Strong Medicine

Here’s a story which got my teeth on edge:

A Dublin singer has allegedly been sexually assaulted for the second time while on tour with her band.

Karla Chubb, the lead singer of Dublin-based grunge band Sprints, was allegedly groped and harassed while performing at one of the band’s recent gigs.

Sprints posted a statement revealing that Karla had been assaulted for the second time on Saturday.

The statement said: “Yesterday, Karla was sexually assaulted for the second time while on the Letter To Self tour. The fact that this has occurred twice is abhorrent, the fact it still happens at all is disgusting. We will not stand for it and we will not stay silent about it. Female performers should be able to engage with their audience, step off the stage or perform without fear of groping, unwanted touching, cat-calling and harassment. The fact that this is still an every day occurrence for most women is beyond reprehensible. To those who noticed and called out the behaviour yesterday, thank you. To those of you responsible for the behaviour, shame on you. Do better.”

Actually, the last bit is what got me reaching for another gin.

You see, this is a common thing, and I don’t know why some assholes think that just because the girl looks sexy or whatever, that they can cop a quick feel or worse.

I have spoken before of Gilly, our band’s vocalist, and her skirts:

Needless to say, she got a lot of attention, but we looked after her and made sure that there was always one of us with her at all times before, during and after a gig.

Here’s a little story about that.

We once played a 6-month gig as the house band at a seedy nightclub in Johannesburg, and such was our popularity that the room always exceeded the Fire Department’s maximum occupancy limit.

One example of this popularity was that we became favorites of a motorcycle band (can’t remember the name, but it was something like The Devils).  Even though they were a rough-‘n-tough crowd, they always behaved themselves in the club during their weekly visit, dancing with their ladies and drinking up a storm (which is why the management allowed them in — their bar bill was the equivalent of the GDP of a small country).  We sometimes invited someone in the gang to perform a song with us, and Long John — a tall, skinny guy with long, greasy black hair and the worst teeth in the Western Hemisphere — would enthrall the audience with his version of Pink Floyd’s Another Brick In The Wall  (“We don’t need no sex education!” delivered in a hoarse bellow) which always brought the house down.  It became a weekly fixture.

Anyway, one night I became aware of a guy wearing a red shirt who was intent on reaching up to the stage and getting his hand up Gilly’s skirt while she was singing.  I growled at him once and he went away, but came back after a while and tried again.  Gilly managed to avoid his groping, and unfortunately for him, he chose the last song of the set to play his little game.

During our break, I went over to the Devils’ tables and sat down next to the gang leader, a guy named Pete.

“Pete,” I said, “do you see that guy over there in the red shirt?”
“Man, that bastard’s been trying to finger Gilly, right there on the stage while we’re playing.  I can’t deal with it because we’re employees here and I don’t want us to get fired.  Can you do something to help her out?”

Pete scowled, beckoned to two of his guys and whispered something to them.  They stood up, pulled on their gang colors, walked over to Mr. Redshirt Groper and dragged him out of the club.

I have no idea what they said (or did) to him, but I never saw him again.  when I asked Pete what had happened — I mean, these were serious biker tough guys, and they might have killed him — he just grinned and muttered something about “teaching him a lesson”.

And that is the kind of thing that needs to happen to these assholes, not some mealy-mouthed statement like begging the assholes to “Do better”  — don’t beg them to behave themselves, just fuck them up.

It’s all they deserve.

Asking For Trouble

This is the kind of thing that gets me throwing things across the room in angry frustration:

A British police officer has said she was raped at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower on Monday.

The victim, 23, has told French police she was attacked by a man wielding a knife in the Champ de Mars park shortly before midnight that evening.

She said the suspect pulled out a knife as she tried to deflect his advances.

Okay, here’s my first point.  I know this area very well indeed, and let me just say that it is — along with, say, NYfC’s Central Park — a tourist attraction I wouldn’t go anywhere near after dark.  So why would this Dickless Tracy do such a stupid thing?  Ah, here’s a clue:

The attacker pounced after the victim went behind a bush to go to the toilet.

She was separated from her friend for only a few moments when the attacker threatened her with a knife. 

Translation:  she’d been drinking hard, and needed to pee.  Where better than in a dark park in a strange city, away from her drinking companion?

Anyway, the gendarmes found the guy and busted him.  Surprise, surprise, it was another tourist (nationality not given, uh huh) — but a tourist who travels with a knife and harbors larcenous thoughts.

Sheesh, I myself generally carry a knife when I travel (because I can’t carry my 1911 [lots of bad words deleted] ), but I would only use it in the last extreme in self-defense and not to, say, indulge in a little coercive seduction.

My second point:  One would think a cop — especially a Britcop — would know better than to do stupid stuff like the above;  but clearly, an excess of booze makes a cop as stupid as the average idiot.

And so much for her police force’s self-defense training;  she should ask for a refund.

Man Takes Woman’s Job

This is just the best:

Gay lifestyle magazine Attitude is facing backlash after naming transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney as its ‘Woman of the Year.’

The US TikTok star, who documented her transition on the video sharing platform last year, accepted the title this week at the Virgin Atlantic sponsored awards bash in London.

But critics slammed the decision, accusing the awards of ‘gaslighting women everywhere’ with prominent feminist campaigner Maya Forstater calling it an ‘insult.’

I have to hand it to this little fegeleh:   first he/she toppled the #1 beer brand in the U.S., and now she/he is doing the same to some fegeleh publication, in essence taking the cover girl/boy’s position away from, shall we  say, a more-deserving homo/dyke.

If your head is spinning, join the (heterosexual) club.

And then there’s this one:

Two transgender cyclists have taken the top spots on the podium at the Chicago CycloCross Cup after triumphing in a women’s race.

Sheesh, even the actual chick who placed third looks kinda iffy.

Still, despite all the confusion, there’s only one thing left to say:

Isn’t THAT Special?

In case you were wondering, yes:  there is a noise in the background, and it is the sound of hoofbeats:

Why?  Silly rabbits, this is the reason:

Made In Chelsea to become first UK show in TV history to broadcast three-way kiss between male throuple as Channel 4 hire ‘Queer Expert’ to oversee storyline

Every single phrase in that headline is appalling. And try as I may, I can’t even make a joke about it.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and puke my guts out.  And then go to the range.