A social-justice worrier has her BVDs knotted because the Princeton men’s a cappella singers, the Tigertones, keep singing “Kiss the Girl” without her consent:
No matter how “great the tradition,” this canonical Tigertones tune should be struck from their repertoire. Its lyrics raise some serious issues. The premise of the song, originally sung in the Disney film The Little Mermaid, is that the male Prince Eric, on a date with the beautiful female Ariel, should kiss her without asking for a single word to affirm her consent. Despite the fact that an evil sea-witch cursed Ariel’s voice away, making verbal consent impossible, the song is clearly problematic from the get-go.
I can see where this girl is headed: thirty-one instead of twenty-nine.
It angers me that a natural impulse to kiss an attractive member of the opposite sex is condemned as “toxic masculinity,” a sophomoric opinion coming from an actual sophomore who, by doing so, is engaging in toxic feminism … with the support of the University.
Most of all, I grieve over the sad barren emotional lives of the young SJW generation. Very, very few experiences in life are as great as a welcome passionate kiss from the guy, especially if it’s unexpected. Denying yourself a rich emotional experience under the guise of … what? … a neopuritanical rejection of the “romantic and sexual liberties taken by men” is not only what Rosalind Russell must have had in mind when she said, “Yes! Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”
There are people who prefer kale to a bacon cheeseburger. It’s pretty much useless to try to change their minds.
A small bit of biographical detail from Linda Fox:
I’ve been married nearly 45 years (this January 12 is that anniversary). I won’t claim that we haven’t had some difficult times – we moved, for example 17 times in the first 15 years. We had 3 kids in 4 years.
We’ve endured the deaths of ALL of our parents, and each of us has lost a brother before their time.
We don’t always agree — for the last 10 years, I’ve voted differently than my husband, supporting candidates that he despised.
We’ve had “discussions” about housework, bills, and laundry.
In short, just like everyone else.
Indeed. My own marriage lasted only nine years, and it was crumbling long before the decree was issued. And she still has one parent left. But like Linda’s, it started on the 12th of January — next anniversary would have been the forty-first. I concluded long ago that some people were just wrong for each other; it was later that I realized that I was wrong for anyone. Coming to grips with that has not been easy.
In fact, it’s a virtual certainty that you’ve seen one:
House sparrows are everywhere humans are. But despite their suggestive species name, Passer domesticus, they aren’t officially domesticated. The bold, tiny, gray-and-brown birds are found on every continent except Antarctica, hopping around cities, pecking at leftover food on sidewalks, and sometimes chasing away native bird species. A new study suggests how these ubiquitous avians have adapted to living alongside humans: The evolutionary process of natural selection may have favored genetic changes that altered their skull shape and allowed them to digest starch — similar to domesticated animals like dogs.
So that’s what happened to that corn dog you dropped by the curb.
Stage magicians have been slicing women in half for ages; traditionally this has been a horizontal cut through the midsection, but a few decades back, someone came up with the idea of cutting the young lady lengthwise. I never did figure out how that illusion worked. And I have no idea how this variation on the theme is accomplished:
Somewhere, I suspect, an illusionist is adapting the common woodchipper to stage magic. I’m not sure I want to know how that’s going to work.
I am told that routine maintenance is going on at the host; they said a two-hour window, but only five minutes of actual downtime.
That was 45 minutes ago.