Emperor-Wannabe Donald I … issues Executive Order mandating that executive departments comply with law to submit new rules to public comment and congressional review? Eagerly awaiting the “he’s doing it to destroy the environment” spin.
Vlade Divac is a GM for an NBA team? The guy was a hard worker and a good player, but I never really thought of him as management material.
Beresheet lunar craft didn’t quite nail the landing. Engine and communications problems on the descent doomed it. I only hope someone wasn’t figuring in cubits instead of meters for the autopilot.
Hello and welcome back to “Pie ponders”, in which Pie – that is me, for those who are new – raises questions on various topics of great importance. Today, we talk about the evil of bias.
Talk of bias in hiring, wage gaps, and glass ceilings is all the rage these days. I will take advantage of glibertarians being a safe space and voice an opinion that would be routinely excoriated in a different environment: bias is inevitable and preventing it is no business of government, as long as no aggression is involved.
But what about the wymminz, you ask? Make love to them if they are pretty and to someone else if they are plain, to paraphrase some shitlord from a while back, a different age it was, because no one would say such a thing in our enlightened time. But seriously, I kid, I kid… I would never say anything so crass. Well, about the women or minorities or whatever the answer is simple: a free market will penalize, although not eliminate, bias and bigotry, and will constantly create new opportunities. Beyond that, life sometimes sucks and you cannot prevent that by giving vast powers to bureaucrats.
Something else controversial: bias is inherent in human experience. People are biased in every aspect of their life- it is called subjective preference. Business is an aspect of life like any other. As I said before, the whole economic/social liberty dichotomy complete nonsense. Human life is a continuum of many aspects and you cannot draw clear boundaries between them. But… but… it’s not fair… Well, life ain’t fair, depending on your definition of fair. Some things are unpleasant or sad or unfortunate. That is the way it is. Luck of the draw, as I mentioned in an earlier article. But whatever you view on the fairness of it all, you will not solve it by government aggression. I can tell you that much. Getting back to bias in the economic area of life, in the end it is no different than choosing who you date. You make decisions based on knowledge and personal preference. And, just like dating, it is an issue of skin in the game (and/or superglue).
Let’s say I own a property which I rent using Airbnb. That property is worth money and it is part of my wealth. It also can be damaged, reducing its value. If this happens, I lose money, so I have a direct interest of it not happening. Maybe, based on personal prejudice, I do not want to rent said Airbnb to say… hot Russian women. That is maybe unpleasant for the group of hot Russian women on a girl’s only vacation in Bucharest who really likes that apartment, but it is my right not to rent them my property. But maybe it is not that simple. Maybe in my personal experience – based on the last 3 times I rented to a group of Russian women – Russian women get drunk and mess things up, it is my right and my decision to avoid property damage and, as such, loss of money. I will instead rent it out to that group of Mormon missionaries. It is probably unfair to these 5 nice Russian girls who just want to see the museums and quietly read some books in the evening. It may even be true that statistically, worldwide, Mormon missionaries do more damage to Airbnb rentals then hot Russian women (based on OECD data for 2015). But, in the end, it is my apartment, my experience of damage, my preference and I choose how to best avoid issues, even if it means stereotyping.
And while some groups had significant historical discrimination – imposed by law, custom and oftentimes both, I am sorry to say that this has nothing to do with individuals in the present. Collectivism tries to make it about groups throughout history, but collectivism is full of shit. Each makes choices based on personal experience and has nothing to do with other groups in the past. Furthermore, not unlike minimum wage, I have significant doubts anti-discrimination legislation, at this point in time, helps various groups more than it hurts. There is always a way to get around it.
As a personal anecdote, the first time I left Romania as a kid in the 90s, I went on a trip to Italy, where it was sufficient to go into a store and be heard speaking Romanian for a shop assistant to constantly keep an eye on us, even follow us around, assuming we were there to steal. Was it unpleasant? Yes. Did it enrage my mom? Sure. But in the end, prejudice or experience, those shop keepers had a right to keep an eye on what they decided to be suspicious persons, as unpleasant as that may have been for me.
If I have a business which I start with my work and my money, and I am the one at risk to go bankrupt, I get to choose who I hire, which customers I target, what products I make, where I source my raw materials and every other aspect about running the business. If I believe hiring a good looking employee helps my business, I will not hire someone I consider ugly. Is it unfair? Maybe. Here some people will say you should hire based on merit, and then exclude looks from the merit part. But can you do that? Not always and not in every business. In the end, the employer decides what merit is, based on the position they are hiring for. Hooters hires for different reasons than the local hardware store.
Bias will not go away. All people are biased, and sometimes – regardless of how often -with reason. You depend on various heuristics – stereotypes among them- in order to make decisions about unknown things and an unknowable future. Some of this bias can be simply bigotry. Thems be the breaks. But, in the end, when you take the risk of a business, no one without similar risk in it should get to tell you what to do, or who to hire. Because if the business fails, it should fail due to your decisions, not ones imposed by others with no skin in the game. And no one can tell you this or that “has nothing to do with the business”. There are a million ways a business can succeed or fail, and they are not clear or known. Hence all the failures. So the owner gets to decide what they want to do. You can avoid hiring women, if you think they work less overtime or they will inevitably leave to have children, or you are just plain misogynist; gays if you think your customers prefer heterosexuals or they make your best employee uncomfortable, or you are just plain against homosexuality; fat people, if you think they are weak-willed or more prone to miss work due to illness, or just don’t like the fatties. You and only you should get to make those judgments. Because it is your business at play.
While a lot of the talk of various gaps can be proven wrong by looking at the actual data, it would not be a correct conclusion that there is zero bias. Bias in individual companies or people is not the same as widespread bias in every company or person. You will always have people who are prejudiced and make biased decisions due to that, people who are incompetent and make biased decisions due to that, people who have been burned before and make more or less excessively biased decisions due to that. But in a free market situation, there are inherent feed-backs that punish bad decision making, whether the bad decision taking is prejudice or incompetence or simply choosing wrong among various uncertainties.
To give a final example, certain businesses in Romania do not hire people from poor non-EU country like say Armenia or India. This would cause fury among certain circles. But it is a simple calculation. People from these countries want to immigrate to the EU, but not really to Romania, and use Romania as a stepping stone to reach Germany or France or whatever. For a company that has hired such people, who then leave the second they find a job further west, it means the company paid them money in the initial stages when they were being trained and not that productive, and the moment they would become productive they left. This can lead to the company to prefer not hiring these people, based on a heuristic they developed from experience. Maybe some of them think Romania is the country for them, but there is little point in taking such a chance. Alternatively, there was great outrage in Romania when some unreproducible study or other showed that in Sweden, for identical CVs, the ones with Swedish names get a higher rate of interview offers compared to ones with Romanian names. But this makes a sort of sense, for a Swedish company, all other things equal, to prefer a Swedish person, at the very least they speak the language and have more predictable habits.
No one is entitled to a certain job or a certain wage or a certain promotion, so being denied one of those things is not a business of government. Well, what about the social justice side of the issue? Well there is no social justice side of the issues, social justice has no skin in the game and also fuck social justice it is a stupid concept.
Good morning my Glibs and Gliberinas and what a glorious morning it is for everyone but those who value freedom, exposure of government corruption, and true journalism, as Julian Assange has been arrested after having his asylum withdrawn.
“Have fun with that, Joe,” Donald squealed with glee. “Have fun being called a pussy-grabber!”
“Haw-haw-haw!” the USA hat guffawed at the television. Fox News had been looping footage of Biden rubbing shoulders and lingering on arms and standing behind women and whispering in their ear for nearly an hour.
“This is so much fun!” Donald yelled, digging the heel of his hand into his stubby erection. Fidgeting, he then clawed at the toupee glue holding his hairpiece on.
“What’s the matter with you?” Donald asked his hair. “It’s all itchy!”
Donald grimaced when his hair didn’t answer him back and poked his finger through it.
“Wake up!” he instructed. “You’re missing the Gropey Joe highlight reel.”
“Yew sent them down to the tunnels, Don,” the USA hat said.
“Tunnels? What tunnels?”
“Those tunnels under the White House that lead to alla JFK’s fuckpads ‘round the city,” USA hat said.
“That doesn’t even sound real,” Donald sniffed. “Fake news. Fake historical news.”
Sarah came into the Oval Office and shouted over the television. “Sir, you wanted to talk about today’s press conference.”
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Donald replied, turning the television volume down.
“You called me this morning at my house?” Sarah prompted. “At 3:30, sir.”
“Fake news,” Donald said. He rose from his desk and walked up to Sarah. She visibly fought the urge to step back as he got close and touched his forehead to hers.
“Does this make you uncomfortable, Pie?” he asked. Before she answered, Donald stepped behind her and began to knead her shoulders, digging painfully into her trapezi. “What about this?” he asked, his Diet Coke breath ruffling her hair.
“S-S-S-sir,” she managed to stammer. She felt him bury his face into the back of her head, shaking back and forth to burying his nose into the nape of her neck. He sniffed her with a prolonged inhalation.
“Nothing,” he said, withdrawing. “Nothing at all. Not even a little twitch.”
“Sir?” she asked.
Donald sat back down at his desk and put his feet up. “Your head smells like soup, Pie,” he said. “Maybe you should switch shampoos.”
“Campbell’s makes shamPOO?’ the USA hat asked. “Har-har-har.”
“Do you need anything else, sir?” Sarah asked, shaking all over, horripilation peppering her arms and neck.
Donald waved her away and turned the volume back up on the television. Fox News was now running the Biden loop at twice speed, Benny Hill version of “Yakety Sax” for a soundtrack.
“Turn me ovah, Donnie!” USA hat said through his laughter, “I wanna watch it upside-down!”
The first creature stepped out of the gloom of the dark tunnel and into the feeble light of the crashed scooter. Hankering, gross, nude, it played idly with a huge, twisted erection, a foot-long bar of deformed meat. “Wanafud?” it asked as yellowish semen dribbled to the floor of the tunnel.
“Wanafud?” came a voice behind them. The hat and hair turned to see a similarly deformed monstrosity also step into the light. Its penis was almost sharp looking, and yet bent back on itself at the tip, like a murderous fuck harpoon.
The hat and the hair huddled together, shaking.
“What do they want?” the hair whispered.
“Rape, judging by the erections,” the hat said.
“There can’t be much food down here,” the hat said, a new horror dawning in his voice. “What if they want to eat us?”
“Or rape us, then eat us,” the hat said. “Or eat us, then rape whatever they can’t digest.”
“What is wrong with you?” the hair asked.
“I’m just being realistic,” the hat said.
“Wanafud? Wanafud?” came even more voices down the dark tunnel.
“We have to get out of here,” the hat said.
“The scooter is totaled,” the hair began when the hat bounded off the floor and landed on top of him.
“Aww,” said the hair, “You’re going to protect me.”
“Fuck that,” said the hat. “I’m going to ride you.”
“What? You’re way too heavy!”
“Are you calling me fat?” the hat asked, shocked.
“Wanafud?” asked the closest grotesque.
“Run,” the hat commanded.
“I can’t, I just can’t,” the hair moaned.
“Haven’t you figured out what they are saying yet?” the hat asked, cruelty in his voice. “‘Want to fuck?’ is what they are saying. Do you? Do you want to fuck?” The hat slapped the hair painfully with his band and they took off, dozens of the hair’s tendrils digging into the cum-crusted floor of the tunnel and scaling the low crude wall to run back down the tunnel.
“Yee-Haw!” the hat yelled and they dodged a hideous over-developed hand and wrist swooping down to capture them. They careened off the wall of the tunnel, corrected and took off in a disturbing scuttle.
“Are they following us?” the hair asked.
“I can’t see them,” the hat said, not bothering to look back.
“What are those fucking things?” the hair asked.
“You didn’t recognize the brow? The hair?” the hat asked.
“Oh, God. Oh, no,” the hair moaned.
“Yes, they are the bastardated spawn of JFK!” the hat said gleefully. “Down in the tunnels for decades, fucking each other, breeding, sliding down the evolutionary scale toward Alabama…”
The hat skidded to a stop and the hat flew off of him.
“What the fuck?” the hat asked.
“It’s the intersection,” the hair said, panting. “I’m trying to figure out which way to go.”
“Wanafud?” came down the tunnel in a mournful sigh.
“You better figure it out fast,” the hat said. “They are definitely going to fuck us and eat us. Probably been fucking and eating each other for years now.”
The hair shot out manipulatory hairs and drew the hat back on top of him.
“I think I see lights up ahead!” the hair said as they shot off down the right-hand tunnel.
Donald was spooning Sarah on the new White House couch, the angry stub of his erection jammed into one of her folds of back fat.
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” Donald asked. “It’s just nonsexual touching.”
“I’m fine, sir,” she said. She squirmed and peed a little.
Donald’s hand moved up her body and settled on her neck. He began to squeeze.
“Just a little nonsexual choking,” he whispered. “This is just normal human stuff, right?”
“She’s too much woman fer yew!” the USA hat crowed. “Yew can barely get yr hand ‘round her fat neck!”
“WANAFUD?!?” the shambling monstrosity following them bellowed.
“Run, you hairy sumbitch!” the hat yelled at the hair.
“I can’t see anything!” came the muffled voice of the hair.
“Thay gonna fuck us!” the hat screeched.
“Stop fake code-switching!” the hair snapped.
“No collusion with pussy,” Donald said in a hoarse whisper. “No non-sexual obstruction.”
Sarah groaned.
“CLIMB THE LADDER!” the hat screamed.
“I CAN’T!” the hair screamed in pain and terror.
“YOU WANA GET FUDED? DO YOU?!?”
“Pie?” Donald asked. “Are you still comfortable? Am I making you comfortable?”
Sarah said, “I don’t know, Mr. President.”
Donald dug his penis stub deeper into her back pudge. “It’s OK. You can call me ‘Donald President’ if you want to.”
“Slam the hatch!” the hat yelled.
“It’s too heavy!” the hair sobbed.
“Can I watch you eat a Big Mac?” Donald asked.
The hat flew through the doggie door from the Presidential Shitter and tumbled into the Oval Office.
“Get off of me!” the hair said, bucking the hat off and onto the floor.
“Where have you guys been?!?” Donald asked them.
“Oh my God, Donald,” the hair said sternly. “Get off Sarah. Now. Get off, get off, get off!”
“Non-sexual!” Donald said. “Like Biden! I’m being like Biden!”
“No, Donald!” the hair yelled. “Bad Donald! Bad Donald”
USA Hat laughed and laughed and laughed.
“Get that redneck piece of shit out of here!” the hat screamed.
“Bad Donald!” the hair said again. “Where is the damn spray bottle?”
Welcome to the first recap of Woke Charmed! Or should I say… welcome to your doom.
The episode starts with a woman offscreen creepily whispering, “This is not a witch hunt.” Then we cut to slutty youngest sister creeping down a dark hallway in a way that supposed to seem like a horror movie, but in actuality, she’s trying to sneak out of the house for a Greek theme party. She’s quickly busted by bitchy lesbian older sister, who is angry at her for stealing her boots for the theme party. Sisters, right? That’s a thing sisters do! Always borrowing each other’s clothes, always being mad about it. Dialogue is a thing we can write! Stereotypical banter ensues: “The Greek system is an oppressive misogynistic homophobic institution of cisnormative hedonism”; “Wah wah you just don’t want me to have any fun.”
Their arguing is interrupted by the sound of their mother on the phone yelling about how this isn’t a witch hunt, it’s a RECKONING!! It turns out the sisters’ mother is a Women’s Studies professor who is trying to get another professor ousted because, surprise, he is a rapist! Or a harrasser. Or something. #MeToo relevancy. But nobody believes her, of course, because she is a WAMAN, and on top of it, his victim is unable to testify because she’s in a mysterious coma.
After hanging up the phone, their mom proceeds to give them a stereotypical “I’m so proud of you, never forget that you’re sisters” peptalk for no apparent reason.
Nothing sinister is going to happen to this mother. Nothing.
Then the girls go out for the evening. Bitchy older sister (Mel) texts her girlfriend to get naked. Right now. Right this second. No foreplay. Get fucking naked.
(Side note: This is probably supposed to be a surprise when it’s revealed that she is a lesbian, but she acts so much like America Chavez that literally no one is surprised.)
Meanwhile, slutty younger sister (Maggie) is annoyed because her ex-boyfriend doesn’t want her walking through Rape Woods alone in the dark in a miniskirt and crop top. It’s so patriarchal of him to try to police her body and practically accuse her of asking for it by dressing like a whore and walking into the woods in the dark by herself! How dare he try to white knight her, following her to “protect” her, offering her a ride to the party, as if she’s not a strong waman who can take care of herself!
Both the girls’ fun evenings out are soon interrupted by a panicked text from their mother telling them to come home immediately because she’s about to get murdered by a bunch of crows. A murder of crows, in fact. Or it might be an unkindness of ravens, but the crow pun works better. As they swarm about her, she screams, “Hear this, I have three!”
The girls don’t make it home in time to help their mom, though, because Maggie is too busy trying to impress Regina George so she can join her sorority. Because, of course, this is TV, therefore the sorority is filled with stereotypical Mean Girls — you can’t expect a show about feminism and sisterhood to not shit on women’s clubs that emphasize sisterhood! Mel, having de-nakified in record time, shows up to drag her sister home, but not before getting in a good screech at the fraternity boys about rape culture. (This is not a joke — the words “rape culture” are literally used. She turns to a couple making out on the couch on their way out the door and says to the girl, “Remember, when it comes to consent, you can change your mind at any time!”)
If she says you have to stop after three dick thrusts, the fourth thrust is rape.
When the girls finally get home, they find their mother dead on the ground outside the house. It looks like she’s committed suicide by jumping out the third-floor window, but we know better than that.
The title card pops up, and then on-screen text that explains three months have passed. Now we meet a Beautiful Black Woman named Macy who is looking for a house to rent with her “friend.” They walk past the house of Maggie and Mel, and Macy has a moment. Friend(zone) assumes that it’s because she saw the house on the news, but we know better than that.
Later, in a generic lab where everyone wears white coats and does Science, Macy researches the news story about the house on her laptop and freaks out when she sees the photo of the dead woman. However, she is interrupted by a creepy old white guy who looks like a wax museum figure of Tim Conway. This is the professor that Dead Mom was trying to get fired, but now that she’s gone, he has been reinstated and absolved, and the patriarchy lives on. He creeps on Macy, sending a chill down her spine, then rolls away — I’m not entirely sure whether he’s in a wheelchair or if he actually is just rolling in his desk chair like a weirdo.
Some people aren’t happy that he’s been reinstated and absolved, though. Mel is angrily posting flyers all over the campus demanding his removal. In the midst of her flyering, she is approached by a British man whose audacity in daring to speak to her makes her grind her teeth loud enough to be heard from five feet away. He tells her he enjoyed her article in the latest issue of Critical Inquiry, which made him feel, quote, “As though my penis had been torn from my body.” This pleases her, but unfortunately, it turns out that this man has replaced her mother as head of the Women’s Studies department, and therefore she hates him because he is a cis male. He defends himself by pointing out that he’s had articles published in twelve reputable feminist journals, and that one of his articles was retweeted by Roxane Gay, but she remains unimpressed.
I want you to know that I am quoting all of this verbatim. None of this is made up or exaggerated.
After leaving British Guy standing awkwardly in the hallway, Mel goes outside where she begins stapling walls of flyers to every flat surface. A men’s rights activist — no, I’m not kidding — comes up and tells her that by flyering without a permit she’s committing vandalism. She tells him to fuck off, and then he starts smugly arguing that Professor Rapey McRaperton is innocent because he had a hearing and was cleared of all charges. She screeches at him that he couldn’t be exonerated when the main witness against him was in a coma and therefore couldn’t testify, and the MRA starts bullet-point listing all the things that you would expect a feminist to expect an MRA to say: “blah blah due process, blah blah he-said she-said, blah blah the victim is clearly unstable,” etc.
We are 10 minutes into the episode.
He’s lucky she didn’t try to shoot him with this staple gun
Mel winds up punching the MRA and gets in trouble with the cops. It turns out that her naked girlfriend from the beginning of the episode is actually a detective with the Hilltowne PD. She looks like she is approximately 23 years old, a perfectly normal age for someone to be a detective and not a rookie cop working swing shift at the jail. She is also apparently now Mel’s ex-girlfriend, because they broke up because Mel went psycho(-er?) when her mom died. After the cops leave, Maggie comes in and gives Mel the stereotypical “you’re losing it” speech and announces that she has been rushing Regina George’s sorority for the last month and is going to be moving into the sorority house. This leaves me with a lot of questions:
MONTH-long recruitment?
Rushing only one sorority rather than going through the standard Panhellenic all-sorority recruitment?
What time of year is it?? Recruitment happens at the beginning of the semester??
But of course I shouldn’t expect any answers to these questions, this is a goddamn TV show. I can’t even fault Woke Charmed specifically for this, it happens in everything.
Anyway, while they’re arguing, there’s a knock at the door. It’s Macy! What a surprise! We didn’t see this one coming! They open the door and she announces out of the middle of nowhere that she thinks she is their sister. She shows them a photo of herself as a baby being held by their mother in front of the house. When the other two see the picture, there’s a spark of lightning and the power goes out.
Oh, right — this show is Charmed! I forgot, what with all the feminism, that there’s actually, you know, magic!
Macy explains that she found the photo after her father died. Mel accuses her of being a grifter and tells her to fuck off. Macy runs away, meeting up with Friendzone at a bar. He asks her what her father had told her about her mother. She says he told her that her mother died when she was two, so, obvious lying going on there. When Friendzone tells her he thinks she should try talking to Maggie and Mel again, Macy makes a bottle fly across the bar with her magic rage and then runs out in a panic.
This looks shopped. I can tell from some of the pixels and from seeing quite a few shops in my time.
We cut to Maggie on a house tour with a bunch of other girls who are rushing. Regina George informs the rushees that this isn’t just a social sorority — Kappa is woke.
YES. REALLY. THAT’S WHAT SHE SAYS.
KAPPA.
IS.
WOKE.
After we finish cringing from that line, Maggie shakes hands with a couple of the sisters and when she touches them she’s able to read their minds. They of course are thinking stuff like, “Ew, she worked in the dining hall last semester!” Which is definitely what people in college think about other people in college. This is completely normal and very realistic. Realizing she’s reading minds, Maggie runs out in a panic.
The last one to get her powers is America Chavez, I mean Mel, who is able to freeze time. She discovers this while on a non-date with her ex-girlfriend, who is concerned that she’s unraveling. The fact that she keeps freezing and unfreezing time at random intervals does little to convince her otherwise. Completing the trinity, Mel runs out of the coffee shop in a panic.
Now that the girls all have their magic, it’s time for kidnapping! British Guy from the beginning of the episode grabs them all and ties them up in the attic of their house. But don’t worry! There is a reasonable explanation! The girls are witches, destined to save the world from impending doom! And he needed to kidnap them and tie them up in the attic of their house in order to tell them that! He is a very excellent male feminist guy!
Who thought this was a good idea?
He explains to them that they are the Charmed Ones, the most powerful trio of witches in the world. Their mother, also a witch, bound their powers when they were babies so that they could live normal lives, but now their powers are awakening. British Guy (Harry) is an advisor to witches, also known as a Whitelighter. He’s also dead, or something. A ghost? He died in 1957? But he’s also the new head of the Women’s Studies department, so non-witch people can obviously see him. IDK?
Harry informs them that their mother was murdered by a demon because the apocalypse is upon us. He gives them the Book of Shadows, which prophesies that there are three signs of the apocalypse:
The first step of the apocalypse is Trump becoming president. NO, THIS IS NOT A JOKE. THIS IS REAL. THEY REALLY SAID THIS.
Trump’s presidency starting the ball rolling, the senior witches (such as their mother) begin to fall.
And then the portal to Hell opens.
Apparently their mom recognized Trump’s election as the portent from the Book of Shadows, so it turns out that she anonymously sent Macy the grant application that got her the job at the Science lab so that she would come to Hilltowne so she could unseal her powers. Upon being told this Macy, a Scientist, explains that there can be no such thing as witchcraft, and that there must be a Scientific explanation. Macy, also being a superhuman prodigy, has also already mastered her witchcraft, even though she doesn’t even believe in it.
Harry gives them the Book of Shadows and tells them that they have 48 hours to choose whether they want to accept their witchly destiny — “Being a witch is a fully pro-choice enterprise.” If they decide not to become witches, they will lose their powers and every thing supernatural that happened over the last two days will be undone.
Mel, believe it or not, is immediately on board because, quote, “Throughout history, strong women were called witches, and they are. We are.” She feels they have a moral duty to take on their role as witches in order to shift the power dynamics of the world. I know you all think I am kidding by now, but I’m not. I am quoting this dialogue verbatim.
Maggie, though, doesn’t have time for this, because she’s too busy rushing Regina George’s sorority. And Macy, being a Scientist, has to go to the lab and do some research about this before she can decide — think of a logical explanation! Science this shit!
However, on the way to the rush event, Maggie is attacked in the woods by a demon dog who drools green slime on her. This being physical evidence that Macy can Science, they have a sisters’ meeting (apparently now they are just cool with Macy being their sister) and Macy puts the green slime on a microscope and determines that it’s some sort of hydrochloric acid. Mel wants to use the Book of Shadows to hunt the demon dog down; Maggie wants to lie low for the next 24 hours, wait for their powers to go away, and go back to living a normal life; Macy wants to use baking soda to counteract the hydrochloric acid because Science.
BEHOLD THE POWER OF SCIENCE AND BAKING SUPPLIES
While Macy goes to raid the kitchen, Harry pops in and informs the sisters that a demon dog must have a demon owner, so they need to be on the lookout for whoever is controlling the dog. Mel and Maggie reason that only people in the sorority knew that Maggie was on her way to the Kappa house, so it must be somebody from the sorority who sent the dog. The obvious choice, of course, is Regina George! That would explain everything, wouldn’t it? Not just an evil sorority, but a demon sorority!
While they all argue about how to deal with this demonic threat, Maggie steps outside and gets a bag put over her head. Two kidnappings in one episode! When the bag is removed she finds herself in the Kappa house, where everyone is dressed like angels, and a row of girls sit in chairs around Maggie while Regina George informs them that they are all now officially part of Kappa. Was this kidnapping their bid day? Their initiation? Who even knows, I can’t figure out how these fake TV sororities work. I will say that if this was supposed to be initiation, frankly, it wasn’t weird enough. I may be willing to defend real sororities and say that they’re not all made up of psychotic Mean Girls, but I won’t lie and say that their initiation rituals aren’t freaky as hell.
Regina George tells Maggie to meet her upstairs because she has something for her. Mel bursts in with a box of baking soda just in time to throw it on Regina, who is not actually a demon. Apparently she was going to offer Maggie a drink from her secret stash. Whoops.
So if she’s not the demon… who is?
It’s Maggie’s ex-boyfriend, of course! The one who was following her through the woods earlier in the episode to protect her from her own slutty clothes. Apparently he knew she was on her way to the Kappa house that night because he’s a stalker. He tries to kiss her, she realizes he’s a demon, and then they have some witty repartee about how consent can be revoked at any stage during the sexual encounter.
But don’t worry, she’s able to fight him off thanks to the magic of Pilates!
Lest you think I was kidding.
Macy bursts in, throwing baking soda on him, which kills the demon and exorcises ex-boyfriend. He and Maggie then begin to make out because reasons. Afterward, the three sisters walk home and rehash the event and Maggie’s taste in men. Macy asks Mel why she didn’t just freeze time after throwing baking soda on Regina George, and Mel reveals that her powers only work when she’s not angry. Everyone laughs because, LOL. Mel? Not angry? So basically, her powers are never going to work.
In the night, Macy, being a Scientist, has an epiphany: she remembers that Harry and the sisters said something about it being cold at the house when their mom died, but it wasn’t cold in the sorority house when Macy threw the baking soda on ex-boyfriend, which means that the demon they killed was not the demon who killed their mom. When she runs downstairs to inform her sisters, she discovers that Mel has already left for a rally taking place at the campus to protest the reinstatement of Professor Rapey McRaperton. Macy then remembers that she felt cold when he was creeping on her at the beginning of the episode, and realizes who the real demon is.
I BET YOU’RE SURPRISED! ARE YOU SURPRISED? IT’S A REAL PLOT TWIST! A TWIST NO ONE SAW COMING!
We cut to a scene of the rally, where a group of men’s rights activists are standing on one side yelling, “Not all men! Not all men!” while a group of women wearing pussy hats, led by Mel, yell, “Believe wamen! Believe wamen!” The MRA that Mel punched at the beginning of the episode taunts and winks at her.
Don’t you just want to punch this guy? Can you blame Mel, really?
Mel doesn’t have time for him, though — her spider sense begins tingling, and she goes into the Generic Science Lab, where the drinking fountain has frozen over and her breath begins fogging up. Professor Rapey McRaperton waits inside, not in a wheelchair, so I guess he really was just rolling around in his desk chair for some reason. Professor McRaperton then turns into Jack Frost from The Santa Clause 3, and the final showdown begins.
As Maggie and Macy race to catch up with Mel, Macy informs Maggie that she found the demon’s profile in the Book of Shadows, revealing that his true name is Taydeus: “He’s an upper-level demon who’s lived for centuries feeding off of strong women, draining their strength.”
This was the point at which I fucking lost it and began howling with laughter so hard that I pulled several muscles and made my cat hide under the bed.
Maggie and Macy burst into the lab where Taydeus is confronting Mel, chased by MRA who for some reason suddenly now works for the lab? When before he had just been an undergrad, not even connected to the science department? He sees the demon and somehow immediately recognizes him as Professor McRapeyton even though he literally looks like Jack Frost now. The demon then impales him with an icicle, because even he can see how horrible men’s rights activists are. You think I’m making this up, but I’m not.
♪ Jack Frost nipping at your nose ♪
Mel freezes time, and they call for Harry to heal MRA and help them defeat Taydeus. Macy has found the spell in the Book of Shadows, but Harry informs them that it won’t work unless they accept the Power of Three. If they refuse, they’ll have no memory of anything that’s happened over the past 48 hours, including meeting each other — except I thought they met Macy more like 72 hours ago? But okay.
Of course, they accept their powers, join hands, and use the spell to defeat Taydeus, with Harry shouting out instructions at them like goddamn Tuxedo Mask. Before he dies, Jack Frost informs them that he is not actually the one who killed their mother, and “now it’s begun.” Apparently this guy was actually a demon pretending to be a human rather than a demon who’s possessed a human like ex-boyfriend, because he explodes after they kill him. No wonder he looked like a wax dummy in his human form.
After the demon explodes, the MRA stands up and says, “What was that?” Harry says he will wipe his memory, but the girls say no — let him remember. Let him try to tell other people about it. Let him see how many people believe him. Poetic justice.
The girls then strut away in slow motion, protesters behind them holding signs that say things like, “No means no!” and “End sexual harassment!”
I can’t even caption this
The episode ends with a teaser for next episode: Macy moves into the house with her sisters, and Mel emerges from the attic holding a Ouija board. They use it to try to contact their mother, and the pointer immediately starts moving very rapidly. It spells out the words, “Don’t trust Harry.” As they read the words aloud, Harry appears behind them, and the episode ends.
Overall thoughts: This pilot was so incredibly woke that there were parts where I started suspecting that maybe this really wasn’t written by a feminist — maybe this was written by a shitlord trying to troll feminists. There were so many parts that were so on the nose it almost seemed self-aware. Regardless, it provided me with much hysterical laughter, so for entertainment value I gave it an A+.
On a more serious note, for a series that purports itself to be feminist, I noticed that the three main characters had a lot less agency than the original sisters from the 90s Charmed series. In the original pilot, the sisters find the Book of Shadows themselves; there’s no British guy to swoop in and explain everything to them. They awaken their powers themselves, and then they figure out how to use them themselves. Like I said in my intro, I’ve not seen beyond the first season of the original Charmed (I keep meaning to watch it on Netflix, but I never get around to it); I know from glancing on Wikipedia that Whitelighters do show up at some point (I have no clue if their function is anything like Harry’s, though), but when the series is first getting going, the sisters are pretty self-sufficient. The way that these girls needed everything explained to them by some guy seemed like it was undoing the whole “feminist” message. If the showrunner isn’t a secret shitlord, then that’s just one more layer of idiocy to this show.
Thanks for coming along on this woke journey and I will see you all next week with a recap of episode two!
Just kidding, you don’t get to bring your majority tyranny up in here. This is a bitter and capricious oligarchy. We’ll just keep holding votes until we get our way. All in favor?
But what inspired the title was that the Turks appear to be taking lessons from the EU on how to run a vote. That is, they’ll keep holding votes until they get the result they want. “Democracy is like a train: when you reach your destination, you get off” – Recep Tayyip Erdogan
Here’s a straight-news NPR story that is so fair, it might cause you to think the writer has secret libertarian tendencies.
In case anyone wonders why I keep taking the “under” on $75/bbl oil. Sadly, $15/bbl from the well to the distribution head would still somehow result in gas prices above $2. I’m not really sure where they’ve got their light ‘stills tuned, but it hasn’t been for gasoline in years. That’s just a byproduct made in sufficient amount. I expect that taxes, detergents, and other additives (cough, corn liquor, cough) probably run to $1.40 a gallon or more. By the time you add in distribution and storage, that’s just how life is anymore.
The kink scene has changed a great deal since I first became involved in the 1990s. And it had changed dramatically from the early 60s and 70s. The straight kink scene was largely inspired by the gay leather scene. And public play was almost entirely focused on controlled, sexualized violence that ranged from spanking, flogging, whipping, caning to various types of rough body play. Bondage usually involved leather or metal cuffs, hoods, restraints or all sorts of creative furniture inspired by medieval dungeons. Rope, to the extent it was used for fetish purposes, was western style. Think Betty Page and Nell Fenwick from Dudley Do Right. Using cheap nylon rope to tie someone up immobile on the floor or to furniture. That all changed about ten or fifteen years ago, give or take.
Old school.
Shibari began to gain popularity in the west coast kink scene(s) about that time and has exploded in popularity since. The last 3-5 years have seen it grow to the point that there is now a dozen or so kink conventions focused purely on learning more about shibari. Almost no one bothers to do “western” style rope any longer. Generally, western is looked down upon. And while there are practitioners here in the US that have been doing shibari far longer than a decade, they were mostly isolated up until the popularity boom.
For those of us that don’t speak Japanese, shibari means ‘tie decoratively’. It’s another way of describing the same techniques also referred to as kinbaku which means ‘bind tightly’. Either word is accurate as far as it goes. And there are many folks in the US who use the words interchangeably. Others will happily get into a slap fight over which is the/correct/ word to use to describe a style of Japanese rope bondage. These people are morons and are basically kink weeaboos and so should at the least be safely ignored, if not gagged and tied western style with poly rope. But I digress.
The shirt says “Han Shot First”
There is a natural human tendency to take things that are foreign, see them as exotic, and elevate them with meaning that isn’t there in the home culture from which they are derived. Especially with Japan. In action/adventure media it is the superlative nature of a katana or the profundity assumed to come from Buddhism, or the way the Chinese perceive any well-known American brand as having cache’. People find depth and significance in the practices of other cultures. We appreciate that which is different and can value it because of that. I think it is rooted in the fundamental decency of people and part of why humans are pretty damn good at exchange and trade.
In the kink scene, it should come as no surprise, that impulse doesn’t change. There are numerous people in the west who see shibari as a profound Japanese art form that happens to be both art and sado-masochistic. In part it is a way of expressing the idea that our own culture can be too uptight about sex and pleasure, particularly around things which are seen as deviant. A way to say, ‘I’m not a pervert! This whole culture finds deep meaning in these things my home culture finds disgusting or strange’. I think it can also derive from a desire to make sacred the things we do that matter to us. And a desire to go from being an outcast to mainstream, or even a desire to be better than the mainstream.
The idea that shibari is on the same shelf with the Japanese Tea Ceremony is bullshit of the rankest odor. While the roots of it go back to hojojutsu, or Samurai techniques for binding enemies, and there are lineages and styles like various martial arts, the former is more inspiration and the latter is a phenomenon of western interest making it possible for nawashi (lit: string maker, fig: rope masters) to make a living teaching people how to do shibari. The truth is; modern shibari was born in underground Japanese sex clubs and pornography in the post-war era. So it’s a bit like if Seka or John Holmes had ‘schools’ for dick sucking or blowing massive wads. I imagine Japanese resident Glibs can confirm that shibari is as out of the mainstream as those vending machines that dispense worn school-girl panties.
I don’t hold shibari in much reverence in that regard, despite putting in 10-12 hours a week doing rope. I do think it is a metric shitload of fun though and I can understand the popularity of it in the kink scene. There are three reasons for why it has grown so astronomically popular. First, it looks pretty damn amazing, particularly suspensions. (shibari has essentially two modes. Tying on the ground and suspensions which means using uplines to shift the CoG such that most of the weight is dependent on the uplines for support). Second, it is performative. It started in small, underground sex clubs as a way to titillate and arouse and even in the most intimate types of rope, there’s a performative aspect that is fun to watch. Even people who aren’t necessarily kinky will sometimes enjoy watching it. Third is a consequence of the second. Because it is performative, it draws attention at public kink events. And women especially seem to be drawn to it. It looks graceful when both the top/rigger and the rope bottom are experienced and in-sync. Because women want to experience it, men want to learn how to do it. Because it will get them laid
Unlike many, maybe even most other kink activities, shibari takes a great deal of practice to get good at. I’ll discuss more in part two about that. It’s also an extremely high-risk activity, possibly the riskiest thing that people regularly do in kink. The risk particularly comes in with suspensions. Every time someone goes up in the air there is a potential for nerve damage, both sensation and functional nerve damage. There is a lower likelihood of it happening on the ground, but it is still present. Joint injuries and broken bones can happen from a botched suspension. There are even a few deaths from up-lines being tangled and strangling someone or someone being dropped on their head. The danger only adds to the allure.
It’s a skill that takes practice from both sides, and it has that in common with dancing. I could take anyone reading this and teach them how to use a paddle or flogger to have a good scene in about 15 minutes. The mechanics are easy to grasp, and not much harder to master. Shibari, especially to be at a level to do a suspension, requires hours and hours of regular practice on a consistent basis. One has to learn anatomy and physics on a practical level. Drilling over and over on specific ways of tying the rope so that to minimize risk and improve sustainability for the rope bottom. Learning to be able to plan as you go, and how to adjust to circumstances on the fly without worrying about the basics because it is rote. For the sort of person who gets satisfaction from doing something that requires both the mind and the body to function in concert, it is deeply rewarding.
That need for instruction, practice, and the performative aspects of rope have combined with its popularity to spawn a global, if niche industry of performers and instructors. The make their living going around the country teaching others, attending conventions, and performing. There are a those that have full-time jobs making rope to sell to those involved in the scene. A single hank of 9 meters of jute can be anywhere from $5-$40 dollars. And a full kit for suspensions is usually 10-12 lengths of rope. I think this also ties into how natural free markets are, and how ingrained peaceful trade is to people, how natural it is. It isn’t a cheap hobby from a time or expense perspective.
That high level of dedication is behind some of the snobbery, the attempting to infuse profound meaning into what is bondage using rope. Those involved tend to have strong preferences about things and sometimes generalize those preferences to be ‘the proper Japanese way’. For example, the type of rope used. Jute is the most commonly used type of rope for shibari. It’s a natural fiber so it tends to grip itself and has good tensile strength. Hemp is less commonly used as it tends to get too soft with repeated use. And almost every experienced rope enthusiast turns their nose up and any kind of synthetic material. And if you want to see the Platonic ideal of being catty get a couple of rope tops with similar styles together to critique the rope of others. It can be amusing and exasperating. But it helps remind me that no matter how deviant, kinksters are still people and have many of the same tendencies as any other group of folks who are highly invested in a hobby. It’s just our hobby tends to have lots of fucking involved.
It may not be art, but shibari does allow for personal expression. The way I tie is illustrative of my personality and my relationship with the person I’m tying. While some riggers simply ape the style of whoever taught them, the better ones go on to develop their own style and aesthetic all their own. They pour their heart and mind and body into it. It creates intense moments of connection between the rope top and bottom via shared, strenuous experience. I can understand how that encourages people to try to make something transcendental out of what started as a sexual side show performance.
Up next I’ll discuss some basics of risk mitigation and learning to tie. With the background out of the way, the follow-up article will deal more with the basic mechanics. It is not a how-to. But rather a description of what it takes to be able to do some of the things from the photos included in this.
[EDITOR’S NOTE: Spudalicious going Irish has been moved to Friday, when he will be available to rebut any and all slanders against him.]
Let’s say I own a property which I rent using Airbnb. That property is worth money and it is part of my wealth. It also can be damaged, reducing its value. If this happens, I lose money, so I have a direct interest of it not happening. Maybe, based on personal prejudice, I do not want to rent said Airbnb to say… hot Russian women. That is maybe unpleasant for the group of hot Russian women on a girl’s only vacation in Bucharest who really likes that apartment, but it is my right not to rent them my property. But maybe it is not that simple. Maybe in my personal experience – based on the last 3 times I rented to a group of Russian women – Russian women get drunk and mess things up, it is my right and my decision to avoid property damage and, as such, loss of money. I will instead rent it out to that group of Mormon missionaries. It is probably unfair to these 5 nice Russian girls who just want to see the museums and quietly read some books in the evening. It may even be true that statistically, worldwide, Mormon missionaries do more damage to Airbnb rentals then hot Russian women (based on OECD data for 2015). But, in the end, it is my apartment, my experience of damage, my preference and I choose how to best avoid issues, even if it means stereotyping.
Bias will not go away. All people are biased, and sometimes – regardless of how often -with reason. You depend on various heuristics – stereotypes among them- in order to make decisions about unknown things and an unknowable future. Some of this bias can be simply bigotry. Thems be the breaks. But, in the end, when you take the risk of a business, no one without similar risk in it should get to tell you what to do, or who to hire. Because if the business fails, it should fail due to your decisions, not ones imposed by others with no skin in the game. And no one can tell you this or that “has nothing to do with the business”. There are a million ways a business can succeed or fail, and they are not clear or known. Hence all the failures. So the owner gets to decide what they want to do. You can avoid hiring women, if you think they work less overtime or they will inevitably leave to have children, or you are just plain misogynist; gays if you think your customers prefer heterosexuals or they make your best employee uncomfortable, or you are just plain against homosexuality; fat people, if you think they are weak-willed or more prone to miss work due to illness, or just don’t like the fatties. You and only you should get to make those judgments. Because it is your business at play.
nse perspective.