His Womanly Tenderness
Meanwhile, in the world of not-at-all-unbalanced cross-dressing men:
Wait for it.
Do take a moment to steady yourselves.
Darts and blowpipes authorised.
No other possibilities being, it seems, conceivable.
Sharp-eyed readers will be shocked to learn,
A busy social life. Lots of hobbies.
Oh, and musical performance. He does that too.
At the time of writing, the local media and police are still referring to Mr Osterhout as if he were a woman. A delicate flower. Not a deranged 260-pound man who stabs random people and punches children. Fuchsia hotpants notwithstanding.
Above, Mr Osterhout sharing his inner womanliness with random passers-by.
We’ve previously noted the enthusiasm of the police and media for referring to violently deranged cross-dressing men as somehow being ladies, she-people, thereby misleading the public and treating the victims of said men with a bizarre disdain. As seen, for instance, here:
This readiness to deceive has persisted even when the individual in question was arrested for attacking a mother and her four-month-old baby while crazed and shirtless, and even when the purported ladies have been identified via the very male genetic material left at the scenes of their crimes.
But hey. This is where we are now. Pretending is obligatory.
This blog is kept afloat by the tip jar buttons below.
But journalists wonder why people don’t take them seriously any more.
Ditto police and court officials. I mean, do they not comprehend how surreal it is, and presumably upsetting, to be told, over and over again, by figures of supposed authority, that the huge man who assaulted you, or who assaulted your child, is actually, somehow, a woman. A lady.
As if the consequent air of unrealism, of unhappy farce, would be in any way helpful to the victims of violent, often sexual crime. As if adding insult to very real injury were no biggie. No reflection on the fool making these claims, and on the institutions for which they work.
As if you didn’t see what you saw. From inches away.
Sweep the leg…
How the hell did I miss that…?
Well, in fairness, there is a lot to take in.
Meanwhile, closer to home.
Statements of fact no longer permitted, it seems.
They’ve been Sovietized.
We’re f*cked, aren’t we?
Opinions vary, and there’s always a chance of plot-twists; but for now I’d say the trajectory isn’t a good one.
It’s interesting how efforts by formerly reputable institutions to accommodate a mental illness – sexual dysmorphia – have resulted, quite rapidly, in the those same institutions themselves becoming unmoored from reality. And in those institutions merrily burning any residual respect among members of the public.
It’s quite a thing.
From that link:
I’m going to need a bigger desk to bang my head on.
Tangentially related to the post above, this item here.
In which, a panel of Very Important Journalists wail to each other about “online hate targeted at journalists” – by which, they mean mocking and factual correction – and wonder why they aren’t held in the esteem to which they believe they are entitled:
Oh, there’s more. And a punchline of sorts.
One more time: This is where we are now.
Everyone remember where we parked.
We’re going to need a bigger helicopter.
During a manhunt, often the authorities (and I use that term loosely) ID the perp (of say a rape) as a woman, which is bizarre to start with and then misleads people who should be able to use this info to protect themselves. They also will often not ID the race of a suspect so again, one cannot use the info to help catch the perp or protect oneself. Who is being protected here? Just the perps feelings. That is all.
I am afraid that we parked on a ferry that has since sailed away.