Even with all of the misbehavior being uncovered in various government agencies, I had not imagined a spot on my “Feds Engaging in Shenanigans” Bingo card for “Bizarre sex chat rooms within the National Security Agency.”
But here we are.
When I first started reading this story, I had to make sure it wasn’t a hoax, or a Babylon Bee parody. But as I read on, I realized that I might have to give up satire, because even my eccentric mind couldn’t make this up.
And just like having sex with your cousin on a moving elevator in a skyscraper, this story is wrong on so many levels!
First, these were government workers talking dirty to each other on our dime, and that’s wrong enough to get fired over, just by itself.
Second, these people aren’t attractive Margot Robbie and Brad Pitt types, steaming up a dimly lit employee lounge in some kind of 50 Shades of Grey fantasy situation.
No. These are – hold on to your gag reflex, all ye who enter here – cubicle-dwelling government employees. And you know what that means.
Vaguely spheroid, gelatinous bodies under unflattering, buzzing fluorescent lights, the sickly pallor of their skin like one of those deep-ocean-dwelling, eyeless fish who never see the sun, or else Lizzie “Grandma Squanto” Warren.
(#wemustneverstopmockingher)
And they’re all either way too big or way too small, and the contrast between the morbidly Jabba-esque beside the frail, spindly homunculi makes both extremes look even worse somehow.
And third, even if you could get past their disturbingly froggish appearance – and you absolutely cannot – there’s the nature of the sex talk. It’s not even the sexy kind of sex talk. There are no Viking warrior princesses with form-fitting metal breastplates, or French maids with the seamed stockings, or sorority girls getting ready for a pillow fight, or…
Perhaps I’ve said too much.
Where was I? Oh yeah. The horrible, horrible sex talk.
It was all about nightmare fetishes and polyamory and genital mutilation. One guy who got de-junkified claimed to enjoy being on the other side of the stick, so to speak. Another was just thrilled because his newly Gavin Newsom-esque featureless crotch allowed him “to wear leggings or bikinis without having to wear a gaff under it.”
I’m not looking that up, but I’m assuming that he didn’t mean “gaffe.” Although…he certainly did.
Another sang the praises of “getting my b*tth*le zapped by a laser.” For a moment I wanted to believe that he meant that somebody had finally fired on Adam Schiff with one of those phasers from Star Trek. But alas, no.
There was a lot of talk about “polycules.” None of us knows what that means, but all of us somehow know that we do NOT want to know what that means.
As incomprehensibly gross as this all is, it’s not inconsistent with the odd fixation that so many on the left seem to have with eccentric (to put it mildly!) sex and gender weirdness. Just within the last week, two Dem Governors have creeped out the nation on this issue.
Maine’s Janet Mills is so dedicated to the proposition that males should be dominating girls in high school sports that she is risking her political future and $250 million in federal funds to pursue that obsession.
“Martin,” you might ask, “has Mills also danced in a drag show wearing an unconvincing Wonder Woman t-shirt?”
What an odd question. But yes. Yes she has. And no, Gal Gadot (giggity) is in no danger of losing her Wonder Woman role in any upcoming movies to the septuagenarian Maine governor.
Meanwhile in Wisconsin, oddball Governor Tony Evers, (D)imwit, hopped onto the “let’s screw up the language” bandwagon by inserting ridiculous gender terms into the state budget proposal, for some reason.
My theory is that he watched the way the Biden administration got mocked for referring to expectant mothers as “pregnant people” and “birthing people,” and he turned to an aide and said, “Hold my cheese curds, and watch this.”
Then, instead of using the word “mother” in the Wisconsin proposed budget, he used… wait for it… “inseminated person.”
Good lord!
One of the things I love about the English language is its vast vocabulary, which allows for finely detailed shades of meaning to describe anything. If you want to describe people as “thin,” for example, you can choose from several pages of variants, from the very positive (slender, svelte) to the negative (skinny, bony) to the extremely negative (emaciated, gaunt).
In addition to being the biologically correct term for a woman who has given birth, the word “mother” is entwined in a constellation of comforting, evocative connotations. Safety, warmth, nurturing. Unconditional love.
Dying soldiers on battlefields all over the world often use their last breath to cry out for their mothers. If you want the most reliable shortcut to a righteous beatdown, insult a man’s mother.
When normally mild-mannered women throw themselves in front of their babies in moments of great danger, we call that “maternal instinct.”
What does “inseminated person” evoke?
A sterile biology textbook. Something a jaded sexual assault investigator scribbles in his notebook at a crime scene. A phrase in a transcript at a war crimes tribunal.
Is any sane person ever going attribute an act of sacrificial love to “inseminated person’s instinct?”
If Tony Evers has managed to get a woman to marry him and father children (unexpectedly!), and his wife dies first, is he going to put her names and dates on her headstone above the phrase, “Beloved Inseminated Person”?
Ugh. I don’t know what’s wrong with these people, and I’m no (real) doctor, but I think they need some intensive psychotherapy, with at least a dusting of electroshock sessions. Because they’ve got some cranial crossed wires when it comes to sex that would send Sigmund Freud screaming into the night.
Am I saying that in a fair world, Tony Evers would be convicted of some kind of felonious governmental malfeasance and end up in a prison, where he would gain some karmic, first-hand understanding of being an “inseminated person?”
To quote a former terrible presidential candidate, I’m saying that we should have that conversation.
Hamas delenda est!
Martin Simpson 