In Which I Confess Confusion

by Smitty

One of those bits of ‘Dude Wisdom’ is that you don’t try to figure women out. No good can come of the effort. Relax, become comfortable with the unfathomability.
But still. . . the picture above seems so contradictory. The entire slut ethos would seem to be about pure, present-tense carnal release. Hedonism with any quantity of any species, in any geometry, with ‘feeling good’ the only measure of value. Pregnancy, and any thought of the teleological point of sexuality should be right out. These are the people of Sandra Fluke, whose pagan homages to Baal are followed by throwing their offspring to the fires of Moloch for a chaser.

Hence my bewilderment: why would any of these depraved women actually carry a child to term, and labor for Obama? Would Barack be the father of the child?  Perhaps symbolically–Obama’s image as a monogamist, family man being the only untarnished aspect of his image remaining. But the supreme ordeal of going into labor, to say nothing of the medieval prison sentence of motherhood, are abhorrent to these women, or so I thought.

Then again, even women who run around in reductionist vagina garb may have some sense of societal preservation that helps them see past their slutty myopia. Some notion that, after the party, and the hangover, and the rehab, and the confessional book, there might be some other phase of life, where offspring are a comfort and a joy, albeit not of the endorphin-based variety.

Should I ever be blessed with a daughter, I shall have to tell her that today’s crop of anit-intellectual, anti-spiritual bints are bimbos for the ages, and there is no need whatsoever to emulate their substitution of infantile degeneracy for mature liberty.

via Breitbart