I picked the wrong year to quit drinking.
If you’ve never been to an old-school AA meeting, imagine Vince Lombardi’s locker room if he’d been coaching Pilgrims with Tourette’s: a spartan, Quaker-meeting setup, all bootstrapping, no bullshit. A newcomer dumb enough to whine about their “feelings” gets ordered to scrub out the coffee urn by a gruff “old timer.”
That’s not what I slunk into in 1992, by which time then-faddish PBS fixture John “Finding Your Inner Child” Bradshaw had accidentally turned Alcoholics Anonymous into a New Age unicorn-and-rainbows therapeutic weep-fest that would’ve disgusted Greatest Generation founders Bill W. and Dr. Bob, who probably kept their fedoras on in the gutter.
Some meetings even served decaf.
Believe me: “Low self-esteem” is not your typical boozehound’s problem. Then again, about half the people I met in “the rooms” weren’t even alcoholics, just neurotics too cheap to get real therapy.
Remember, it was the 1990s, the era of The X-Files and Oprah at her tabloid low: at every 12-Step meeting, you’d meet “survivors of ritualistic Satanic abuse” and “recovered memory victims” and alien abductees and even “starseeds,” the self-proclaimed spawn of spacemen who’ve been sent to Earth to…do something or other. (Luckily the latter two never came to blows.)
There were so many “multiple personalities” at some meetings, we were probably breaking fire codes without knowing it.
And I lived in Boystown, so lots of the real drunks were gay, bi, trannies, lesbians of convenience, and even “two-spirited” (AKA gay Indians).
Despite all this, I never drank after my first meeting (ODAAT), worked the Steps, got a new job, and ten years later, I looked around at all the people who still hadn’t and thought, “I didn’t get sober so I could spend the rest of my life with these losers.”
It took me a decade to notice that none of the 12 Steps is “Go to meetings.” So I stopped. I couldn’t take the crazies. In retrospect, I was the crazy one for thinking I was rid of them.
Aware of my impatience for the ever-metastazing and increasingly belligerent LGBTTIQQ2SA “community” and other victim-loonies, a friend directed me to a Reddit thread titled “what does all this bullshit mean anyway?” about some self-described “social justice activists.”
Now that sounds like some folks who, while misguided and none too bright, want to feed the poor and stuff.
These “social justice activists” are simply narcissistic, delusional, sex-obsessed fruitcakes.
(OK, that’s not a bad description of some famous, slightly more legitimate “social justice activists,” but stick with me.)
Turns out, crazy sex maniacs have cooked up new ways to be crazy sex maniacs.
“Come on,” you’re thinking, “sex is sex and crazy is crazy. There’s nothing new under the Krafft-Ebing sun. I saw that CSI episode about furries and read that article about bronies that made me want to kill myself (after I killed my wife and kids to spare them the horrors of living in America another second.)”
Fine. Meet the “otherkin.” Unlike cosplayers, these dudes genuinely think they are animals trapped in human form. Literally. They’re serious.
How’s about “headmates?” We used to call these “imaginary friends,” but they’re not just for kids anymore. (Cuz that would be age-ist!)
Next? “Multiple systems”:
[A] person who describes themselves as a multiple system will likely refer to themselves as ‘they’ because they believe they are multiple people….
And, because that isn’t already batshit insane enough, some multiple systems will have headmates who are animals, otherkin people, and, of course, fictional characters….I’ve not even got to the people who believe they have galaxies, nebulae, universes, and other space shit, either in their ‘headspace’ or as an otherkin. So some people will believe they are actually galaxies.
Or “demisexuals”? They’re “only sexually attracted to people” they have “an emotional connection to.” (We used to call them “normal” and “women.”)
Now meet the “transethnic” and “transabled”: paralyzed black women trapped inside functional white-male bodies.
Naturally, “the favorite pastime for SJAs is to pretend they’re oppressed, and they are all professional victims. You may very well see otherkin telling people to “check their human privilege” while they talk about how oppressed they are because no one believes they’re really a cat…”
All very weird indeed, but so what?
Well, within living memory, gay “marriage” was unthinkable, transsexuals stuck to the stage, and a “bathroom bill” letting “transgendered” boys use the girls’ washrooms in elementary schools would be one of John Irving‘s forgotten subplots, not something that is about to become law.
Brace yourself for “otherkin-phobia” and the fines and firings that will come with it.
“There’s a fair dollop of therapeutic chatter,” one notes, in last week’s ruling by Canada’s Supreme Court declaring that mass homosexual “self-fulfillment” trumps one crazy Christian’s freedom of speech, even when he’s just quoting the Bible. (Especially then.)
Who’s to say some “cripple” is cheating the insurance company just because you saw him shooting baskets in Bermuda? He’s really transabled, you bigot.
If you don’t want your life ruined by the powers that be, you’ll cultivate the cowardice to know the difference and keep your mouth shut.
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