Recently more than one person called me "homophobic" because I shared certain clips and memes on my Facebook page. I suppose those who accuse me of being "phobic" of "homos" must assume I run screaming into my bedroom to hide under the covers every time my youngest son drops in for a visit.
But never mind. I covered all that years ago in two separate posts. The first, Why I Don't Care If You're Gay, was written during the controversy surrounding California's Proposition 8, and the other, The Real Threat To Traditional Marriage was published following the Supreme Court's Obergefell decision which was announced seven years ago this very day. Anyone wishing to know my views on same-sex attraction or same-sex marriage need only avail themselves of those sources. (The latter is the first of a three part series, which I happen to consider among my best work on this forum. That series covers a lot of ground, culminating in the third part which describes how, since at least the middle of the last century, the LDS Church has effectively taken God out of a Mormon couple's marriage.)
As to that baseless charge of homophobia: I've said nothing recently to disparage those with same-sex attraction, but I have taken some irascible digs at teenagers and young adults whose TikTok videos suggest their cognitive capabilities may not be quite up to speed. I'll be the first to admit that I like making fun of the mentally ill. And as we all know, a child's pre-frontal cortex does not fully develop until somewhere between age 24 to 30, after which time most of those insufferable wackjobs will have hopefully grown up and come to their senses.
Meanwhile, we can't expect too much from these juvenile jackasses other than to have a few yuks at their expense. In my day, teenage boys acted out by wearing wide-collared shirts, dorky looking scarves, and pants that were shaped like bells near the bottom. That's how we baby boomers signaled our rebellion. Today, members of the TikTok generation are good for a few laughs as we watch them make narcissistic online rants insisting they are trans-gender, non-gender, non-binary-gender, or other such consarned foolishness. Whatever the claim, they seem to always insist they are something other than what they are. I fully expect these misfits to one day be as embarrassed of their online performances as I am when I see old photos of myself looking like a total doofus.
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| Don't laugh, ladies. This was sure-fire chick bait circa 1969 |
However, what I am not keen on is adults -whether parents, counselors, or "medical professionals"- who take advantage of these confused and troubled kids by trying to convince them the reason they don't quite fit in is because they were either a male born into a female body, or a female born into the body of a male.
Let me show you some examples of what I've been criticized for sharing. First up, here's a nine minute segment from Bill Maher, a progressive liberal who has decided Americans should at least be discussing the nonsense our society is currently awash in:
Next is a one minute clip with Scott Newgent, a biological woman who was told that having transitional surgery to turn her into a man would solve all her problems. No surprise, it only made her problems worse, while adding ever more painful and potentially deadly problems to the mix. Scott is founder of Trans Rational Educational Voices, an organization devoted to exposing the money-grubbing quacks who have grown rich permanently mutilating the bodies of confused and vulnerable children and teenagers:
Here's another five minutes with Scott discussing how the insidious promoters of these irreversible procedures won't tell you about the permanent dangers inflicted on children who undergo "gender transition" operations.
As you can see, none of this is about being gay. It has little to do with same-sex attraction and more to do with self-attraction. Watch your typical young TikTok trans person. What you'll often observe is raw narcissism typified by a tone of smug arrogance and emotional imbalance. And yes, narcissism is a bona fide mental illness, as catalogued in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Illness (DSM-5). The apostle Paul sure knew what he was talking about when he reported to Timothy that in our day "men shall be lovers of their own selves" then went on to list additional traits describing the people of our day as "boasters, proud, without natural affection, despisers of those that are good, and lovers of pleasure." And that's just a partial list from 2 Timothy 3:2-5. Looking around at what we're seeing today, it would be hard to argue that Paul was mistaken.
Teens and young adults with mental illnesses deserve real help, not affirmation from adults who grow rich by preying upon their vulnerabilities.
But don't get me wrong; not all teenagers who find themselves wanting their breasts lopped off or their penises removed are batshit crazy. Most are just typical teenagers who, like all of us during those difficult years, go through a period where they feel uncomfortable with themselves. The difference these days, however, is that rather than being assured that what they are feeling is a normal part of adolescence, they are pulled in by people in positions of trust who try to convince them they need to undergo radical physical change. And that is the crime being perpetrated on these kids.
If you google the words "Trans surgery regret" you'll find no end to the entries from people who dearly wish they had never bought into the con. Here is one story, by "TulipR," a young man who was surgically altered to look like a girl. Warning: don't read this aloud in the presence of children. (Or then again, maybe you should.)
"I want to tell everyone what they took from us, what irreversible really means, and what that reality looks like for us. No one told me any of what I’m going to tell you now.
"I have no sensation in my crotch region at all. You could stab me with a knife and I wouldn't know. The entire area is numb, like it's shell shocked and unable to comprehend what happened, even four years on.
"I tore a suture four days post-recovery; they promised to address it. I begged them in emails to fix it. They scorned me instead. Years later, I have what looks like a chunk of missing flesh next to my neo-vagina. It literally looks like someone hacked at me. They still wont fix it.
"No one told me that the base area of your penis is left. It can't be removed - meaning you're left with a literal stump inside that twitches. When you take Testosterone and your libido returns, you wake up with morning wood, without the tree. I wish this was a joke.
"And if you do take testosterone after being post-op, you run the risk of internal hair in the neo-vagina. Imagine dealing with internal hair growth after everything!
"What a choice... be healthy on Testosterone and a freak, or remain a sexless eunuch.
"And that's something that will never come back and one of the reasons why I got surgery.
"My sex drive died about 6 months on HRT and at the time I was glad to be rid of it, but now 10 years later, I'm realizing what I'm missing out on and what I won't get back. Because even if I had a sex drive, my neo-vagina is so narrow and small, I wouldn't even be able to have sex if I wanted too.
"And when I do use a small dilator, I have random pockets of sensation that only seem to pick up pain rather than pleasure. Any pleasure I do get comes from the Prostate that was moved forward and wrapped in glands from the penis, meaning anal sex isn't possible and can risk further damage.
"Then there's the dreams. I dream often that I have both sets of genitals. In the dream I'm distressed I have both. Why both, I think? I tell myself to wake up because I know it's just a dream. And I awaken into a living nightmare.
"In those moments of amnesia, as I would wake I would reach down to my crotch area expecting something that was there for 3 decades, and it's not. My heart skips a beat every single damn time.
"Then there's the act of going to the toilet. It takes me about 10 minutes to empty my bladder. It's extremely slow, painful, and because it dribbles no matter how much I relax, it will then just go all over that entire area, leaving me soaked.
"So after cleaning myself up, I will find moments later that my underwear is wet - no matter how much I wiped, it slowly drips out for the best part of an hour.
"I never knew at thirty-five I ran the risk of smelling like piss everywhere I went.
"Now I get to the point where I'm de-transitioned, and the realization that this is permanent is catching up with me.
"During transition, I was obsessive and deeply unwell; I cannot believe they were allowed to do this to me, even after all the red flags.
"I wasn't even asked if I wanted to freeze sperm or want kids. In my obsessive, deeply unwell state they just nodded along and didn't tell me the realities, what life would be like.
"And finally, there's dilation, which is like some sort of demonic ceremony where you impale yourself for 20 agonizing minutes to remind you of your own stupidity.
"This isn't even the half of it. And this isn't regret either; this is grief and anger.
"When I lost 1600ml of blood during surgery, it took days to get a blood transfusion. The surgery lasted 3 hours longer. They joked about the blood loss, too.
"F*** everyone who let this happen."
This You Gotta See
Doubtless by now you've heard of Matt Walsh's remarkable documentary titled What Is A Woman? If you haven't, here is the trailer:
That's because only four professional reviewers have bothered to watch it, which I guess is too few to register. Last I heard, three million people watched this film in its first week of release and believe me, its impact is already changing the national conversation. This is essential viewing. I found it a game-changer and I can guarantee you'll learn things from this film you never even suspected were true.
In the meantime, if you feel like screaming at the screen in frustration, watch this 13 minute segment from Walsh's podcast last week where he analyzes a trans-affirming story presented in a Fox News Report. In this report, a couple insists they know their daughter is really a boy because she "told them." When did she tell them? Before she was even old enough to talk. It won't surprise you, then, to learn the child officially "came out" when she turned five:
My mother told me years later that my father, a gruff and burly Sergeant in the Marine Corps, was dead-set against his son getting a doll for Christmas. But Mom argued that my interest in changing and bathing a doll was adorable and "would help Alan to be a good father when he grows up."
Turns out she was right about that. When I grew up and had children of my own, Connie changed their diapers when I was at work, but I had no problem changing them when I was home. I even bathed the little critters and never had to be taught how to do it.
Anyway, I couldn't have been more thrilled when Betsy Wetsy appeared under the tree that Christmas morning. I immediately gave her a baby bottle full of water, and sure enough, in no time that water was flowing out a tiny hole between her little legs and soaking her little diaper! I gently and lovingly gave Betsy her first bath in the bassinette that came with her. And after that...well, after that I lost complete interest in Betsy Wetsy.
Except for just one incident.
When my parents weren't around, my brother Karl helped me twist Betsy Wetsy's head off so we could look inside and see how Betsy was managing to wet herself. Looking down the hollow cavity inside her body, we were both startled and amazed to see a collection of plastic tubes arranged in such a way that after the bottle was fed into Betsy's mouth, the flow of water took about a minute to fill up sufficiently so it would not flood out the other end all at once. It wasn't magic after all, just clever engineering.
Having solved that mystery, and afterward filling Betsy's bottle with milk to see if the milk turned into pee when it came out the other end (it didn't), both Karl and I completely lost interest in my precious new baby. I had fed Betsy a bottle and changed her diaper two or three times, bathed her only once, then never went near that doll again. Betsy Wetsy ended up on a shelf in my sister Mary's closet, completely forgotten until the family moved to Hawaii when I was nine. No one even thought to bring that poor little orphan to Oahu with us.
I recall one afternoon when my sister Elsa and our cousin Suzette were at Suzette's house sitting on the bedroom floor playing paper dolls. I decided to join them. Suddenly Uncle Lloyd (my father's brother) came into the room and saw me there and boy, did he hit the ceiling! He ordered me out and told me boys don't play with dolls, not even paper ones. (I made a mental note at the time not to mention that I had once owned a doll of my own, and my doll knew how to pee.)
So here's the thing: sometimes a young boy might announce to his parents that he wishes he was a girl. That doesn't mean he actually wants to grow up to be a woman; it only means he has noticed that girls sometimes do things that look like fun, and he wants in on it. There was a time when certain young girls were known for climbing trees and playing sports. The adults referred to these girls as "Tomboys," and no one thought anything further about it. Certainly no one proposed cutting the poor girl's nascent tits off to make her feel better about herself.
Throughout my childhood I was skinny, frail, and withdrawn, with what one might call a "gentle" personality. Something of a misfit, I was often razzed at school and called a weirdo, a dork, a spaz, and even a homo. I'm just lucky I was born when I was because today some well-meaning school counselor might call me into her office and suggest I might be happier if I came to realize that what I really wanted was surgery that could turn me into a girl.
Well, eventually I grew taller, packed on some muscle, and gained a bit of confidence. More than a bit, some would say, as for the past few decades I've become so secure in my manhood that I wear lava-lavas around the house and kilts in public -the same masculine style of kilt the lumberjacks wear. (There's a reason Utilikilts are manufactured here in the Pacific Northwest).
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| Here I am with another real man, Josh Vaughn, at Challis, Idaho |
My wife is disabled, so often when we're in public together I'll end up carrying her purse for her without feeling the least bit like a sissy. And since I'm now the one who does all the housework, I'm lucky to have had a mother who taught me how to thoroughly clean, cook, wash dishes, and do the laundry. (I have male friends who honestly depend upon their wives to make them a sandwich!) I'm also a frickin' master at ironing, although ever since we moved to rural Idaho there's not much call for that.
Some of these same people wouldn't think twice about paying to watch a film in a theater, or for a monthly subscription to Netflix. But suddenly when it happens to be something that's not only highly entertaining, but also horrifying, they think it shouldn't cost anything? It does take a lot of money to make movies, you know. Even documentaries.
The film is available by subscription at The Daily Wire so click on the link. And if you hurry, you can get 25% off. Is there anywhere else you can stream it from? Well, I have seen it posted on Rumble, but I don't know how long it will stay up there. If you do find it on Rumble for free, I suggest you send a few dollars to the people who produced it to compensate them for their work. Trust me, this is well worth paying for. Still, if you're really intent on not contributing anything, you can always download it at Pirate Bay, you cheap bastard. (That's where I found it.)
