Europa’s Children

Confessions from the Zuckerberg Jail

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anal vore facebook censored
Censored to comply with Facebook standards

I am no stranger to the Zuckerberg State Penitentiary. I spend most of my time nowadays reading Facebook behind posting-blocked bars.  Prison has always been a good place for contemplation if not rehabilitation.  Since I’m already doing penance I figured this would be a fine time to confess my sins and amend my life.

My latest 30-day stay was inspired by a link to the Vice story referenced in the image above.  I apologize to any anal vores whom I marginalized.  The heart has reasons that reason does not understand, and that goes double for the genitals. Your kink is not my kink but your kink is OK.  In private. With other consenting adults. There’s a fine line between pride and oversharing. Vice regularly erases it.

laser pointers zuckerberg anus
Censored to comply with Facebook standards

An earlier Vice link also garnered me a stretch in solitary.  Alongside their cutting-edge coverage of anal vores (and even running a follow-up on the subjectVice gave us the dance troupe who perform with lasers in their butts.  You may laugh (I certainly did) but these performers are making real sacrifices for their art.  “Sometimes it’s a bit painful,” Young Boy Dancing Group co-founder Manuel Scheiwiller explains.  “Also, one guy had hemorrhoids once and he couldn’t do it.”

Stunning and brave.

I am sorry for shaming people who dance with laser pointers up their ass.  I have no Art degree and I curate no studios: who am I to question the path from the Bolshoi to the butt laser? In the future I will show more tolerance to Vice reporters: this will admittedly be easier as their numbers diminish.

anne frank so baked

I suppose you could argue this is tasteless and disrespectful, but that’s hardly uncommon nowadays.  You can find memes mocking Stephen Hawking, Ted Bundy and Jesus Christ — and if Messiahs, serial killers and crippled geniuses are fair game, why can’t we joke about a famous Dutch diarist?  One famous South Park episode features an Ethiopian refugee named “Starvin’ Marvin” in homage to a famine that killed over a million people.  Why does one talented young writer deserve a respect not recorded to thousands of dead African families? I spent 30 days asking myself those questions.

I  should note I have no particular animus against the Jewish people.  On a personal level I’ve found Jewish people to be intelligent, witty, articulate, argumentative and profane.  These are all qualities I aspire to so we have generally gotten on well.  And not only do I not hate Jewish women — I objectify, exotify and fetishize them!    Smart, curvy, funny, sexually insatiable — what’s not to like?  You can rest assured that I consider Anne Frank’s death a tragedy.  Had she survived World War II I might have wound up bedding her smoking hot granddaughter.

behind every successful person hitler

They can call you a Nazi.  You respond with a Hitler picture, everybody loses their minds and you get 30 days in the hole.  Had I replaced Hitler with Mao, Lenin or Stalin nobody would have raised an eyebrow even though their death tolls make the Original MC Adolf H look like a veritable amateur.  You can champion Che Guevara and cheer for Karl Marx without fear of opprobrium.  But if you want to stay on Facebook you had best avoid even the appearance of ironic Nazism disguised as non-ironic Nazism disguised as ironic Nazism.

Today there are only a handful of surviving World War II eyewitnesses: within a decade or two they will be gone.  What emotional payload swastikas and gas chambers still carry is fast being dissipated by mockery.  The next generation is more likely to see Hitler as a figure of fun than an emblem of evil.  Indeed, I suspect the PTB at Facebook objected to my meme for that reason.  Instead of responding to the “Nazi!” accusation with heated denials and denunciations, I laughed at it.  And nothing scares them more than the idea we no longer care what they say about us.

“Social justice:” My vision of a just society is the gold standard and anything which deviates from that needs to be corrected.

“Indian schools:” We need to civilize these savages and teach them how to act like White men.

That comment brought my first 30-day ban of 2018.  It is obviously not intended as a slur on Native Americans. I was neither smirking nor wearing a MAGA hat when I sent this message.  Richard Henry Pratt, creator of the Indian schools, wanted to save Indian children from the disease, famine and despair plaguing their reservations.   You may take umbrage with this now, but most of his contemporaries would have happily let the little savages starve. For them Indian raids were as close in memory as the Korean and Vietnam wars are to us today.  Pratt, like contemporary Cultural Marxists, had nothing but the best intentions.  The road to Hell has always been smoothly paved.

My Tweet employed a rhetorical device known as “logical equivalence.” Both Indian schools and Cultural Marxism aim at remaking what they believe to be a flawed culture.  Both seek to do so through indoctrination and force of law. Both hold their prospective students in contempt and consider them dangerous when not properly indoctrinated.  You may dispute my premises, but if badly-structured arguments were grounds for a 30-day ban Facebook would be a very quiet place.

(For the record,  I reiterate that I am against genocide and believe that the willful destruction of any culture, including my own, is an unqualified evil).

Those are my thoughts on a cool winter day when the dust motes glisten in the light that shines through my window bars.  Perhaps they will vanish and fall into shadow. Perhaps they will endure like the Hampster Dance and Abigail Shapiro’s jahoobies.  Someday — 21 days from now, to be more precise — I will post freely on Facebook again.  The great gate will open.  I will leave with my well-thumbed copy of the Holy Terms of Service packed in my cardboard bookcase beside my last clean pair of socks.   And the guards will smile and wave upon my departure as they always do upon my return.

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