Posts Tagged ‘Sluts’

Contemporary feminism is exactly what you would expect to get if you took a bunch of overeducated, unattractive, power-hungry, man-hating women, gave them their own university department, and told them “all your theories are brilliant, we won’t allow men to criticize you with ‘logic’ and ‘science’ and other patriarchal constructs, and finally, we’ll pay you by the word.”

Remember the Toronto SlutWalk? The first one, before the societal cancer spread to other cities.

This is not what SlutWalkers look like. This is merely a hot Norwegian girl. Why? Because.

Do you recall what set off the sluts? Feminist blogger (and possible slut) i am charli spells out the need for the Sluts’ ill-advised Walk, in the post that introduced me to the slut-tastic phenomenon (here):

If you haven’t read it about it already, there was a cop from Toronto that recently spoke at a campus safety information session and said women can avoid being sexually assaulted by not dressing like “a slut.” … The fact that he said this proves that there is still a mindset about blaming the victim of rape or sexual assault.

Interestingly, according to the exact same feminist blogger, commenting at Unamusement Park (here and here):

Yes — unfortunately dressing sexier does up your chances of getting sexually assaulted.

I don’t think any one would disagree with you that dressing provocatively ups your chances of being raped.

Feminists are illogical and not worth debating.

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Smoke rises from the ruins of Unamusement Park’s recently exploded main Hate Laboratory, illuminated only by a merrily crackling blue-green chemical fire.


Something stirs beneath the large pile of smoldering rubble in the center of the room. A hand emerges from the top, then another, and finally a head. They belong to UNAMUSED, who is slightly singed. He waves.

UNAMUSED: Hello there. Welcome! You’re just in time for the party.

A ceiling tile falls on his head.

UNAMUSED: Yes, watch out for that. This place is such a mess. I’m going to have a word with the cleaning staff. Really quite irresponsible of them —

PETULANT YET SULTRY VOICE WITH FRENCH ACCENT: Zat is a big fat lie and you know it!


Very gratuitous and extremely French.

UNAMUSED: G.F.G., I thought I told you to wait in the Slut Observatory!

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Ze sluts are out of control! Zey keep taking zeir clothes off and bouncing up and down and licking my ear. And spanking zem is not helping! Zey simply will not let me eat my strawberry croissant in peace.


GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Zey demand zat I teach zem my special secret French sexy thing! Ze one zat is to regular sex what regular sex is to hammering nails into your face —

UNAMUSED: I recall.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: — but I cannot. Zey are too slutty.

UNAMUSED: Fine, then help me — wait, how can they be too slutty to learn your special — never mind, I don’t care. Dig me out of here.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Ha HA! Ze tables have turned. Ze hourglass has run out. What was once yours is now mine. And zis time… it is personal.

UNAMUSED: How many croissants have you eaten today?

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Seven. And now zat you are buried up to ze neck in debris, I shall help myself to even more of your delicious croissants while your visitors enjoy zis video, taken by your own security camera not ten minutes ago, which will show exactly who is responsible for zis cataclysmic catastrophe!

She approaches the projector with a tape.

The main Hate Laboratory is chock full of security cameras. It takes three to five shots to destroy one.

UNAMUSED: Stop that! Get away from there! That screen is for retrospective slideshows only, not your tomfoolery!

Still buried up to ze neck — I mean, the neck — in debris, UNAMUSED grasps ineffectually at GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL, standing ten feet away.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: First of all, you silly goose, I have never fooled around wiz anyone named Tom. And second of all — hm. How do I make ze movie play?

UNAMUSED: Push the big green button with the sideways triangle on it.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Ah yes, I see. Hm hm hmmm… how I love croissants…

The lights go out. The curtain rises. The security tape begins…

UNAMUSED: Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to — excuse me, sir? Did you not see the sign?

He points to the large, neon yellow sign by the door: “No Blacks or Mexicans allowed.”

UNAMUSED: So if you’d just — yes, right through that door. Thank you.

The non-Asian minorities shuffle out. The average IQ of the room jumps 15 points.

UNAMUSED: Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Unamusement Park’s four-month anniversary hate-tacular!

Fireworks burst overhead, slightly singing everyone in the room.

Oooh, pretty. What do you mean, it's not safe to set off fireworks indoors?

UNAMUSED: What progress we have made, these past four months! Our little acorn of race realism has blossomed into a tall oak tree of white separatism. The oak, as we all know, is the most racist of trees.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: I do not believe zat is true. I think you just make up all zese silly things.

UNAMUSED: Aren’t you supposed to be helping yourself to my delicious croissants?

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Zey are warming in ze microwave.

UNAMUSED: Quiet, please. To commemorate the occasion, I’ve prepared something a little different. Something even more exciting than our orphanage-igniting two-month anniversary spectacular (aka International Call-a-Random-Black-Person-“Nigger” Day). Something even more stimulating than our slut-tastic hate-erosexual three-month anniversary slut-tacular (aka International Touch-a-Sleeping-Girl’s-Boobs Day).

Please enjoy this brief retrospective slideshow while I make the necessary preparations. Lights!

The lights go out. The curtain rises. The retrospective slideshow begins…

PETULANT YET SULTRY ANNOUNCER WITH SUSPICIOUSLY FAMILIAR FRENCH ACCENT: Today ze Internet’s #1 source for race realism, white separatism, gratuitous French girls, and kitty cats, turns four months old! Huzzah! Here are some of ze good times we’ve shared and fond memories we’ve made together, you silly gooses.


  • April 25: What makes “nigger” so interesting is that, decades after the extinction of the widespread white racism that weaponized it, the word — like a Cold War-era hydrogen bomb buried under the New Mexico desert — is just as lethally radioactive as ever. So let’s dig it up and play with it!
  • April 26: Running out of “nigger” references, I widened my search for racial slurs to include comparisons of black people to animals, especially lower apes. It’s time for Unamusement Park to chimp out!
  • April 27: It is, in fact, possible to behave like a wild animal, a missing link (between ape and man), or a sub-human primate, just like it is possible to behave like an emu or a jar of strawberry jam. Just ask a mime — not that you’ll get much of an answer.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Are you watching a movie about delicious croissants?

UNAMUSED: What? No. It’s a retrospective slideshow.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Sometimes I like to put strawberry jam on my croissant.

Sometimes she likes to put it on her croissant.

UNAMUSED distractedly pours a beaker of foaming green liquid into a beaker of bubbling yellow liquid.

UNAMUSED: Aren’t you supposed to be downstairs in the Slut Observatory? You know, observing the sluts?

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Zey keep trying to lick me. I think perhaps zey are too slutty.

UNAMUSED: There is no such thing. Look, I just need you to stay out and not distract me until the slideshow is over. If the sluts get out of line, give them a good spanking.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: You are so very mean. You knew exactly what would happen when I spanked zem.

UNAMUSED: You’re back. Let me guess. You’ve finished the croissants, and now you’ve decided to annoy me.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: No! … I came to ask you where is ze strawberry jam again.

UNAMUSED: You put the last of it on your seventh croissant, but I think there’s some chocolate syrup in the fridge.


UNAMUSED: Wait! Come back! I need you to describe the spanking! For… scientific purposes!


  • April 29: Let me be very clear, Baratunde: this is what it sounds like when a white man, who was handed everything, calls the President of the United States (and you) a nigger: “Hey, Barack Hussein Soetoro — I mean, Obama. Hey, Baratunde Rafiq Thurston. You’re niggers. Now go the fuck back to Kenya.”
  • April 30: Well, it turns out black people are more likely to abuse their children than white people. And guess what, it’s not because white people working for Child Protective Services just hate all dark-skinned people so much, they don’t care if they beat and molest their kids! Because that was everyone’s first guess.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Is ze movie over yet?

UNAMUSED: No! Nor are my preparations complete!

UNAMUSED spills some frothing purple liquid on his secret lab notes, which begin to dissolve.

Preparations incomplete: liquid still green.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Where is ze strawberry jam, anyway?

UNAMUSED: Kitchen cabinet. Don’t eat it all.

GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: I shall have ze grandest croissant in all ze land! Huzzah!


  • May 2: Starlette “Don’t Call Me Black” McNeill of the Daily Race has stumbled across Unamusement Park’s secret hate laboratory in the course of her spiritual pilgrimage/intrepid sleuthing, just like in that Nancy Drew book. You know, Nancy Drew and the Secret of White Racial Consciousness?
  • May 3: Our boron supply lines are too important to the war with Neptune to trust a space-Negro with! Put them to work in the Orbital Laser Testing Range.
  • GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Ze sluts have used up all ze chocolate syrup! Zey are not even putting it on croissants! Zey are just rolling around in it and pouring it all over zeir naked bodies and licking it off one another!

    UNAMUSED: If you dig me out right now, I’ll give you fifty croissants.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: I shall be ze Queen of Croissants! Huzzah!


    • May 7: Well, Dave “Magical Negroes” Lindorff, don’t forget to roll up your car windows when you roll through the “bad” part of town — you wouldn’t want to get carjacked by one of those lovable kids. And next time you indulge in one of your teenage black fantasies, remember to wipe up after you blow your load of white guilt all over the keyboard.
    • May 8: Two questions occur: why do poor black people insist on ruining America in every conceivable way? And if all the white people moved out of Philadelphia, which they probably should, how long until the city succumbs to barbarism, like our very own backyard Liberia?
    • May 9: Unamusement Park is a labor of love. And hate. So much hate. So give me money.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Ze sluts would like to know if zey may have ze chocolate syrup bottle. Zey will not tell me what for.

    Who knows what they want with it?

    UNAMUSED: Fine, whatever. Stop interrupting my retrospective slideshow.

    UNAMUSED uncertainly shakes a vial of orange and blue crystals.


    • May 10: A Thoughtful Analysis of Racial Discombobulation — a TARDis, if you will. (It’s blacker on the inside.) After all, this is what “anti-racists” keep telling me I should do: imagine what discrimination feels like from a different perspective; put myself in a black person’s shoes, and try to — hey, these are my shoes.
    • May 11: If I had to give a parsimonious explanation for the behavior of ghetto black teenagers, I would suggest that most of them do what they do because they want to do it. They want to do drugs, sleep around, collect welfare checks, and riot in the streets. Call it a “lifestyle choice,” if you like.
    • May 12: Black people attacking white people: grrr, bad! White people ignoring black people attacking white people: YOU F#@%*^$ IDIOT A*#%^!&@, LOOK WHAT THEY’RE DOING TO US etc.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Do you like me, Mr. Unamusement Park? Because you do not seem to appreciate all ze wonderful things I do for you. And now I hear you like black people too…

    UNAMUSED: First of all, my name isn’t “Mr. Unamusement Park.” That’s not even my fake name. Second, I don’t really like black people; I’m just able to tolerate one or two of them. And yes, Gratuitous French Girl, I am awfully fond of you, and I appreciate all the wonderful things you do for me. Like digging me out of large piles of smoldering rubble, for instance. Speaking of which, can you hurry it up? I think I see another ceiling tile coming loose…

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: It is difficult to dig in zis French maid outfit.

    UNAMUSED: Technically, for you, it’s just a maid outfit.


    • May 14: Beading? Why, that’s no different from taking your sweetheart to the sock hop! Except she’s twelve years old, she’s your cousin, and when you pin a corsage on her, you’re reserving the right to have sex with her, whether she wants to or not.
    • May 15: Jared Taylor has written a new book, “White Identity: Racial Consciousness in the 21st Century.” Buy it. Read it. Make all your friends read it. Get new friends.
    • May 17: It occurred to me that should you choose the path of compassionate reactionism and take this conversation off the Internet, it might help to have a few relevant fact sheets written by someone else, on whom the liberal rage and malice and cries of racism can be dumped, i.e. me.
    • May 19: Who is it that keeps calling me “racist” in lieu of learning some facts and formulating an argument? Liberals, of course! Fucking liberals! Source of all that sucks! To be precise, fucking white-hating, fucking immigration-loving, fucking minority-worshiping fucking liberals and their fucking cult of fucking multiculturalism (or NAMBLA).

    The curtain falls.

    UNAMUSED: That was exciting.


    UNAMUSED and GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL, both slightly sticky, struggle to catch their breath.

    UNAMUSED: Hey, G.F.G.? You’ve got some chocolate sauce on your ear. And your mouth. And your breasts. And… elsewhere.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: Hee hee hee. So do you!

    UNAMUSED: That’s what we get for giving the chocolate syrup bottle to the sluts. We’d better get cleaned up before it hardens.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: I’ll do you, zen you can do me.

    UNAMUSED: Huzzah!

    Satisfied with his concoctions, UNAMUSED returns to the podium.

    UNAMUSED: I think we’re ready for the main event. Lights!

    The lights come back on.

    Preparations complete: liquid now red.

    UNAMUSED: I, Professor Unamused of the Unamusement Park Institute of Hatred Studies, or UPIHS, am proud to unveil my latest and most dastardly creation, which I hold in my hand even now! Behold, the amazing, the inimitable, the stupefyingly powerful —


    UNAMUSED: Aw, what a shame. Someone has deleted the evidence. I guess we’ll never know how this cataclysmic catastrophe came about.

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: You are a big fat cheater.

    UNAMUSED: True. Well, we used up all the chocolate syrup, you’re completely wasted on croissants, our visitor thinks we’re all nuts, and someone blew up the main Hate Laboratory —

    GRATUITOUS FRENCH GIRL: I believe zat was you, alzough admittedly I cannot prove zis.

    UNAMUSED: — but nevertheless, in light of the chocolatey denouement, I’m going to go ahead and call our four-month anniversary hate-tacular a roaring success!


    UNAMUSED: Keep licking.

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    It’s that time of the month again — no, not that time, the good time: time for Unamusement Park’s three-month anniversary spectacular! Hurray! Or should I say… Unamusement Park’s three-month anniversary slut-tacular. Hurray again! Hurray for sluts!

    We like sluts!

    You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you? You silly goose.

    I feel the need... the need for sluts.

    This is a day I’ll remember forever, like the first time I lied to get sex (“I love you too”), or the first time I took advantage of a drunk girl (“close your eyes, open your mouth, and take off your top — there’s something I want to tell you”).

    April is the sluttiest month, and the last nine days of March are pretty slutty too

    Tonight we commemorate the founding of Unamusement Park, surely a pivotal moment in women’s history. Bigger than Roe v. Wade. Bigger than suffrage. Bigger than the invention of the push-up bra. Bigger even than the first time a man said: “Hey, you know what would be great? If only there was some way we could oppress all women forever… with our dicks.” So put on some clothes, wipe off your face, and take my hand, as we look back on some of the slut-tastic hate-erosexual experiences we’ve shared and you’ve later regretted, you dirty little girl.

    • As part of the previous anniversary celebration here at Unamusement Park, I dispatched my crack squad of Research Assistants into the field to collect data on a disturbing cultural trend: stupidity levels, already unsustainably high since the late 90s, are still rising.
    • There’s a whole new world of psychology research, a new fantastic point of view on race differences in intelligence. No one can tell us no, or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming. I’m like a shooting star: I’ve come so far, I can’t go back to where I used to be. With respect to behavior genetics, that is.
    • Colorlines: offering solutions to whatever mythical problems today’s minorities are whining about, especially if it’s something white people are doing, like staying in school, getting good grades, not doing drugs, keeping out of jail, or succeeding in life without government handouts.
    • Poor sportsmanship? It’s a reactionary musical extravaganza!
    • One of the peculiarities of our decadent age is the ongoing undeclared War on Hate, which is being waged by the most hateful and malicious elements of our society. Hatred is a five-part documentary on their struggle. Their stupid, useless, confused, evil struggle.
    • Race denialists really don’t think about race. They will do anything to avoid it.
    • They also display a tendency to shoot themselves in the foot. “African blacks don’t have an average IQ of 70,” they crow. “It’s actually 81! That’s only nineteen points (1.3 standard deviations) below the white average!”
    • It’s funny how many people accuse me of being hateful, bigoted, crazy, stupid, or ignorant. Every time they do, I remember the immortal words of Inigo Montoya: “You killed my father. Prepare to die.” Wait, no, that’s not right.
    • Since this is my very first post wholly devoted to the dreadful subject of feminism, I’m going to treat it like spaghetti: throw a bunch of angry sex-conscious women at a wall and see if they stick. No, that’s not quite right. Let’s just say I’m going to strip down my rhetoric, whip out my toolbox of reactionary politics, and shoot my hateful ideas right in their faces. There’s got to be a better metaphor for that…
    • Every time a feminist lies that rape is about power, not sex, and every time she meets useful information with victim-blaming hysteria, she is making the world a little less safe for women. Thanks to feminists, no rape victim will ever forget it wasn’t her fault she was assaulted as she walked home at 3 am, alone, drunk, and wearing her awesome new miniskirt. The man who attacked her was clearly seeking power and control over women. Next week, he’ll probably rape an 80-year-old grandmother at lunch time.
    • You wouldn’t ask a shark to respect your right not to get eaten, would you? Don’t ask rapists to respect your right not to get raped. They don’t care. That’s what makes them rapists. Just stay away from them.
    • You can determine race with 99.86 percent accuracy by looking at gene clusters. You can also determine race by looking at bones. That’s forensic anthropology, or as I like to call it, CSI Serengeti.
    • The truth is, statistically speaking, there is no bias against blacks inherent in the justice system. All the anecdotal evidence in the world won’t change that.
    • “When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign, that the dunces are all in confederacy against him” (Jonathan Swift).
    • It’s a genetic epic: an Hispanic panic! Are they ethnic or organic? That third rail (of rape responsibility) was galvanic. (I’m manic.)
    • Human Biological Variationa race denialist favorite, “used in virtually every physical anthropology class for undergraduate students in America” — has the following to say about race differences in intelligence: “There is little debate over the average 15-point difference [in IQ] between American blacks and whites…” Research is hard!
    • Madness? THIS. IS. SFORZA.
    • “Fuck this shit,” I hear you say. “Fuck the war, fuck the economy, fuck global warming, and fuck the price of gas. Fuck the Democrats and fuck the Republicans, but especially the fucking Democrats, and especially the fucking Republicans. Fuck Obama, fuck Biden, fuck Boehner ’til he cries. Fuck the radicals liberally. Fuck the libertarians freely. Fuck the socialists according to your needs, and fuck them again according to their abilities.” Anyway, I came up with this thing. I call it compassionate reactionism.
    • I’ve actually been thinking about that a lot lately. Not the fact that I’m a frantic schizoid bum — I came to terms with that long ago. No, I mean I’ve been thinking about ways to take these wonderfully hateful ideas off the Internet, out of my fortified bunker complex in Vermont, and into the light of day. Or rather, into the twilight of Western Civilization.
    • This is not what racism looks like: a scientist gives intelligence tests to some people, then announces he’s found a difference in their average IQs. This is what racism looks like: a high-school dropout shoots some beer bottles with an air rifle, then announces “I hate all the niggers, they like to eat watermelon, and I wish they would just go back to Africa sometime very soon.”

    Was it good for you? ‘Cause it was fucking spectacular for me.

    The first annual Most Retarded Race Denialist award

    Unamusement Park would not be possible — actually, it would be possible, but a whole lot less fun for me, if not for the generous contributions of random Internet losers, who have donated their ignorant, inconsistent, idiotic opinions to fuel my white-hot white rage and give me something to make fun of when I can’t think of anything substantial to write. Which is nearly always.

    On this day, these men shall be honored for their generosity in the only truly appropriate way: by first insulting, then ignoring them.

    Wise words. But this past month, some of those random Internet losers have been so stupefyingly ignorant, so consistently inconsistent, and so unbelievably idiotic that they’ve earned some individual recognition. To that end, I am introducing Unamusement Park’s first award, to be presented annually to the most retarded race denialist: the annual Most Retarded Race Denialist award!

    The nominees are: anyone, absolutely anyone, who believes at least one of the following retarded things:

    1. Race is a social construct.
    2. Race is not biological.
    3. Race is only skin deep.
    4. Diversity is a strength.
    5. Black people are just as smart as white people (and Asians).

    Without further ado, I proudly present the first annual Most Retarded Race Denialist award to… all of them! They’re all the most retarded! Hurray!

    By popular demand: a slutty slut acting slutty!

    We turn now to a slutty slut acting slutty, to hear her slutty thoughts on Unamusement Park’s three-month anniversary slut-tacular, or as I like to call it, “International Touch-a-Sleeping-Girl’s-Boobs Day.”

    I miss my gratuitous French girl, but she has far too much self-respect to appear in the slut-tacular.

    Take it away, you slutty slut.

    “Oh my God, I haven’t been fucked in hours. I can’t think straight. I can’t even see straight. Someone, anyone, please stick your cock in me. You!”


    “Yeah, you: the blurry guy with the turnips, wearing the ‘I Hate Black People’ t-shirt. I need you to fuck me. Now.”

    … Seriously?

    “Do I look like I’m kidding? This is a medical emergency! I. Need. Cock.”

    Uh… wow. Hehe, are you at least going to buy me dinner f—

    “Shut the fuck up. Take off your pants.”

    Hey, what are you — those are my — oh fuck. Guys, stop the tape. Get out of here.

    “No, it’s cool. They can stay.”

    No, seriously, stop the —

    We close on the satisfied moaning and gentle slurping noises of a slutty slut an empowered, sex-positive woman doing what she does best.

    “Stop narrating.”

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