Anyone who has not seen people getting their essential kicks out of offending white bread suburbanites really needs to get out more. Rap artists do it with what I shall call the enword, and homos do it with the effword, but they are all junior high boys wanting to startle the cute girls into a shocked round of giggling. The rap artist wants to be a bad ass, and the catamite wants an ass that is bad, but it all amounts to the same thing.
Imagine a hipster washed up on a desert island — no scope for irony at all. Imagine Lady Gaga washed up on a desert island — how long do you think those outfits would last? Imagine Miley Cyrus washed up on a desert island — think she would be dancing up and down the beach with that foam finger? No. The whole point is to shock and insult those who don’t know that they are being played. Take that away and the whole game collapses.
Douglas Wilson
January 2016 Monthly Archive
Be Different
Just Like His Pastor
A Corruption of Justice Primer
“Violence covers the mouth of the wicked.” — Proverbs 10:6 Continue reading
@JBeaird
Douglas Wilson is one sick dude. https://t.co/5jcGnjdISM
— Jared Beaird (@JBeaird) January 14, 2016
“the propriety of rape”
Women inescapably need godly masculine protection against ungodly masculine harassment; women who refuse protection from their fathers and husbands must seek it from the police. But women who genuinely insist on ‘no masculine protection’ are really women who tacitly agree on the propriety of rape.
Douglas Wilson
A Trip for Two to Scotland
“It’ll be spendy — north of $10,000”
You get more of what you subsidize and less of what you penalize. Continue reading
“An Apology for Feminine Modesty” Projection
We also have to deal with the young man who needs to get a life. There is a type of young man who falls in love with the models in a Sears catalog. He has his sensibilities affronted by the fact that young women are built differently. He thinks women immodest simply because they bother him, but what he doesn’t know is that he is a piece of work.
Douglas Wilson
@KirkCEO
Reminder that if you’re a convicted rapist who’s taken most of my seminary program, you’re qualified to become a Kirk missionary to Haiti.
— Not Doug Wilson (@KirkCEO) January 11, 2016
“Boobquake and the Meaning of History”
My point is that jiggling your boobs for a YouTube clip is a response to an ignorant Muslim that works equally well as a response to the apostle Peter, which is to say, not at all.
Douglas Wilson
A Few Obvious Observations
If you would have known these facts, you wouldn’t have moved. You would have concluded, with pretty much the rest of the world, that the so-called “work” in Moscow is a sociopathic freak show. They send convicted child-abusers on missionary trips and they marry serial pedophiles knowing they intend to sire children. Of course, he doesn’t post this madness on his website. He hides it in order to create an optical illusion of the Promised Land. But Moscow is the mirage — and suddenly your former “happy-clappy” PCA church looks like a bastion of biblical orthodoxy. Continue reading
“Just Plain Greasy”
And the Roman Polanski affair is beyond creepy. All of Hollywood — including Woody Allen, who should have thought about it some more before lending his support — has come out in support of the talented perv.
The problem in these situations is not the individual hypocrisy or the individual capacity for sin and deception. I mean, as far as that is concerned, welcome to earth. The problem is the full-throated and open support for these men from a sub-culture that had previously raised moralistic posturing and ethical preening in front of the mirror to an art form.
In short, our entertainment culture is openly and unabashedly . . . greasy.
Douglas Wilson
@NatalieGfield
My frmr pastor says he saw all court docs. So he saw that I wrote “my pelvic area was frequently bruised & sore” Still won’t call it abuse.
— Natalie Greenfield (@NatalieGfield) January 6, 2016
“Bottle Blondisity”
Next time you are in a grocery store check out line check out (no, I don’t mean check out) the partially dressed female on the cover of the nearest women’s magazine, the kind my kids call a day-old doughnut. Right, the one with the fake bake tan, the abs of a sixteen-year-old boy, the boobs of a wet nurse, and the knock-your-eye out bottle blondisity. The one who was assembled by an ironic and detached photo shop gay guy the same way your kids play with Mr. Potato Head. Oh, and she also has cancer, non-operable and, more to the point, non-photographable. We can therefore afford to overlook that part.
Douglas Wilson