We’ve all heard the feminist narrative on rape jokes, haven’t we?
According to feminist commentators and media, rape jokes aren’t funny. They have a whole narrative just on this one topic. Rape jokes, they say, are part of rape culture. That is, of course, unless we’re talking about a feminist using her comedy routine as a platform to amplify unproven – or even demonstrably shaky – allegations against the opponent of a feminist-approved political candidate. Then it’s just business as usual, isn’t it, Amy Schumer?
It does not matter that your fellow feminists have used their rape culture narrative, particularly the claim that rape jokes hurt people who have experienced sexual assault, as a shaming tool with which to whip others into compliance. As long as you’re doing it for the “right” reasons, you’re exempt.
No trigger warning is needed either, to alert those who feminists tell us are left so mentally scarred by their experience that the mere mention of sexual assault is total breakdown fuel, because reasons!
It’s different when you do it, isn’t it Amy? It’s so different, in fact, that you’re entitled to use the members of your paying audience who have been victims of sexual assault themselves as shields against the judgement of the 200 people who walked out on your bullshit.
After all, it’s not like you, a feminist in good standing, would ever do anything that your supporters in the movement could consider sexually predatory or degrading to another person, right Amy?
Oh, wait… by your own admission, you did exactly that. In fact, you described it in detail, bragging about treating the experience as a stepping stone to higher self-esteem.
Imagine if the sexes were reversed.
What if a man your age described that time back in college when he got an early morning phone call from a girl he’d been chasing after like a lost puppy, only to arrive at her place and find her so drunk she kept passing out in the middle of the blow job he “let” her give him?
They’d call him a rapist. In fact, they might call him a creepy-stalker-turned-rapist. Even more to the point, so would the laws of the state in which your story takes place.
But it’s different when you do it, isn’t it Amy? In fact, you can not only tell the story of how, while completely sober, you had sex with a drunk guy who kept losing consciousness… you can tell it without a shred of consideration for his human dignity. As a feminist-approved female comedian, you’re socially entitled to freely admit your intent from the beginning to use “Matt” as nothing more than a prop to bolster your wounded ego. Never mind that your description is of a has-been high school athlete focused on using a dude to restore her social status instead of making an effort to do anything productive like participating in the things that had made her popular before. After all, you’re a woman, and women are entitled to a certain degree of “respect,” right?
While you were thinking about how desperate you were “to be held and touched and feel desired,” did you ever consider the possibility that your target called you because that’s what he wanted? Did it occur to you that a guy you called “a grown-up von Trapp child” who “should have graduated, but needed an extra year” might have faced social challenges similar to the ones you described having?
Of course, it must not have, or if it did, it certainly didn’t matter to the once-popular gal confronted for the first time with being
While you were planning how you were going to share this story, did it cross your mind that you’d be telling people you knew your mark was so inebriated he wasn’t aware enough to know that he smelled? That his motor control was significantly reduced by his level of intoxication? That he was so drunk he was experiencing whisky dick? That he lost consciousness multiple times?
It wasn’t enough, though, to just to get away with admitting all of that. No, a feminist comedian goes big, or goes home, doesn’t she? Your trip down memory lane to rapeyville had to include publicly stripping off your old friend Matt’s pride to reveal the naked humanity underneath… not only judging the sexual technique of a guy too drunk to stay awake, but also the poster on his wall and even his pre-college life back home. Your faultfinding ended with calling your befuddled fuck-buddy a man-boy, as if your plan to use him as your own personal pedestal-builder had been an act of maturity.
Now you have the nerve to not only rail against a man over apparently false and politically motivated accusations… you asked sexual assault survivors to act as your shield against the disgust of audience members who saw through your act and walked out.
Does your audience know that by many of their standards, by your old university’s standards, and by the law of the state where your story took place, you’re a perpetrator who has escaped justice?
Did those who stood and didn’t leave know an admitted rapist was trotting them out to promote false allegations, the kind feminists say are only a bad thing because they damage the credibility of real victims?
How dare you, you doe-eyed, lying, hypocritical, skunk-fucking cunt?
If your story is to be believed, you raped a drunk guy, and then you bragged about it and dragged what you could dredge from your memory of him out to ridicule for laughs.
You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve asking actual victims of sexual assault to become your personal army.
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- Update with Deborah Powney | HBR Talk 163 - December 31, 2020