His Tiny, Delicate Hands
And speaking of not-at-all unbalanced cross-dressing men:
That would be this chap here, Mr Sasha Yates, whose behaviour didn’t appear to concern the progressive ladies who rushed to his defence to ensure he kept his job after initial complaints. And thereby kept his access to the schoolgirls’ changing rooms, where a bewigged Mr Yates paraded around in his own bra and panties, much to the girls’ discomfort, and while asking those teenage girls about their underwear and menstrual cycles.
The same progressive ladies who denounced as “hate” and “transphobia” any expression of concern, and who elevated themselves with the airing of modish views, their ostentatious displays of inclusivity, while screwing over the schoolgirls being harassed by a cross-dressing creep. Because in the Progressive Pecking Order, expressing discomfort with sexual boundary violations is terribly low-status when the culprit is a man pretending to be a woman.
Or as one progressive lady put it, following complaints of disturbing behaviour,
I’ll give you a moment to process that one. To savour the implications.
Readers may recall that Mr Yates’ homemade pornography – which he saw fit to send to a concerned parent, as one does – featured our burly cross-dresser using a kitchen sink as erotic apparatus, and while smoking methamphetamine and asking, coquettishly, “Am I a good meth whore?” A question that every parent hopes to hear from someone entrusted with the care of their children.
Following his self-inflicted exposure and subsequent resignation, supposedly for “ongoing health reasons,” Mr Yates took to a fetish forum to boast of his “coming out” as a “meth whore” – thereby titillating others with an “exposure fetish” – and while simultaneously positioning himself as the victim of a cruel, unfeeling world:
Nature is healing, buddy.
Mr Yates is currently seeking employment as a “transsexual escort.” “I am,” says he, “definitely interested in being pimped out to as many men as possible.”
Again, words that every parent longs to hear.
Whether the schoolgirls whose underwear so intrigued Mr Yates, or their parents, are likely to receive an apology from the school district, or from any of the progressive ladies who dismissed their concerns and accused them of bigotry, remains unclear.
Above, Mr Yates being affirmed by progressive ladies.
Don’t think it’s unclear at all. They never apologise.
David is a paragon of British understatement.
The likelihood does seem remote.
I’ve belatedly realised that it’s turning into world-of-cross-dressing-men-week here. Must try to find something on – oh, I dunno – football or hot air ballooning or something.
Rollercoaster girls in skimpy tops?
I think we covered that topic on Friday. If covered is quite the word.
Siri, please define the term ‘suicidal empathy’…
‘here’s something I found on the Internet!’
I’d offer you some photos from my most recent jaunt up the Catskills, but they’re too big to attach here.
I think I posted one of them to Twitter, however….
Nope. Not going to ask.
Scenery’s not too shabby.
I can’t imagine. By that I mean I literally cannot imagine..what…how…getting too old for this shit.
[ Adds kitchen cleaning spray to shopping list. ]
Please update your files and lifestyles accordingly.
Isn’t it always attention-seeking wanker week?
I’m now picturing ATTENTION-SEEKING WANKER WEEK extending forever, on endless repeat, into all of future time.
On the upside, it would simplify things.
Speaking of inclusivity, it could be that “trans” are drawn to antifa as it seems within their ranks passing is easier.
From the comments.
They’re eating their way through all the crayons in the box.
Why, it’s almost as if an organisation premised on giving license to Cluster B personality disorders will in fact attract demographics very prone to Cluster B personality disorders.
Speaking of which:
Mentioned here. Because it turns out you can’t have too much icing on a cake.
“Yes, dear, your haircut does make you deeply fascinating. Do tell me more about yourself. I have nothing better to do.”
This, for instance. But without end.
Self-definition. You’d never tire of it.