouths and anuses. Get round that one if you can; all I can say is, you’re up against tens, more likely hundreds, of thousands of years of male sexuality, sister. Suppress the testosterone all you like, sooner or later it will blow.
I wonder what might have happened, had Yiannopoulos been actually female, rather than merely a white male homosexual. Would she have been similarly condemned or would the ‘sisterhood’ of toxic femininity have wrapped arms around her, saying ‘Thou shalt not touch or speak evil of her!’ I mean, it goes without saying they would still crucify the man, if they could. After all, look what they did to Epstein.
The paradox for the wokeists is that they must be seen to ‘support and protect’ gays; but guilt — or at least, blame — must still be ascribed. Sex must always be someone’s fault — which reveals all we need to know about them. Far from being a beautiful, natural experience, it has been transformed into a crime, without passion — for who can have passion and still have time to fill out a consent form in triplicate? As it is for the odious Julie Bindell, sex — other than lesbian sex, of course — is a form of torture, for the hellish sisterhood.
They do not accept male homosexuality as natural, even though they pay lip-service to the idea. How could they? They regard the entrance of penis into orifice as torture. If they actually thought that it were natural, even positive, as they claim, then surely they would celebrate all those pederasts who seduce young males into the ‘gay’ lifestyle. Wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t that be appropriate?
What heroes these men must be, for turning all those boys ‘gay’. No? Well, of course they would. ‘We award the Gynocratic Medal of Honour to Jock Thomson, on this, the occasion of his having seduced, pedicated and emasculated one thousand teenage boys and so introduced them to the approved gay lifestyle.’
Actually, they hate male homosexuality as much as the most vitriolic, tub-thumping Southern Baptist. Why? Because the gynocratic harpies cannot control it and right at its centre, its focus, is worship of that thing no feminist can abide: the Organ of Oppression, the Dick Almighty, the Priapic Member.
The difficulty is that they are not, under the Rules of Wokeism, allowed to directly criticise homosexual men. That would not signal the appropriate virtue. So instead, they have to find some pretext to destroy poor Jock for screwing those boys (even when that was exactly what they wanted) and woe betide any poor, benighted sod that defends him.
That is why they had to ruin Yiannopoulos, despite his protected status. They attacked him for being Jock Thomson’s ‘enabler’ on the one hand and on the other, to remind all the gays who’s really in charge – the harpies. Their attitude is similar to that of the Catholic Church — ‘It’s okay to be homo as long as you never actually have sex’ — despite the fact that male homosexuality is all about having sex.
The ghastly sisterhood instead proclaims ‘Yes, of course it’s all right for you to be a homo and even to put that horrible dirty thing up your bum; as long as you are prepared to condemn every man who showed you kindness and intimacy, every man who did exactly what you wanted him to do, every man who showed you how to have pleasure, every single man who made a woman of you. Sell their souls to us so that we may utterly crush them. Otherwise, to hell with you, too.’
Because, that, my dears, is how the gynocracy deals with anything it doesn’t like. In ancient Sparta, women would examine new-born boys and assess them for their worthiness, whether they might grow up to be soldiers, or were too weak. Those who failed they took to a cliff above the city and threw them off to die on the rocks below, their bodies to be devoured by beasts. That is the true nature of gynocracy and lest you doubt me, consider the effort women, right now, today, in the USA, are putting into trying to maintain the legal ability to murder babies. Nothing has changed.
Welcome to 1794.