2 May 2018

The Verdict Is In: We’re All Bill Cosby Now

By : OK, the verdict is in and Bill Cosby is guilty of three counts of sexual assault. And we now await sentencing, where the current take is that we will hear, in one form or another, how America’s Dad will spend the rest of his life behind bars.
The #MeToo and #TimesUp crowd is jumping for joy, and undoubtedly a slew of Cosby’s alleged victims are lining up to take aim at pillaging his estate. I can just see them all, jumping up and down like first-graders at the ice cream truck, screaming Me too! Me too!
Gynotrads, too, will be getting their jollies; basking in what they imagine is schadenfreude as Dr. Huxtable is tossed into a small cage to live what will undoubtedly be a much shorter version of what remains of his life. Such is what he deserves, right? He harmed all those women, and now he has to pay.
At least that’s the point of view of those dumb enough to be blue pill; people whose thinking is guided by hash tags and other popular slogans of sexual politics.
And mind you I have to say that I am not exactly bleeding sympathy for old Bill. Whether he committed actual sexual assault aside, it is clear that over decades of life he was a completely dedicated pussy hound; a gynocentrist of the first order, driven to arrange his life around women. That alone is begging for problems, never mind the abandonment of self and values that come with the territory. Guilty or innocent of the criminal charges, Cosby’s own petard blew up in his face.
And of course, that ought to make any man with a bit of common sense take notice. There but for a streak of dumb luck go a lot of good men.
To illustrate this further, I want to take a closer look at 1970’s drug culture, the very environment from which so many allegations sprang; allegations from a slew of women who are bound by two common denominators. Accusations against Bill Cosby and the expiration of their sexual use-by dates.
Full disclosure here. As an overly active part of 1970s drug culture I have my own stories to tell, and I remember one clearly that paints a pretty damned good picture of the times.
I was at a party. I think it was around 1977, but to be honest those were some very fuzzy years. There was this dude sitting there across from me on a sofa. He dropped a respectable sized rock of cocaine on a mirror and began ritualistically chopping at it with a razor blade. I remember thinking he was practiced, working the blade with blinding speed, turning the rock into powder and then turning the powder to a fat line that ran crossways on the mirror.
As he shaped and reshaped the line of coke, a rather fetching young woman took a seat next to him on the sofa. She was ample breasted and wearing a low-cut sweater. She leaned toward him and smiled, her breasts more or less on full display, and put her hand on his knee.
The guy just kept working the cocaine. Finally, the woman said, “That line really looks delicious.”
He stopped for a moment and asked her name. She smiled and told him. He then asked her what she did for a living.
“I’m a stewardess,” she said.
“Oh,” he said, “I guess you make a pretty good living at that” He pulled a short straw out of his shirt pocket.
The woman smiled again and said, “Yeah, I do ok.”
“Well, then, tell me,” he said, “Why don’t you have any cocaine?”
Then he bent forward and Hoovered the entire line up through the straw.
Now, of course I was way too gynocentric at the moment to appreciate the awesome display of red pill awareness that I had just witnessed. Or maybe it wasn’t red pill awareness. Maybe it was just a guy used to shooing women off to hang on to his stash. Either way, it would take me many more years and a few rounds of getting burned to begin waking up on that level.
And the scenario did paint a similar picture of my life at the time, too. I used a lot of drugs. I wasn’t what you call a big-time dealer, though I often did buy drugs in some quantity and sold enough to friends to help defray the cost.
And one thing was certain. Whenever I was flush with drugs, I also had women around me. So did a lot of men. Money and fame both have the same effect. The more you have, the more women flock to you. That was true in the 1970s and it is true today. Resources attracts women like moths to a flame. You can #MeToo and #TimesUp all day every day but it won’t change the fact that access to resources and power through men is the primary attractor for women. How much action would ugly ass Mick Jagger have seen in his life if he was a cab driver?
And of course, that makes me think about Bill Cosby in the 1970s. Rich, famous, powerful and undoubtedly with access to plenty of drugs. I was a 20-year-old nobody in 1977, and as long as I had drugs I had all the tail I could handle.
So, I am sitting here wondering just why Cosby was reduced to doping women, slipping them drugs so they’d lose control and he could access them sexually.
Oh, but wait. That isn’t what happened. At least not for the three counts of sexual assault for which he was convicted. In reading through accuser Andrea Constand’s account, she didn’t even allege that he slipped her drugs without her knowledge. She alleged that Cosby gave her three pills and some wine, telling her they were just pills that would relax her. This was, according to her, after Cosby had made at least two attempts at being sexual with her, which she rebuffed.
So, let’s see if we can paint this picture accurately. A grown woman went alone at night to Bill Cosby’s residence after he had twice attempted to have sex with her, took the drugs that he offered without knowing what they were or even asking, had sex, and then sold that story as a rape.
And of course the jury believed her. After all, women don’t lie about these things. And they take drugs from men who are pursuing them sexually without knowing what they are all the time, right? It doesn’t cross their minds that the rich, powerful man handing them drugs late at night; men who’ve already established sexual interest, might still have sex in mind.
Poor darling. I am sure she thought Cosby invited her up for a bible study and some Jell-O.
Another pitiable dear I read about found herself drugged and having sex with Cosby several times over a period of years. But I shouldn’t judge. I am sure the woman bore no responsibility for being raped in the same way by the same man over a period of years. After all, its not like she could just quit being around him.
That story and a lot of others came from an article at thecut.com, where 35 of Cosby’s accusers tell their own stories. None of the stories are particularly remarkable, mind you. Each one pretty much told some variation of all the others. Some women claimed to have apparently been slipped drugs, but that was not what Cosby was convicted for.
They all went to Bill Cosby’s place alone, partied on with him, had sex, uh, excuse me, were raped and then spent the next few decades summoning the courage to talk about it. The only other thing remarkable about the cut.com article is that there are pictures of all 35 women. All of them, every last one, is dressed, quite intentionally, in white.
Of course, the preferred color of pure, unblemished brides at the altar…and coke whores.
No wonder they say we live in a rape culture. At least half the sex between all westerners in the 1970’s was rape, apparently, thanks to retroactive definitions and hashtag movements.
This is all part and parcel to what feminists want in the world. It’s been speculated quit a bit that the #MeToo movement probably had an influence on the Cosby trial. And I think it obviously did. Consensual partying and sex, sends a man to prison decades later, because rape, my friends, is whatever women want it to be.
And it’s why they are pushing so hard now for an end to the statute of limitations on sexual assaults. Feminists want to go after any man, and the more powerful the better, at any time, for any reason, and completely crucify him. Not just in the court of public opinion, but in courts of law. Gents, we’re all Bill Cosby now.
Chalk this up as a score for the sexual robotics industry. At least until they criminalize that, too.

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Afternote: I want to close with a note on register-her.net. It appears to have already have had good effect. Once we launched I was tweeting about it regularly, with names of the women who are now listed on the site. Now I’ve been given a lifetime stretch in Twitter jail. They claim that my tweeting the truth about women who lie about rape is targeted harassment. Oh well, screw them and the false accusers they want to protect. There’s more going on in social media than Twitter.
Meanwhile, your tweeting this article should be safe, if you know what I mean.

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