God dammit again.
So, the anthropomorphized scream factory with the aggregate IQ of a box of turtle turds , aka, the panel of The View, tackled James Taranto’s now infamous Washington Post article, “a balanced look at college sex offenses,” balanced here meaning bitches need to take some damn responsibility for all that rape they’re allowing themselves to get already (at one point he posits that two lives might be ruined by a rape—one of them belonging to the man because the woman might press charges against him). The conversation was a mature, rational one. JK GUYZ NO.
Whoopi Goldberg, who once famously declared that a man drugging and forcibly sodomizing a child wasn’t “rape-rape” learned absolutely nothing from that experience and subsequent uproar and dropped some science. Poop science.
“My opinion is, if you don’t want this kind of attention, don’t get poop-faced,” she said. “Do not get poop-faced. Do not become so drunk you don’t know what is happening. When you say ‘x, y, z happened,’ you have no way of proving it. So both parties, if you don’t want the agitation, do not become so drunk you can’t figure out what the hell you’re doing.”
Jenny McCarthy acted as the voice of reason, and that’s why for a few minutes yesterday the sun went black and we gazed upon the grim visages of our otherworldly counterparts in another dimension because the universe folded in on itself.
Look. There is a conversation to be had about the line between victim-blaming and woman taking care of themselves and having whatever control is to be had over any given situation. I don’t know the right way to have that conversation. I don’t know if there is a right way to have that conversation, frankly. It is as muddy as it is necessary. But I can say all of this *waves arms wildly over entire post* is not it. At all.