SPANKY AND OUR GANG RAPE: THE ABUSE CONTINUES

Eric T. Schneiderman?  Really?  The Attorney General of New York?  What the hell is going on?   

My cynicism wants me to think that since he was such a virulent foe of the other abuser, the one who likes to be spanked with Forbes Magazine, who is also up to his butt in Southern District of New York trouble,  has been brought down by a carefully orchestrated GOP hit team.  And that is not out of the reach of possibilities, given that the way Trump deals with accusations is to accuse everyone else of the very same thing that he is being accused of.

Sadly, Schneiderman’s defense is that  hitting and choking was part of role-playing during consentual sex.  Okay, exactly what role was he playing?  The angry husband and the submissive suburban housewife who deserves to be hard smacked around like a Cinco de mayo piñata?  

What the hell is going on here with all these guys?  Do we blame Dr. Spock?  Was he writing in some kind of code in Baby and Child Care whose subliminal message was, “beat the crap out of my mommy?”

I’m suddenly getting a flash of Chuck Rhoades from “Billions,” the hotshot DA who is secretly into sadomasochism.  

As far as gender is concerned, men strive for dominance and control thanks to our higher levels of testosterone.  It’s rather significant that women who are given testosterone supplements not only experience increased sex drives but also more aggressiveness, a greater propensity for starting fights and less aversion towards taking risks.  Recent studies suggest that most women have a very complex relationship with their desire to be dominant or submissive, one that is much more problematic than that experienced by men.

BDSM, when played out on a level playing field, can be mutually gratifying and maybe even fun.  It does not happen to be on my personal menu but I get it.

But when you listen to the victims of abuse speak out,  with the exception of the escapades of Stormy and President Donimant-Submissive Trump, it does not seem like anyone was participating in a game.

Look, we role play ALL the time.   As human beings we are any number of circus performers in the three-ring circus of life who either walk the tightrope of money, juggle day to day responsibilities like gas-powered chainsaws and challenge the primitive beasts of our true nature while we simultaneously assume the role of any number of overlapping and equally demanding, different characters: husband or wife, son or daughter, nephew, cousin, grandchild, dependable or less than capable teacher, clueless or ravenous student or more often than not hopeless clown.

You have to date or marry us in order to find out who the real headliners are under the big top.  Dating site profiles tend to only advertise the better part of our full disclosure resumes, while keeping hidden, especially to ourselves, the truth of who we really are.  We idealize ourselves because, well, we idealize ourselves so that pain and regret cannot be the boss of us.  

No one wants to admit that they are so broken and/or fragile that they will fall apart the second that they think that they are being rejected.  Dating sites are their own form of dating drugs, which create the illusion that you will escape your past and begin with a clean slate.  How do you clean the slate that itemizes the very worst, self-damaging parts of you, when rather than being written in erasable chalk, they were carved in with a blood-covered hunting knife?

This discourse of human nature which I am examining, with its mass of contradictions, is really my attempt to understand what is really going on in our society, where so many stars and politicians are revealing themselves to be sexual predators and/or abusers.

The fall of Bill Cosby has been especially hard for me, personally, given that my sense of humor was raised by the single parent of his comedy albums.  I adored I, Spy.  Watching him in concert was like watching a black Mark Twain or Will Rogers.  His set was just folksy him, sitting on a chair, languidly talking about the life that we all shared.  It was like listening to your beloved, local country doctor who had birthed you, raised you, who would always be there to dispense profound wisdom with a dollop of good-natured sugar.

He was our universal professor-doctor-dad and to find out that he was a cat on a hot tin roofie is just unbearable to me.  I have tried to joke about it with lines like, “well, there’s always room for jail-o” but no witty line is going to take the sting out of this.  Comedy for me has always been about either having the courage to either take on unimaginable, often unbearably painful truth head-on, (usually in the eye of the storm moment) or making a light-hearted hearted attempt to make the truth digestible or even acceptable.

When comics like Michelle Wolf do the former, shit hits the fan, which is being hurled by people who have no sense of humor (insert anyone front the Trump administration here).  

They think we comedy people are being insensitive or cruel and they are absolutely right. We are.  That is because those sub-humans deserve their just rewards.  Comedy is one, small, clown-shoe step for mankind towards understanding and resolution.  We, funny people, are a comedy club full of out of control children who only know to act out and be inappropriate so that our little hearts and minds can eventually be soothed so that we can help soothe yours.

That does not mean that it isn’t torturously painful.

We are, more often than not, driven by torment.  See: Robin Williams.  

Also see: my mother.

Which brings me back to the way too firm of Cosby-Schneiderman-Spacy-Rose-Weinstein-Trump-Trump, Jr.- C.K.-et al.

Their biggest mistake was to aspire to be powerful to the point that they thought that they could do whatever they want to anyone they wanted.

When it comes to power in America it seems that destruction, with few Tom Hanks/George Clooney/Meryl Streep/The Obamas exceptions, is inevitable.  Either we who sit in the cheap seats of the Globe Theater, fueled by trans fats and bloodlust, will gleefully cheer their reality show worthy demise or we can just wait patiently for Act Three when Hamlet kills himself.

While our politicians used to represent the best of us, sexual predators and criminals like Trump, Moore, and Blankenship are the new black black, because naughty and rule breaking is suddenly also the new sexy.  It has become a badge of honor to be a pervert if you want to be elected to office.

When Bill Clinton was accused of sexual misconduct, by the very same members of the GOP, we were all more titillated than offended.  His hero was, after all, JFK, who was basically our King Henry, the Sexth.  These guys did not abuse women.  They simply could not get enough of them.

I would bet the farm, that Hillary long ago had an understanding, knowing exactly what she married, as did Coretta Scott King, Barbara Bush, and Eleanor Roosevelt.  God knows what the hell Melania Trump thought when she married Orange Julius Caesar Trump.  

I mean he had her face re-carved, Mt. Russiamore style so that she would be the very best naked-on-a-bear-skin-rug, Me First Lady/role model for her perennially baffled looking son.  (How could he be anything but?)

That to me kind of suggests that Trump didn’t so much want another wife as he did a well-trained pet, who would do her business on the splayed out Washington Post. 

What is most appalling, if there is such a ceiling, about Trump is how flagrant he is about his abusive behavior.  I have long called him the Commander and Cheat, as his entire m.o. is to act like a cheating husband, who, despite the incontrovertible evidence against him, does nothing but lie, deflect, accuse and attack exactly like the cheating husband that he is.  And because he has been pretend rich and has had pretend thug lawyers like the Ukraine, Mafia and Cab medallion loving Michael Cohen, his campaign song was “Anything Goes.”

Unfortunately, his base confuses that behavior with being rebellious in Washington AC/DC.  They crave chaos and disruptions.  They want to put a crate of Acme dynamite beneath all the castles of the elite and blow it all up to smithereens in the names of jobs and assistance. They want a Bizarro America where bad is good, left is right and stupid is smart.  If this were a musical, it would be Anti/Maim.

Afterall those book learnin’ politicians are only out for themselves.  And don’t get them started on them uppity negroes or rapist Mexicans even though more white Christian men have killed more Americans than any of them combined.  Perhaps we should consider building walls around all these churches that seem to give them the message that while abortion is a sin, allowing toddlers and high school kids to be slaughtered like bullet-ridden pigs on a regular basis is not only acceptable but a second amendment right.  Yeah, they all pray from the cheap seats of Our Lady of the Perpetual Double Standard.

The good here, is that all this stunning, sexually abusive behavior, is finally being lanced from the boil on the ass of America because we, the  better part of America still have to police our own which is our way of dealing with yet another speech by Trump, Melania “Andy Kaufman” Trump or the inexplicable Sarah Huckabee Hound who lies as frequently as she spits her tobacee into the nearby press room spittoon.

It is open season for perverts now.  And they are everywhere.   We are either taking them down or sharpening the jungle spears of our November blue wave votes to come.  I like to say that hindsight will be 2020.

In Congress, national disgraces like Devon Nunes, Trey Gowdy, Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan blatantly urinate on the lower and middle class of America like Soviet hotel provided, full bladder whores while pretending to be the advocate of the everyday American.  They lie. They steal. They cheat.  They rape you for your programs and assistance.  

And like all the abused women of the world, you and I take it.

Well maybe the lesson for us now, is: don’t.

Maybe the lesson for us all is: being a victim is so 2016.  

It’s time to act like the Parkland children/massacre survivors who guys like Frank Stallone publicly attacked. 

It’s time for all of us, to become Howard Beale, open up our windows, including the ones in our bedrooms and say, “I’m mad as hell and I’m NOT going to take it anymore.”