Fanatical feminists shift from race to rape

HAVING WORN its “racist” cudgel down to laughable nub, the feminist left has turned to a new political weapon: sex in general, rape in particular.

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Sure, the leftists were tossing rape accusations — often false — left and right, especially on campuses, before Harvey Weinstein sent the issue into hyperspace, altering the entire landscape.

I’d be hard-pressed to write a full list of the men in the public sphere who’ve been labeled “sexual aggressors” since Harvey got outed.

Here are the facts: Men are horny. Some men don’t control themselves very well. Men in positions of power are notoriously irresponsible. This has gone on forever.

If a woman is actually raped, and I don’t mean groped, addressed with dirty words, or leered at, she should go to the police and press charges.

Maybe she’ll win, and maybe she won’t. It’s a dang tricky issue.

If she is simply groped, addressed with dirty words, or leered at, her reasonable, time-honored options are a kick in the groin, a slap in the face, or just walking away.

Sex is a very messy part of life, impossible to control.

The leftist hysteria, especially on campuses, has resulted in young men being very hesitant to even ask a woman for a date. This sits well with the feminist hordes since so many of them sport short bangs, pink hair and are lesbians or one of those other myriad genders they’ve dreamed up.

Militant feminists drive this firestorm as they’ve been driving so much of Western society for decades. But try as they may, they’ll never turn men into women.

Well, some of them they will. They already have.

Sweet potato girl

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ANY OF THE three words in the headline puts me at risk of being labeled a Mexican Harvey Weinstein, but I don’t care.

The Day of the Dead festivities are getting under way here on the mountaintop. A canvas roof supported by steel posts is being erected around the main plaza.

The only “Dead” items on sale as of Thursday were sugar skulls, which are always the first things to appear. I could have photographed them, but everyone does that, so I opted instead for the girl selling sweet potatoes.

I like sweet potatoes.

By this weekend, the entire plaza will be chockablock with goodies of all descriptions, some having to do with The Day of the Dead, but most will be varied artesanías (handicrafts) from our area and farther afield in Mexico.

The event is well organized, which is more than you could say when I arrived here in 2000. It was a mess. There was no canvas roof around the plaza, and much of the stuff on sale was the sort of crap you’d find at a five-and-dime in Omaha.

We’ve upped our game in a good way. You can buy some really beautiful things now to take back to wherever you came from, and lots of people come. Traffic gets nasty.

But you can eat sweet potatoes.