Lesbians with penises

Decorum.

Since The Moon‘s debut over a decade ago and even with its six-year predecessor, The Zapata Tales, there has existed a principal theme, and that has been Decorum on an almost Victorian-era level.

We don’t cuss here, and we do not brawl with others. There is quite enough of that in other corners of cyberspace. Let them be nasty. Here we are always polite, clean and presentable.

At least for today, however, we are putting that aside. Look at the headline. Good grief! But with the ongoing collapse of the Caucasian quarters of Western Civilization, exceptions must be made if we’re to address the disaster honestly, head-on.

And who can do that better than The Moon‘s new contributing editor Simon Webb? He is British, of course, and it is in Britain where leftist lunacy soars above similar lunacy in other nations.

When I was in the news game, in another lifetime, those of us in the newsroom often commented among ourselves that the nuttiest news items almost invariably came from the wacky Brits.

Let us attempt to encapsulate modern leftist lunacy’s many aspects. It embraces old-style Marxism and communism as in redistribution of income, “free” stuff from government, high taxes and governmental overreach/meddling.

Stirred into that is political correctness, the modern sex craziness, the gender crackpottery, the endless “offense” that leftists feel, the inability to accept contrary opinions.

And the ensuing censorship and actual violence.

Plus, there is the twisting of word definitions. Boris Johnson, the British prime minister, belongs to the Conservative Party though there is nothing conservative about 10 Downing Street these days. It is Stalin-esque. Leftists refer to themselves, as does almost everyone, as liberals and progressives when they are precisely the contrary.

Goebbels is nodding his head.

But today we are focusing on gender crackpottery. Just when you thought it could not get sillier, we have the phenomenon, at least in Great Britain, of — drumroll here — lesbians with penises.

I’ll leave it to Simon Webb to fill you in on the details.

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Note: The BBC article to which Simon refers can be found here.

Nadia and Simon

I watch YouTube a lot because it contains an incredible amount of interesting stuff, and included in that are excellent, smart people. I prefer short videos because I’ve developed a USA Today attitude, which is to say hop to it, and get to the point.

Above is New York Nadia whom I just recently discovered. She gets directly to the point, and her points are first-rate. In this video, she tells feminists not to be horses’ butts, but in nicer words.

And, as regulars here know, I am also a big fan of Simon Webb, a brilliant, English historian and author with a delightfully bushy, British mustache. I wish I could grow a Limey mustache like that, but I don’t have the upper lip for it.

Webb looks here at the sad situation in which the politically correct British government has allowed Speaker’s Corner in London, a place where anyone could speak his mind about anything, to be gagged so as not to offend the sensibilities of Mohammedans, whom the Brits have stupidly permitted to enter their once-peaceful nation in droves.

Speaker’s Corner has existed since the 19th century. Free speech reigned. Multiculturalism now reigns, and the most menacing new cultures determine what can be said, who can open his mouth. Simon’s not quite as succinct as Nadia. His videos usually last about six minutes compared to Nadia’s two or three.

In closing, here’s another of Nadia’s in which she takes to task Chicago’s Mayor Lori Lightfoot who is a black, race-obsessed lesbian in a biracial relationship, which is the PC Trifecta and therefore immune from criticism, but not to Nadia. Lightfoot is, of course, a Democrat mayor, one of the worst, which is saying something.

The leftist thugs who run YouTube regularly censor Simon Webb. I haven’t been following Nadia long enough to know if her pinpoint observations receive the same treatment.

Happy birthday, Diane

Today is my sole sibling’s birthday. She turns 80, and lives — still I imagine — in a stationary, double-wide trailer* in the Northern California town of Arcata. We have not communicated in nine years. I was the one who called it off.

Around 1955.

She was a good Big Sister in our youth, always having my back, but in her late 30s she got involved in what many consider a cult, and things went drastically downhill from there.

It’s a “therapy” cult that had a guru in New York City. He had many slavish female followers. It’s, not surprisingly, called Social Therapy, and the guru is Fred Newman, now deceased.

I often asked actual therapists whom I ran into if they had heard of Social Therapy, and no one had.

Diane was married briefly in her 20s to a guy I liked. She once said this: “He zips, flips and knows where it’s at.” This was the 1960s, and some people actually talked like that. She dumped him after a few short years, but they remained friends for a spell.

About the same time she enlisted in the cult, she decided she was a Lesbian, and her personality began a descent into fanaticism. She developed a hair-trigger personality. Her politics went hard left. She became a fan of the French writer Michel Foucault. Her guru, Newman, also has a book. My mother and I tried to read it, but it made no sense to either of us. It was utter nonsense, but it became Diane’s Bible.

She was a university English instructor through much of her 20s and 30s, but then she turned to her “therapy.” The cult runs “therapy” centers, which are actually traps, around the United States, and she co-managed one in Atlanta. She found a partner, a California woman named Roxan who was divorced with three adult children. They stayed together for decades till Roxan died about four years ago, something I learned on Facebook.

They moved from Atlanta to Arcata to be near Roxan’s family, most of whom were not overly fond of Diane. So they were two divorcees, one with kids, who had flipped to Lesbianism. I liked Roxan quite a bit. Unlike Diane, she was not explosive. She was cuddly.

Diane had a falling out with the co-manager of the cult’s Atlanta outpost, so she opened a private therapy practice that focused mostly on occupational issues, and later became a “life coach.” You may have heard of that relatively new field. It’s all the rage. Interestingly, my second ex-wife also became a “life coach” after our divorce.

I have been surrounded by female “therapists” for years. My first ex-wife is a therapist. My daughter became a therapist. And there, of course, is Diane. I wonder if she still practices. Her website remains online but looks inactive.

Until I canceled my Facebook account a few months ago, I used to look at Diane’s page where she almost daily posted “Woke” pronouncements and other leftist, PC nuttiness.

Many people mellow with age. I have. She hasn’t. And today she is 80. I wonder if someone brought her a cake.


* Which I learned via Google Street View.

Nutty gender proposals

Old, laughable, pasty-faced honkies masquerading as belligerent black folks.

Behold today’s Democrat Socialist Oh-So-Woke Party, the people I used to hang with before they went over the edge and fell into a deep, putrid pit populated by men in women’s wear and ugly women with purple hair and too-short bangs.

You likely know nothing of this telling move if you get your “news” from CNN, The New York Times, The Washington Post (“Democracy Dies in Darkness!”) and their unsavory ilk. And you are wondering … What move is that?

Nancy Pelosi, still upright at 80, has introduced rules changes for the upcoming Congress. They have to be voted on, but one wonders who will have the nerve to vote no? She wants to eliminate gender terms such as father, mother, son and daughter. All in the interest of inclusion and diversity, those unholy gods of the modern lunatic left.

But I’m just the messenger today in case you’ve not heard of this. You can read the grisly, absurd, patronizing details right here from an actual news outlet.

Next thing you know, Democrats will elect anti-American Mohammedans to Congress. Whoops! That’s already happened, you say?

Happy New Year.