Evidence of Abstinence

Twisty Faster, la belle sans balles, propriet(ress) of our new favorite blog, blames The Patriarchy for the Harvard Virgin. It having been just over 7,000 years since I last read a NY Times Magazine piece in an elder Age of the Earth, I was actually sort of, rather, you know, titillated at the prospect. Being a less advanced Patriarchy-blamer myself, I won't step on any expert toes, but, in the immortal words of me, Let Me Just Say This About That:

There was a time when not having sex consumed a very small part of Janie Fredell’s life, but that, of course, was back in Colorado Springs. It seemed to Fredell that almost no one had sex in Colorado Springs. Her hometown was extremely conservative, and as a good Catholic girl, she was annoyed by all the fundamentalist Christians who would get in her face and demand, as she put it to me recently, “You have to think all of these things that we think.” They seemed not to know that she thought many of those things already. At her public high school, everyone, “literally everyone,” wore chastity rings, Fredell recalled, but she thought the practice ridiculous. Why was it necessary, she wondered, to signify you’re not doing something that nobody is doing?

That opening sentence is infelicitous to say the least, for if not having sex consumed so little of her time, then, good God, she must've been fuckin nonstop! Hot. What our Timesian interlocutor actually means to say is that prior to their arrival in Sodom, none of the city dwellers ever thought to rape an angel. No, no. Nor that. What author Randall Patterson means to say is that when I was young and irresponsible, I was young and irresponsible. Ah, yes. What he means to say is that when Janie Fredell was a mere womanling, fresher from the pouch, she wasn't givin' no nappy dugout to no one. Right? Right.

If indeed it seemed to Janie that no one was having sex in Co. Springs, however, I am here to set her straight, so to speak. For while the Springs may not be such a fallen, epicene epicenter of ski-bunny-bonkery as Boulder or, worse!, Ft. Collins, we can be reasonably certain that at very least, in some distant meth trailer off route 24, someone is getting boned. And if not, then rest assured that the flyboy wannabes at the Air Force Academy are themselves in large part what were once upon a time called pussyhounds. Good christ, if they can't do it legit-like, they just rape 'em! Yeeeeeeee-haw!

She was troubled by Christian fundamentalists, and of course they were troubled by her in return, for although she "thought many of those things already," those things presumably centered around an intellectual locus of venery, she was (and remains) nevertheless a subservient minion of the pagan potentate of the Whore of Babylon in Rome. And if that weren't bad enough, she got into Harvard and she still doesn't know what "literally" means.

The wide-eyed shock at a "culture that says sex is totally O.K.” is overplayed and unbelievable. The Holy and Apostolic Roman Catholic Church prohibits many things, but cable TV isn't one of them. Perhaps if she travelled to Harvard not merely across a continent but across the years, flashing into Cambridge from some Hawthornian past, she could lay claim to surprise, but since not, not. Disgust I would believe; disdain I could swallow; but surprise, uh-uh. NFW.

You can imagine the rest. The No-Sex people say that if you have sex you will get pregnant and then die poor and alone, bereft of God and salvation. The Go-Sex sociololological types bitch like good liberals that the No-Sex people are creating false consciousness with "bad data"--oh, Lord, save us from the bad data--and everyone is all up in arms about the Judean People's Front and the People's Front of Judea, as if, seriously, anybody really carez what younz think about their penises and vaginas. People will follow their urges and convictions where they lead, which is usually, almost inevitably, to the outcome of an orgasm.

I am broadly more, what is the word, "sex-positive" (ick!) than Twisty Faster, which is a Function of Faggotry. We are a silly people, and despite our far smaller population, feel the need to seminally counterbalance all that you breeders waste on disgusting reproduction. We are essentially Albigensian, which is why Jacques de Molay, that old buggering Cathar, is my singular hero. Life is Evil; Stop Making More of It! Yet I too wonder how it is that a woman like our Janie comes to define her soi-disant feminism principally through her resistance to penetration, unintentionally positing that it is not equality of gender that she seeks, but of genitalia, and even then only until some Roman pederast sprinkles the water, says a few words, and sends her forth to a nervous, fumbling noces. Equality: For a Limited Time Only! Buy Now! Well, there you have the final frontier of consumerism. Non-political pseudoequity as a One-Day Sales Event.

Still, the saddest moment in the whole sorry article comes not from Janie, but her Boy Wonder counterpart, Leo Keliher, a would-be monastist and recovering onanist:

To the matter of masturbation, he said, “This was really tough for me . . . because when you have a habit that’s so deeply ingrained, it’s hard to stop.”

No, Leo, no! Self-love is what separates us from the lower orders, for at long last, as we discover that dolphins have names for each other and chimps use tools and bonobos have face-to-face sex, what remains in all the Kingdom of Animals to make us solely and uniquely human if not the fact that we, seemingly alone, jerk off?

UPDATE: Nevermind!









God I fucking LOVE the internet.