The abject horror of the last 36 hours or so, which is still coming in waves, strong and forceful, allowing none of us to so much as catch a breath, even compared to what little breath we were able to take in in the seven months preceding, it’s been impossible. Impossible to wrap our heads around, impossible to face, but also necessary to do both and beyond, even as we exist in this fight or flight crisis mode that we’ve come to know as daily existence. And while there have been jokes and memes, none of it has been funny. Even a moment of amusement is swiftly destroyed by the deep hollow sorrow accompanying every internal giggle, and a pang of regret for even allowing yourself to feel it, if you ever did at all.
One of the more common jokes has been the easiest, lowest hanging fruit of them all: these men are virgins, they’re ugly, they’ll never satisfy another human being, parents’ basements, the usual. And those jokes diminish the sheer awfulness of their movement, the very real and very embedded racism and xenophobia that exists in America down to our bedrock.
It’s not funny. None of this is funny. The fuckability of Nazis and white supremacists is nothing I feel like even attempting to muster up a thought toward.
But. They started it.
To those of you in Charlottesville, go out and enjoy yourselves.
If you’re at a bar in a group, random girls will want to have sex with you. Because you’re the bad boys. The ultimate enemy of the state. Every girl on the planet wants your dick now.
Let’s ignore for a second the fact that every single man and woman at this event looks like they were sculpted with old mashed potatoes and slightly yellowed mayonnaise. Let’s ignore they probably all have hands that are both too warm and moist with a sweat that is too cold. Let’s ignore that when faced with a penis or a vagina in a sexual encounter, their response would likely be an aggressive slapping that their red pained faces tell you they mean to be erotic but most assuredly is NOT. Let’s pretend instead they all look like a veritable Pajiba 10 meet-up at a hot people bar none of us reading this are attractive enough to attend, least of all this mediocre human wine bottle writing this. Gillian Anderson herself could appear to us in a thin white T-shirt, lips pouted, and start reading that word for word, and I speak for every person on this planet, our bodies in unison would dry up, flaccify, fizzle and absorb themselves into a rolled-up husk like a dried out corpse of a pill bug.
No one. NO ONE. No one wants to fuck you, Nazis. No one except your own Nazi kind. Have fun at this “bar” in a “group” (sure, Jans) but no girl on the planet wants your dick now. Or before. Or ever. Unless it’s to watch it melt off Raiders-style.
But let’s move on a bit more in the missive.
And to everyone, know this: we are now at war.
And we are not going to back down.
There will be more events. Soon. We are going to start doing this nonstop. Across the country. I’m going to arrange them myself. Others will too, I’m sure, but I’m telling you now: I am going to start arranging my own events. We are going to go bigger than Charlottesville. We are going to go huge.”
Charlottesville is not the only. It’s the beginning. This is the time you pick a side.
Pick the right one, and speak out. But definitely don’t fuck a Nazi.