I just learned a new word: genderqueer.
One word, not two. And it’s a hoot.
The news story that enlightened and amused me comes from preciously elitist Mills College in the far-out-left city of Oakland, California, where my sister once settled, not surprisingly, but that’s another story.
Those who keep up with the absurdities in the politically correct precincts, and Mills College certainly qualifies — as does all of Oakland — are familiar with the sexually confused and how they paint themselves and demand to be honored.
I put to you, however, that most of these young folks, and they are almost exclusively wet behind the ears, who claim sexual confusion are not actually sexually confused. They are the horrendously spoiled, faddish spawn of upper-class, poorly informed America.
Privileged kiddies in rebellion.
Yes, this is a fad of the ruling class in a nation that has not known true troubles since the 1930s, and who remembers those times? Virtually no one.
That these particular ones at Mills are kiddies in rebellion is obvious. Look at the name of the organization of these allegedly sexually confused kiddies: Mouthing Off! With a flippant exclamation point! They probably stomp their little feet while saying it.
They say there’s a difference between gender and sex. They say they’ll pick their own personal pronouns, thank you.
The news story says this growing phenomenon “is challenging anew the limits of Western comprehension and the English language.”
The only way this childish nonsense challenges anything successfully is when actual grownups are cowed into accepting it. And cowing grownups in the United States is becoming easier by the day.
Ole Felipe’s solution: Have the kids bend over, and get out the paddle.
Then write on the blackboard 100 times:
I am not a genderqueer. I am Molly Johnson from Greenwich, Connecticut. My mom organizes luncheons, and my dad works for the ACLU. They are my best friends! I’ve never had to work a day in my life, and I adore my BMW.