Look, there’s a history there, and it’s no secret. I’ll give you the whole story, and believe me, I don’t come off as the good guy in it, if you like. I’m just curious: if you’re one of the people running that search, what are you looking for?

Yeah, I know. His first mistake was to think that playing WoW makes him a fucking gamer and gives him any acquaintance with the actual world of gamers. May as well call himself a gamer because he plays Angry Birds and Farmville. So, super-nerd that I am, neck deep in nerd pastimes of all sorts, I make the insane decision to wade into that shitstorm and try to explain to them the difference between bigotry and trolling. For some reason, anyone who calls someone a fag as an insult clearly thinks of homosexuality as wrong, despite the fact that in the same sentence, they carefully explain how often they fuck your father. Must be one of those self-hating fags, I guess. Somehow, the idea that a person would use whatever words get a reaction regardless of what they actually are is so alien to them that they cannot even understand what I’m saying. Somehow, by explaining to them what they are dealing with, I have also become a misogynist, bigot, etc.

They cannot grasp that in the world of gaming, “bitch” is gender neutral. “Bitch captured the flag!” tells you nothing about the sex or gender of the person that did it. Of course, rather than admit that they were beaten on that point, they twisted the argument to pretend that by using the word “bitch” as an insult, I was somehow a men’s rights activist. Never you mind that it was actually someone else’s example initially. That person, being one of the True Believers, was immune from such accusations… but what do you expect from people who are so hardwired into tribalism that they thing if you half-agree with someone on one thing, then you are allies and guilty by association, and that if you actually agree of three or four, you must the closest of compatriots and BFFs.

Interestingly, that’s not really the meat of my post here, though. Everyone knows what that festering den is like. Read on for the actual point:

Way down, at comment 646, one John Morales posts the following:

rystefn:

You can ban as many words as you like, and it will not prevent me from expressing any idea.

(mental image of you attempting to express that idea via caperings and grunts)

I feel that my response to this was insufficient to explain exactly what meant to me (hence, this post), but I will include it for completeness, and so that none may accuse me of trying to hide what I said (though I stand by it).

Morales posits that by banning all words, he can ban ideas. There are many, many fields of art that would take umbrage with such a claim, sir. You insult uncounted millions of artists throughout the ages and across the world by such a claim. Paintings and sculpture, mime and interpretive dance, all tossed in the bin with nary a thought.

That. John, is by far the most vile idea that anyone on this thread has posited, or even been accused of positing, thus far. You sicken me to the core. Words fail spectacularly at expressing my contempt for you. I would spit in your face and be glad to serve my jail time for it were you to express such a thing in my presence.

I say, without hyperbole, for only the second time in my life: the world would be a better place without you in it. I hope you die, sir. I hope. You die.

Allow me to expand upon this idea: If there is one thing in all of humanity which gives us any value as a species, one thing which makes our existence worthwhile, it is art. Feel free to point out chimps and elephants and any nonhuman art you like, my only response to it will be to say that any species which possesses the capacity to create art is elevated by doing so. Language of words allows you and I to understand one another. Hell, it allows the Romans and the Egyptians, and the Babylonians to speak to us… but all of that could be lost. Without the Rosetta stone, Egyptian would be gone. Without Greek and Latin, the Rosetta stone would have been useless. It requires a continuous chain or immediate interaction for language to work.

Art, though… art speaks to us down through the ages. If neolithic humans tens of thousands of years ago had written upon the walls of caves with words, there is no chance we would ever know what they were trying to say. Zero. It would be forever lost. Whatever language they used would be completely incomprehensible to us with no hope of recovery. Luckily, they didn’t. Instead, they gave us beautiful paintings of horses and bulls and hunters… Have you seen these paintings? I have. They evoke movement, emotion, majesty, power, speed. They compel the mind and the emotions. They are in every way equal to any of the great works of any artist you could name.

At a time when the most advanced technology in the world was the needle and thread, these people managed to speak to us, their descendants, across tens of thousands of years, with perfect clarity. I stand in awe of what they accomplished. For all of our vaunted knowledge, how likely is it that will be able to do the same? If we can, it will be through the same medium. It will only be through art.

And this useless fucktard dismisses the most dramatic and astounding accomplishment the human race has ever achieved with an offhand comment like it’s nothing. This useless piece of shit who’s greatest contribution to history is not destroying anything of lasting value (I hope… I hope he manages to die having accomplished that) casually mocks, literally without thinking about it, an achievement he couldn’t even conceive of attempting to duplicate.

So, yes, I stand by what I said. If anything, I think it was too forgiving of me. If I were to pull someone from a burning building, and it turned out to be him, I would risk life and limb to stuff him back in. It’s a good thing I’m not a firefighter.

You know how male privilege lists usually prompt a bunch of guys posting women’s privilege lists? Well, there’s some validity to that. Mostly it’s crap, but here’s the big two: I can’t present a personal problem as a gender problem to gain legitimacy, and I can’t present a universal problem as a gender problem because it never occurred to me that everyone has to deal with it.

Both of these have been coming up a lot lately. Does this look familiar? “You don’t know what it’s like, all women live in fear of potential rape at all times!” How many times do women have to say “I don’t!” before it goes away? I would guess a shit-ton more. How about this one: “You don’t know what it’s like to never leave your drink unattended, so you either take it with you or leave it and then get a new one.” News flash – most men don’t leave our drinks then come back and keep drinking them either. This isn’t new. We don’t make a big deal out of it, though, because it’s a stupid thing to bitch about. It’s a universal human concern with a simple fix, so we go about our business.

Worse, the ever-present threat of violence. Men are more at risk then women in pretty much all situations. Somehow this means that women should be more afraid… Quick, what’s the least reported crime? If you said rape, you’re stupid. It’s insane on the face of it. Vandalism. How much graffiti do you see around you? Think about the desks in your high school. Think about street signs and playground equipment with names written on it. Think about the infamous mens room wall. How many of those do you think are reported? Really? Do you actually think rape is more common than that? If you do, then you’re stupid.

Quick, which do you think is unreported more often, rape of men or rape of women? Which do you think gets taken more seriously by people in general or by law-enforcement specifically? Before you start saying that it doesn’t happen or doesn’t happen enough to be important, ask yourself what you have to go on when you come up with ideas like that. The numbers? Of reported crimes? For a crime that you have to admit is very near the top of unreported crimes? A crime that even you, progressive that you are, probably think is funny. A crime the culture we live in suggests only happens to weak and effeminate men – you know, victim blaming… but rape is a women’s problem.

So please, please, before you tell someone to check their privilege – fucking check your own.

I see a parallel here with one of the arguments we often have with the religious. Many of the religious don’t want to abandon belief in God because they find the thought of having to stand on their own two feet too daunting: they are afraid of having to take responsibility for themselves. And generally speaking, we atheists might have some sympathy with the fear, but we don’t accept it as a good reason for giving in to it: ‘Tough’, we say: ‘That’s just the way it is’. And that’s sort of what I’m saying here too. All of us have to take responsibility for ourselves, make things happen for ourselves, learn from our mistakes, brush up our skills, and stop waiting for other people to make things easy for us.

You should go read that now if you want to see what reason looks like. If you prefer to see more drivel about privilege and failure to grasp that disagreement might be more than a failure to understand what you’re saying, then you should go here instead. Is there a feminine of “mansplaining”? Nah, that’s not right. It would be wrong to imply that only women get all condescending and talk to people about privilege as though that’s the only reason a person could hold a different opinion…

Also, check out the new TAM schedule.

I don’t imagine many people are reading this who don’t know, but here’s the quick recap:

Some person hits on another person in an elevator, this is deemed a Bad Thing.
Wait what?
Ludicrous speed, GO!
A voice of reason.

Lots of people are throwing around links to the Schrodinger’s Rapist thing, to which I refuse to link, because it’s that insane.

So here’s my take on it: Who gives a fuck if someone hit on someone else in an elevator at night? The worst thing I see here is a clumsy pass or a clumsier invitation for actual conversation. Whatever. If you think that’s creepy, that’s fine. You go ahead and think that. If you think other people should change their behavior to coddle your paranoia, you’re stupid. If you think half the fucking human race should change their behavior around the other half because you’re convinced that the second half are equally fucked up as you are, and being fragile little girls, need to be protected, then you are an enemy of equality in generally and feminism specifically. Fuck you. Some women actually understand risk assessment. Some women aren’t crazy paranoid.

If you think you have to assume that all men are rapists to keep yourself safe, then you are insane. If you think all women should act that way, then you’re worse than insane.

On the subject of naming names and whatnot, I’ve got little to add, since ERV spelled it out so damned well (see the voice of reason link above). There’s hope yet, apparently.

About Dawkins: If you think his statement that there are real issues in the world, so why are we talking about a guy in an elevator who didn’t do anything but ask and take “no” for an answer trivializes Rebecca’s experience, you’re wrong. It was already trivial. His point wasn’t “Worse things are happening in the world, so let’s ignore this bad thing.” It was “Actually bad things are happening in the world, so let’s ignore this nothing.” I happen to agree 100%

I know I’m going to be called a misogynist, a tool of the patriarchy, a part of the rape culture. I know I’ll be accused of being a privileged white dude who “doesn’t get it.” I am absolutely certain that someone will tell me that I should stop “mansplaining” and just listen. Well guess what? Fuck you. I have listened. It’s all bullshit. Women don’t have special magical powers that make them right about all things relating to rape or sexism or whatever. You fucking individual experience does not make you an expert. You are not a statistically significant sample size. You know how many women will be raped at some point in their lives? No you fucking don’t. No one does. Anyone who says otherwise lying out their ass. News flash, fucko: people lie. People lie on anonymous surveys. Women, too. Blah, blah, now I’m calling women liars. You’re goddamned right, I am. People are liars, and women are people too.  Therefore woman are liars.

You know how many men will be raped at some point in their lives? No. No one does. You know what we do know? That rape where men are the victims are reported at an even lower rate than rape where women are the victims. That there are people in this world, even in the U.S., and yes, in the feminist movement, who think that women never rape men. That men are never sexually harassed or assaulted. Oh, but it happens less, I’m hearing. How the fuck do you know? That’s right. You don’t. It’s reported less. Why is it reported less? Maybe it does happen less. We don’t know. We do know that accusations are taken less seriously and are more likely to dismissed out of hand.

In closing, let me be abundantly clear: if you think we live in a rape culture, then you are living a blessed life. Because in this world, there are real rape cultures, and if you looked at one even once, you would never refer to the U.S. as one again. Do you know what a rape camp is? When you see one openly set up at your local university (no, a frat party does NOT count), then you can call it a rape culture. Until then, shut the fuck up, you know nothing about the subject.

Of course it wasn’t a slut-shaming, woman-hating, sex-hating culture that divides young women into “good” (virginal) and “bad” (fallen) and allowed a 13-year-old girl to believe that she had ruined her life forever by showing a boy her tits… Parents, teachers, administrators, pastors, bullies, slut-shamers, fools, woman-haters, hypocrites, tell me why YOU think they are killing themselves. Do you know? Do you know why Hope Witsell hanged herself? Do you know why she thought she had no future?

It wasn’t because she made a momentary, impulsive expression of her barely-adolescent sexuality (or gave in to peer pressure from boys who felt that her body was public domain; if the latter, that is just another horrible thing to add to this horrible thing, but either way it was not because she took a picture of her boobs). It wasn’t because of a media-manufactured techno-trend. It wasn’t the internet. It was not that, as this putrid “news” article disgustingly asserts, “The downward spiral of Hope’s life was unstoppable.”

If everyone I know who had a picture of their boobs on the internet before their 18th birthday killed themselves, I’d have a lot of dead friends. I wouldn’t be around to remember them, though, since I’d be dead too.

It wasn’t SEXTING.

It was you, adults, all the adults in her life.

Uptight, sexually-repressed fucktards aren’t just hurting themselves. We should not feel pity for them. We should feel anger, rage, Hell, toss out some hate while you’re at it. They deserve every ounce of scorn we can heap upon their heads. Save your pity for their victims.

I know I haven’t exactly made a big deal about around here, but this blog was created for a different reason. Since it doesn’t really serve that purpose anymore, I may as well start putting it here as well. So far, I think the only real indication I’ve put up that I’m an atheist is the Dawkins scarlet A in the sidebar over there. If that lead some of my readers to think I’m one of those quiet, polite atheists who don’t stir up trouble, the you don’t know me very well. I’m one of the loud, angry, strident atheists who make a scene in public if I hear someone make an offhand comment that “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance isn’t that big of a deal, or that America was founded a “Christian Nation™”.

You may not know this (it’s easy to wear blinders when it’s someone else’s problem), but there is a concerted effort in this country to oppress the nonbelievers. Atheists are among the least trusted groups is America, despite being among the least violent and least likely to commit crimes of any kind. People toss around phrases like “militant atheist” to make themselves feel better about claiming people demanding equal rights need to be quiet about it. We live in a world of real militants. Militant Islam is not Muslims standing up and demanding fair treatment, it’s Muslims picking up weapons and killing people. A separatist is someone who wants to separate. A militant separatist is someone who is killing people about it. We use the same definition of “militant” for every religion and philosophy it’s ever been applied to… except atheism.

If you’re one of the people who use the phrase “militant atheist,” then you’re one of the oppressors. If you’re one of the people who say atheists shouldn’t be so loud/angry/strident/impolite/irreverent/willing to disrespect a cracker, then you’re one of the oppressors. If you hear about a civil rights rights struggle, and don’t get involved, then you are the oppressor.

Every day, I hear some asshole say we’re alienating potential allies by being so vocal. Really? There are people out there whose willingness to see us get the freedoms that are our right hinges on how polite we are? You know what I say to that? Fuck those people! I’m not interested in trading angry oppressors for kinder, gentler oppressors. I will not allow my rights to hang on the whim of another, whether that other wants to deny them as a matter of course, or simply because I said the word “fuck.”

You do not have the right to not be offended. Whether you’re offended by my language, my disrespect, or the fact that I reject your belief system doesn’t matter. You do not have the right not be offended by me, and you do not have the right to deny me mine because you are offended. If you think you do, the you are the oppressor. If you think to yourself that you’re a nice person, not like those raging, angry fundamentalist types, so you shouldn’t have to hear us shouting about being oppressed, guess what? You’re oppressing us, too. At least the openly anti-atheist crowd are honest about it. “The world would be a better place without atheists in it” is oppressive, but guess what? So is “the world wold be a better place if I never had to hear about the atheists.” If you wish we would just shut up or calm down or get over the little things or any variation on the theme, you’re not just enabling the oppressors. You are the oppressor.

I know someone is going to come along and say something against me for having an “if you’re not with us, you’re against us” mentality. That’s not accurate. There is a third group: the group that doesn’t realize anything is happening. You know what’s a good way to get someone’s attention? Shouting. If you’re telling us to stop shouting, you’re telling us to stop trying to tell the people who don’t know that there’s a problem. Whether you’re doing it intentionally or not, you’re trying to stop our fight for civil rights before it even really gets started. That puts you squarely against us, doesn’t it? If you wonder why people are mad at you even though you’re polite and soft-spoken and don’t want to take away our right to vote or hold office or not have our children indoctrinated into your delusions, that might be why.

It’s because you are the oppressor.

The Next Morning

Huh… didn’t see that coming…

Granted, things like this do happen to me, but most of the time I know walking in how it’s going to end. Sure, there are surprises, no one’s arguing that point, but mostly you have some idea. Mostly, you expect some degree of surprise and account for it, but once in a great while, life throws you a curve ball… and sometimes life kicks you in the skull from behind in the dark like some Chinese elf from a third-rate trid flick…

And sometimes things get really weird. Then you wake up bruised, beaten, and handcuffed in an expensive hotel room as an orc walks in wearing about ten thousand nuyen worth of business suit and holding the key to the cuffs. If you had told me yesterday where I’d be this morning, I’d have laughed and bought you a drink for the story, but no way in Hell I’d have believed you.

Sometimes I wonder how I get myself into these situations. Most of the time, I’m pretty sure that I’m better off not knowing.

This story starts yesterday afternoon. What should have been a simple information-gathering run turned really nasty. Redmond’s been that way lately. Eric was shot up pretty bad, and I’m amazed Brimstone walked away at all. After an experience like that, I felt the need to get myself into some more familiar surroundings and do something unlikely to get me killed. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

DJ Ogg was doing a show in Seattle, and I knew a place that would be playing the live tridcast. You probably wouldn’t peg me for a fan of Ogg and the Boyzzz, but they’re a special kind of talented. Those orcs have about ten masters’ degrees between them, and Ogg’s a Juilliard graduate. Cum Laude. I didn’t tell you that. Besides, it’s likely they would play “Move Like You REALLY Mean It,” and I’m just vain enough to want to catch that.

Of course, anywhere playing a DJ Ogg live tridcast would be full to overflowing some very large, very rough types, but this club was downtown in a relatively upscale neighborhood. Besides, I am a fan, and with that crowd, good taste carries a lot of weight. The trick is to stay far away from the dance floor if you weigh less than 125 kilos. For the record: eighty is a lot less than that.

I get there early so I can get a seat at a table with a decent view and not wind up standing in the middle of the club when “Trash the Place” comes on, and it’s not long into the evening before I get few angry orcs confronting me about being there. After a bit of a demonstration that I’m familiar with Ogg’s work and appreciate the nuances of “Geek that Glitterboy,” we’re buying one another rounds and they’re teaching me some Or’zet.

Now I’ve always had a flair for languages, and lately things just seem to click smoothly into place, so it’s understandable that I might get a bit cocky about it. Allow me to take this opportunity to make one thing clear: No matter how good you might be, you are NOT good enough, after only a few hours, to do anything useful in any language. This is not a lesson you want to learn the hard way in a room full of drunken, rowdy orcs. Trust me.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a DJ Ogg show, but if you have, then you know, and if you haven’t… well, you need to. They’ve always been masterful entertainers, and the Boyzzz really brought their A-game to that show. Even in trid, it was amazing. It’s easy to see how they’re still selling out shows after more than a decade in the biz. After the show, my new friends were howling for someone to play all their stuff in order, and it even got through the first few OCs before they started mixing in other stuff as well.

Sometime around midnightish, when some of the crowd (including the guys I’d befriended earlier) had gone home, a busload of orcs crowded in all at once. Between the timing and the concert T-shirts, it was pretty easy to figure out where they had come from, and most of them seemed pretty hyped-up still from the show. A rather small group, less rowdy, took the table next to mine. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, but sometimes you hear something you just can’t ignore…

“I don’t know why dey play dat drek at every show,” one of them was saying, “no one cares ’bout StarShine no more.”

“Dat’s da point, Randy,” another answered, “dat has-been disappeared back wit’ Crash 2.0, but de people still loves Ogg. Dey still moves like dey REALLY mean it.”

“Bah! What do youse know, John? Hell, I bet Ogg don’ even remember what de song’s about no more. Ain’t no statement, jus’ a song dey done so many times dey can’t screw it up no more.”

The debate went back and forth for a few minutes, and I couldn’t help but to put in my two cents. I’m no good at staying in the background. Leaning over towards them, I said: “Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and there’s something neither of you seem to have considered…”

“An’ What’s dat?” Randy asked.

“The rumors that StarShine helped record the original track. If that’s true, don’t you think maybe they play it because they were friends; maybe even they’re hoping he’ll hear it?”

“Listen to da pinky, here!” John hooted, “‘E tinks Ogg might work wit’ dat Glitterboy, Mikey StarShine!” The whole table burst out laughing… well, not quite the whole table. The orcish woman directly across from me was looking at me in an odd sort of way, I might have thought something of it, but I was distracted by the next thing Randy had to say.

“Look ‘ere, tiny. I been a stage ‘and wit’ Ogg fer five years now, an’ I ain’t heared not’in’ ’bout dem ever workin’ wit’ anyone outside da band. An’ John? ‘E’s been wit’ ‘em jus’ as long, an’ HE ain’t heared it neither! We all works wit’ de band one way or anudder, an’ none us heared dat. So, where’s dat leave yer rumor, tiny?”

Sometimes, I just can’t leave well enough alone… “Ah, but ‘Move Like You REALLY Mean It’ was almost ten years ago.”

This set off a whole new round of arguing, and I was honestly enjoying myself at this point. Loud arguments are an orc tradition, and it said something that I was being included instead of being dismissed out of hand… or beaten senseless.

“Look, Tiny.” It seemed Randy had created me a nickname, because it had rapidly caught on with the rest of the group. “Even if dey worked wit’ ‘im fer copyrights ‘er whatever, why would dey be sending some kind o’ message at ‘im now? Ain’t like Ogg’s gonna be doin’ no show wit’ some teenage popster.”

“True, but StarShine would be, what? Like twenty-five now, right? Maybe they saw some potential. Maybe Ogg thought he’d grow into something worthwhile. I mean, look at Jeanette Carlssen. Didn’t she mature into a respected actress?”

This immediately devolved into more arguing, and more than a few crude remarks intended to be complimentary, but I’m sure poor Jeanette would be petrified to hear.

It was at this point I remembered Amy, the female who had been looking at me thoughtfully before. Now there was a sly smile on her lips and she cast a knowing wink my way. That’s when I recalled the earlier argument. Randy and John had been with Ogg for five years, but Amy had been on the production team for twelve years. She had said nothing, and I thought little of it. Too late, I remembered that one of the sound techs back in winter ’63 was a young orcish woman, not much older than I had been at the time.

Yup. She recognized me. No way out of this without at least some token sign that I knew she knew. Last thing I needed was for her to tell these guys who I used to be. Remember what I said about languages? What I tried to say was “Az’g Hishk d’Kreizish,” Or’zet for can’t hide your eyes: a wink at our shared knowledge of my identity… What did I actually say? I couldn’t tell you if my life depended on it, but it was apparently a pretty horrific slur. The words were barely out of my mouth when I was lifted from my chair and tossed onto the dance floor. The next bit is pretty hazy – mostly fists and boots and essentially a miraculously mild roughing-up at the hands of half a dozen large and angry orcs.

I’m pretty sure Amy explained the mistake to them, because I know for a fact that I didn’t say anything useful. There were a lot of apologies, mostly mine, and fearful discussions of bad press. Not that fighting would make Ogg’s crew look bad, but six orcs to one human isn’t exactly glorious rebellion of the downtrodden, is it?

Since I like Ogg, and the mistake was mine, I let them press a top-notch hotel room and free run of room service on me as hush money. Well, that’s what I thought I had done. Again, I wasn’t exactly in the best of conditions at that point. Turns out I was allowed to crash in one of their hotel rooms for the night, but I did have free run of the room service.

Still, it wasn’t all bad. Amy looked damn good in that suit the next morning, so it wasn’t the worst wake-up ever.

What? Oh, the handcuffs… Don’t look at me like that, that’s Amy’s kink, not mine. I’d like to see you argue about it if you were in my position… Not that kind of position…

Pervert.