Come, let us peek at progressive academia:

Lower those eyebrows, you cynical bigots.

Stop it at once.

See, multiple art degrees. And moon sessions. And – and – “intuitive energy work.” Why, she’s the fourth emergency service.

Ms Schenandoah, it turns out, is a Faithkeeper of the Wolf Clan, and skilled in ways of healing “negative energy,” with tuning forks and smudging – that’s burning tobacco and sage, obviously:

Apparently, it’s also a tool for enhancing self-awareness.

Though such bleeding-edge healthcare works best in conjunction with other indigenous technologies:

Well, this is awkward:

Update, via the comments:

Readers are invited to ponder the thought process here. I mean, when you’re an attention-seeking public figure, an activist and a supposedly “genderfluid” being, and the deputy assistant secretary of the Department of Energy’s Office of Spent Fuel and Waste Disposition, and you keep nicking random women’s luggage and then wearing their clothes in public…

Did Mr Brinton assume no-one would notice? Or was noticing his transgression precisely the point? Or was he so lost in his transvestite kleptomania, his narcissistic fantasy, that there simply wasn’t room for any thoughts about real-world consequences? Answers on a postcard, please.

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

Via the ladies at Reduxx, a tale that begins as farce, but soon veers elsewhere.

Imagine, if you will, a 53-year-old Scottish butcher and advocate for “transgender issues,” a man famed locally, both for his “shockingly bad” customer service and his cross-dressing proclivities, and also for thieving ladies’ undergarments, resulting in the nickname “knicker pincher.” Yes, I know. It does rather have the makings of a 1970s comedy sketch:

Again, all rather farcical.

However, Mr Miller has since been apprehended by the police following the disappearance of an 11-year-old girl:

For some reason, the words “false reporting” caught my eye.

Via Joan.

Consider this an open thread.

Time for some thoughts on crime. From the pages of the Guardian:

Being a Guardian contributor, the author, Ms Anna Spargo-Ryan, a resident of Melbourne, is of course conflicted. Her feelings, it turns out, are something of a tangle. We’re told of the uncontrollable shaking, the shattered sense of safety, the fear for a missing cat, and the experience of subsequently finding items of stolen clothing discarded in the street. “I am so frightened,” says our columnist:

All understandable, and far too commonplace. And yet, simultaneously, the experience is dismissed by the author as one of being merely “inconvenienced for a few days.” “The relative impact of this one night on the whole of my life is nothing compared to setting up a child to reoffend,” says she.

Messages, I think, that are ever so slightly mixed.

Before we go any further, I should point out that the words child and children, used throughout the piece, may be a tad misleading, as the identities of the burglars – who stole, among other items, knives, keys, jewellery, a wallet, and a car – have, at the time of writing, not been shared, or, one assumes, determined. The culprits, who presumably still roam free, are assumed to be teenagers, out for an invigorating spree of robbery and joyriding.

And the word child is so much fluffier. Ah, bless those rosy cheeks.