Quote note (#203)¶
Apologies in advance for this one. Actually, don’t read it. You’ll be disgusted with yourself afterwards, and it will haunt you for the rest of your days.
If you’re seriously determined, nevertheless, to follow the abyssal path all the way into the left-liberal id, this is the short-cut you need. Nothing will quite look the same again.
A little scene setting:
He held the carving board and asked if I’d like light meat or
dark.
“Sorry,” I said. “Don’t eat meat.”
“Of course you don’t,” he said, and gave me just the slightest
fraction of a smile. Looking back, it was the smile that did it,
the boyish arrogance of it, the pulse of entitlement in his
eyes.
I really hate this person, I thought, and yet
once the bird had moved on I raised my glass and asked him to
refill it.
Soon afterwards:
I turned around and lifted my ass into the air. I was giving myself to him. I was literally presenting. This was it. This was my chance to be fucked by everything vile and soulless and cruel that I’d built a life out of despising. The country was going to die, the world was going to burn, so why not let one of the apocalypse’s shock troops bang the shit out of me while the flames spread. He lifted up my skirt and yanked aside my panties. With one hand he pushed my face into the bed, with the other he guided himself in. I didn’t need to apologize to anyone, not D. [the lucky fiancé], not myself, not my ideals. All I wanted was to feel this current of consuming disgust. It swirled through my head, behind my eyes, between my legs. He thrust and I gasped.
(She goes on to complain about the femtosecond laser effect. Too late baby!)
I’m now guessing Trump could actually win in 2016 — depending upon how much the voting booth feels like a sleazy hotel room. That would totally screw up the Outsideness Strategy, but what can you do against the all-consuming power of Nazi Porn?
ADDED: “Salon has become a cesspool of lies and moral confusion.” (Hard to see how anyone could come to that conclusion.)
ADDED: The exotic version.