Phobophilia: a tone poem, or maybe un rêve

When someone uses "-phobia" as a politico-culturio suffix, he [s/hy [pron. SHUH-ee (as in 'cheesy' or 'creamy'), but with a glottal stop, but this is not cultural appropriation as of Hawai'iian, or Khoisan [which racists call a so-called "click" language], for example]] casts himself [hermself, pron. HER-mzelph] as a bigot and must redeem or at best justify himself [thhymzylph [pron. self-evident (well, no, not self-evident. Is that "pron." meant to be pronounced or pronoun?  Nowadays context is not enough. (And why both 'hermself' and 'thhymzylph'?  Seems awfully binary, these two choices.))]].  "‑phobia" surely has legitimate applications, some descriptive power of the phenomenological [binario-gendio*-patriarchicio] world [*not to be confused with Gen D (the sumpbucket term for LGBTTQQIAAP (briefly, Legbutt Kyap) -- the D standing for, well, whatever (And there it is, binary again.  Appropriate, really, this astounding over-complication of what is obvious and simple -- sex, two.  It's not an abstruse principle, male and female, that needs to be corrected with a cantorian infinitude of genders. They oppose 'binary' with what, plenitudinary? (That's just valetudinary.  (I couldn't resist.)) - superfluitinary? (I have decided to rescue the Gender Theorists, by proposing G-theory: analogous to the 11 dimensions of M-theory in physics, there are 11 genders (predictively already identified (or identitiified) as LGBTTQQIAAP); all ultimately unified (or eunuchified) (And observe that leggbutt-etc (qlipt qatbag) excludes heterosexual -- the dialectics, or, here, hendecalogics of G-theory requires and tolerates only 11 genders [is anyone following this?  Jack H is an idiot. WTF is Mtheory?  (It's like mzelph, sir or madam, or whatever.)]). I could go on, infinitely, or in this context, indefinitely.  G-theory is much easier than physics, of course.  There's no need for evidence or testing.)) [note the sexismistic dogwhistle embedded in patriarchic [and the D stands for ... Defiers against Defamation and Dogwhistlers ... and, also, Desirable Defenders of Diversity. Oh. Oh! Yeah, no, the D stands for Diversity. Generation Diversity [also note the meticulous correctness of the correct usage of the italicized close-brackets [as well as close-parenthesis [ed. by Ed.]]]])]. But overwhelmingly it is the instrument of laziness, ignorance and prejudice, as in islamophobe or homophobe [and also tranzophobe, um, gynophobe ... pedophobe, uh ... um ... etc]. 

In any case, ‑phobe should always be paired with its counterpart, ‑phile, as fattyphilia, trancephilistx, syphilisiphilic, hemophiliac -- as phobosophy should also be recognized and given its own department in universities (but it's there already, what with gender studies and critical race theory). People who resort to the ‑ophobo-slur owe it to self-actualization to identify themselves in like-terms. (Identity is now a Hegelian application of pure will, or pure feel.) You're a lover not a fighter, or hater, or fearer. You are whatever you say you are. You believe you can fly -- you believe you can touch the sky. Imagine all the people, living in conformity. Death to the toleranciophobes (which contains all the letters of cooperation (and which my spellchecker recognizes)). 

 I would continue with this, but I'm bored now. I'll just observe that there is nothing you cannot prove with prudent and/or imprudent, not to say impudent and/or pudent, usage and/or over-usage of suffixes and/or hyphens and/or italics and/or antonyms, and slashes. 

 J 

This article has been reviewed and corrected by Helmut Crisp, ed., cenc. (who really didn't understand what this was about, but instead reacted to the mere words. It's all about words with these people -- saying something makes it so.  Like a small child, or rather, being sexualized, an adolescent.  That's what I've been doing, making fun of made-up words.  And calling himself an editor is ridiculous. He just butted in and basically ruined it. Incomprehensible. This is what comes of leaving my password where he could find it. What was I thinking. As soon as I regain sole access, it will no longer be 'wordpass' - JH [That's just ignorant and hateful.  Jack H, if that is his real name, is a Nazio-megaMAGA-racistic closet-case who's worse than Hitler and a total loser - HC (I am whatever you say I am. But how odd, him calling me a closet-case. You'd think he'd try to facilitate my transition into my true, if perhaps temporary, identity - J [Shut the fuck up, you climate-denying racismistical asshole. You and everyone like you should be exterminated - H (we'll just leave it there. Answer not a fool according to his folly. Except, for made-up words, how about racistismalic? That '-mistical' adds an aspect of meta that can only be unintentional - J [Set you on fire and while you're still burning suffocate you with shit. God I hate you so much, except there is no god an anda arqhwaaa grlg prrrriu qwhhh (that was HC, not me. I found him foaming on the floor curled into a ball, only backwards. Dude has the most flexible spine in the world -- like a bicycle chain. It must be a metaphor for something - J)])])]).

PS - Well I've regained a fair bit of control here.  What a nightmare.  He got some hacker gang, Anonamorus, to hardwire or whatever, permanently embed this text so I've had only partial and highly idiosyncratic access.  I called the FBI, but, well, seems they're actively working for the woke agenda. Now the IRS is auditing me. - J

The Unified State of America

You know the line, "Ain't nobody here but us chickens"?  A hipster used it, and I asked if he knew the joke.  He did not.  My dad told it in the 60s, but it's from minstrel-show days, as far back as the 1830s.  Someone was stealing a Southern farmer's chickens, and one night he hears a big commotion in the coop.  Gets his shotgun, goes out and says, "Come on out or I'll blast you."  Silence.  Says it again, and again.  Maybe he shoots into the air.  And from inside the coop, in Amos and Andy dialect, "Ain't nobody here but us chickens, boss!"  A racial joke -- the thief being very stupid.  

Bill Cosby said of the TV show, Amos and Andy, "It was very funny.  And we knew we had to get it off the air."  It wasn't racist, in my opinion, at all.  But as with all dialect and ethnic humor, it exploited stereotypes.  That of course is what very much humor does, but this was and remains a sensitive topic, so the broad social interests were not to be ignored.  Along my ongoing journey toward maturity, I am coming to understand that not everything that can be said, even if true, needs to be said.  

Remember the line, "What you mean 'we', white man."  I looked it up, via the convenience of the Internet.  A Bill Cosby joke.  The Lone Ranger and Tonto are surrounded by redskins.  "Well Tonto, looks like we're done for."  "What you mean 'we', white man?"  Again, a racial joke, the humor of which hangs on the presumption and rejection of subservient identification.  

You understand and approve the conditions governing your presence in this State.  You must submit to all inspections of physical, emotional and verbal hygiene.  You must at all times carry on your person proof of responsible social and medical conformity -- your Cards, or in your device. You must follow all posted and non-posted regulations. You will contemn all proscribed epithets and attitudes.  Failure to comply will result in loss of employment, reputation, courtesy, and permission to participate in any public gathering of more than three subjects.  You will conform.  You will obey.  

Remember that old line?  Went something like, "Live free or die."  Remember that joke? -- don't quite recall it, but the punchline was, "give me liberty, or give me death."  Well, that's the kind of thoughtless humor we just don't accept anymore.  Its time has passed.  Inappropriate for our frankly superior sensibilities.  Not cool.  Anyway, it's 'live free and die'.  It's 'give me liberty and death'.

J

MoveOn dot MeToo

They're too young to remember it, mostly.  Or in fading early middle age, old people puberty, decline combined with self-righteousness.  They've always been self-righteous, entitled, empowered, esteemed.  Proud heirs to the participation trophy, the triumph of will, ascendant upon the mountain of the universe -- vast in the equality of poppies, their vaginas are powerful, their penises a handy leash.  The decline was from birth, born into twilight, and hell is murky.  

The Left wanted us to move along, forget about it, that clinton thing.  Get over it.  Move on.  So what if the male president groped a boob or grabbed a mons pubis.  Trump, clinton -- well it mattered with Trump, but that was different.  Vulgarian.  Cigars, blue dresses, semen stains, flowers, troopers. Who can remember.  Class. 

Like a glimpse of stocking.  Something shocking, from a long-ago generation.  Passé. We have evolved.  This is what maturity looks like.  Virtue signals and cancel culture.  Signal cancels -- a failure to communicate.  What you are allowed to do, say, think, feel.  

Best watch yourself.  

It's never been okay.  And if women finally get the courtesy they were, several generations ago, nominally due -- holding a door open, standing when she enters -- well such formalities didn't prevent scum from abusing the power of position.  

And abortionism had its price.  Women stopped being female.  They are men with breasts, as men are women with back hair.  What they are pleased to call 'gender' is all about, and nothing but, bulges.  Everything is entirely superficial and phenomenological.  Shave down an adams apple, remove breast tissue -- presto change-o.  Déclassé.  

It's an idea I may go into, sometime.  But transgenderism is an anti-abortion argument.  There is a spirit, they suppose, male or female, in the wrong body.  So, there is a spirit in a body.  A human spirit, in a human body. Thus, abortion is homicide.  

Don't blame me.  My position is consistent.  I've changed in hardly anything.  There is no longer an America -- that was hard to accept.  My brazen serpent, Nehushtan, a useful thing that became an idol.  Nun sheath -- ashen hunt.  Now it's not even useful, america.  Nothing but the richest slave.  A fun fact known from ancient Rome (and everywhere else): slaves make the cruelest masters.  It's all they know.

What is the first human emotion?  You'd think hunger, but that's just biology.  Hot or cold or itchy, or boredom, the same.  The first human emotion is the need for connection.  Intimacy.  It's why babies stare.  They look at everything.  They stare at mommy.  As I have said, it is the nature of a personality to want to be known -- to reveal itself.  Human life is about contact.  Sartre is mistranslated: hell is [needing] other people.

This explains it all.  

Move On.  Me Too.  They're almost anagrams.  Move onto me.  Like OJ, there's just too much love.  

J

Trans Tranny Trany Trannie Traney Tranie

 "...these be her very C's, her U's, 'n' her T's, and thus makes she her great P's."

                                                      --Twelfth Night, Act 2, scene 5        .

[Trigger Warning: for the triggerable, andor for those with old-fashioned andor 

obsolete sensibilities who wish not to see disturbing andor vulgar images.]

It's just impossible to make up my mind.  But spelling is about mere incidentals, like whether or not you dot an 'i', or a 'j'.  J is one of those questionable letters, not useless, like male nipples (except I'm given to understand that some men enjoy their nipples (I have found them utterly ignorable, except when very slightly irritating)) -- redundant, rather, like 'x' or 'q', or even 'c'.  

'W' is useful; how could one reasonably get that sound, otherwise? Oouman.  Oouhmuhn, Ooihmehn.  You can get the idea, but it doesn't really work.  And when it's 'w' 'h', where what why, but not who -- that blowing doubleyou sound.  The dialect of American English I was brought up in ... in which I was brought up ... up in which I was brought -- it didn't acknowledge this particular phoneme.  Not that it's difficult to produce, like that Arabic 'D' that we can't even hear, or the Japanese sound between 'r' and 'l' that makes them confuse our 'r' and 'l'.  But, really, there's the vexing and intractable question, what is a doubleyou?  Even the Supreme Court doesn't know.  Doubleyou is so binary.

You just have to understand that some folks expect words to be pronounced the way they like it.  Like 'often' -- there's no 't' sound, except if that's how you were raised.  It's a back-formation, from 'oft'.  It's how you deduce extinct words from the root and grammatical forms.  Listen fasten wastrel scalpel castle whistle wrestle.  Dullard, drunkard, coward, bastard. 

And this nipple thing -- I understand it, embryologically. Women, after all, have an analogue, a homologue of the prostate.  Whale pelvises are used during the birthing process.  These things have reasons.  I seem to recall that humans have the capacity for, say, eight nipples, two rows of four.  This explains the supernumerary expression that sometimes occurs.  My son had a third nipple.  It never grew.  I was almost proud of it, but I think he probably got tired of my mentioning it, when he got a bit older.  So I stopped.  I am capable of learning.  

If I use the search capacity of my smartphone it volunteers  a list of suggestions.  Completely irrelevant and random.  I suppose they're 'trending', as the kids say.  Elliot Page was showing his first shirtless picture. My mind boggled.  Who is Elliot Page, and why would this be of interest?  Is he beautiful and mysterious?  Well, no.

Low bodyfat, nice enough abs if you like that sort of thing, but an example of failed puberty, youngish but not aging well -- a wizened pixie. Wizard.  He managed to achieve armpit hair -- bucking the manscaping trend, rather daringly I should think.  Transgressive.  Except, looking as he does as of northerly European extraction, he should have at least some chest hair. So he is untrue to his most authentic hairitage.  

What is it with these last 20 years.  Men actually shave their pubic hair.  And women too.  You realize what this is, right?  Body hair is a tertiary sexual characteristic, indicating adulthood.  No such hair means hands off.  It is unattractive to the point of being grotesque -- not in even an aesthetic sense, but biologically.  It's a gateway behavior, into a perversion that is common historically and culturally -- just not in our history or culture.  

But these things are relative.  Who's to say what an age of consent is.  Yes after all means yes.  Two year olds like to say NO, but, well, I don't know how to finish this sentence.  Ancient Egyptian royalty married their siblings, Mohammad married a nine-year-old, PBUH.  The flow of actual human behavior is against us, and who can fight the tide?  

American men marry American men.  No, I'm sorry, I made a grave error.  American men marry american men.  There is no America -- those capitalized 'Americas' I just used, they are purely orthographical, upper case because that's how sentences start, unless that too is a custom to be phased out, by enlightened practice and the Supreme Court.   There is no 'America' -- just a geographical expression, like the holy roman empire, or Metternich's italy.

 

And I'm doubly wrong, at least -- there are no american "men".  Because there are no men.  I just learned this, just now, when I looked a bit further into Elliot Page.  He is a man, per assertion and common report.  But some few months ago he was a woman -- I should say, he "presented" as a woman, the way a female dog presents her posterior when in heat -- 'mount me'.  Presuming of course the case is different with dogs, than with humans.  Dogs have male and female, as far as the Supreme Court currently allows us to suppose.  And it goes without saying, we are told, our understanding re the existence of "marriage" was fatally flawed.  Exploded myths: america, manhood, marriage.

Ellen Page, then.  A talented former actress, now actor -- actress actrex actranz. Such obsolete terms, like Jewess or Negress.  My grandfather said 'coons' -- it's just how Montanans born in the 1800s spoke.  People should get reasonable courtesy about what they call themselves. But they do not have the right to eliminate capital letters at the start of proper nouns.  They don't have the right to require that someone else dot an 'i' with a pretty little heart.  When very small children are potty trained, they enjoy the power of holding back, or producing.  It's something to outgrow. 

She spent all those post-puberty years (that explains it: it was a female puberty) hating her breasts. My desultory search did not uncover any info regarding her pubic area -- it's all about the "top surgery" -- radical bilateral mastectomy.  Nothing about "bottom surgery" -- vagina, labia, clitoris.  A lesbian, she will have had no affinity for penises -- yet presumably a fascination, and (in a rare instance where Freud would be correct) envy.  

But the info is incomplete.  Like Caitlyn Jenner (we all have a right to change our names) -- does he still have his junk?  Unknown to all but a few.  This must be the difference between these neologisms, "transgender" and "transsexual" -- the -sexual, I'm supposing, would try to more convincingly effect the illusion, of metamorphosing, of, um, transmogrifying thheir sex.

I should have thought Eliot truly committed herself -- removing not just the "dangerous", deadly and disgusting breast tissue the very thought of which so tormented her.  I had thought she'd had a little penis constructed out of maybe tendons or cartilage, and thigh skin, and perhaps they repurposed her clitoris.  Gristle.  Hanging or flopping or bobbing about inside those "swimming trunks" she's wearing for the first time.  Maybe it was a big penis -- is that a choice?  Can they transplant some dead man's penis -- the "organ donor" box benevolently ticked on his drivers license?  But they don't always go more than skin deep.  Like that pregnant man from a few decades ago.  Another exploded myth: motherhood.

I have to admit, I'm curious.  Bi-curious, is that the term?  No, the internet informs me.  It must be trans-curious.  Is that a thing?  Everything is a thing.  LGBTTQQIAAP-curious (I looked it up -- Legbutt Kyap.  I am Yippee Kiyay Yellow Curious.  Why does thheir Q come before my A?  That's discrimination.).  

I have below-zero interest in a prurient or titillated way, in transsexual penises.  But that's not clear: no interest in the removed or repurposed actual penises of body-dysphoric men who have themselves castrated and mutilated to counterfeit the appearance, sometimes extremely convincing, of actual women.  And no interest in a neopenis, or the penis-like construct that is assembled for the type or direction of transsexualism that moves from dysmorphic female to plausibly presented "male".  

(I've found some images of the surgical artifact in question.  

From Wikipedia

Alien, and very sad.  That second one seems misproportioned, although I've never been good at that sort of trigonometry.  But, not plausible at all.  A baby's arm not holding an apple.  Flesh-tones are off.  Looks plastic, or like a koteka, the tribal penis sheath that preserves Amazonian modesty.  An inexperienced lesbian might be fooled, as from Renaissance art, or the bas reliefs of Khajuraho.)  

I hope that's clear: no interest in either women with a constructed penis-like anatomical modification, or in the amputated organs of men who opt for this elective surgery.  Rather, my interest is like that in a medical picture of a prolapsed anus -- this can happen.  My curiosity is operational ... maybe that's not the best word -- but, might the doctors provide one of these "penises" with a foreskin, or alternatively with a circumcision scar?  Can it achieve an actual nitric oxide-induced erection?  Does viagra work on it?  (Seeing those images, the non-functionality is clear.)  Would it retract, as when it's cold -- would the "scrotum"? -- would the "testicles" retract in a fear-response?  I'd assume they put two little surgical-grade rubber ovoids in a little manufactured sac, as they do with castrated German shepherds.  So many open queries, for the questing mind.

Sup, I'm Chaz.  I used to be a cute little girl,

but I hated that.  So now I'm a man. 

I got my insurance to pay surgeons to make some junk for me, and now I have this tube of skin between my legs, like a thumb with no bone in it, and sort of behind it there's this hairless skin sac that used to be my vulva or whatever, with two silicone balls I call my balls.  They're huge.  They're held in place with mesh so they haven't caused a fistula yet, and you could hardly tell the difference, if you were a dude, but I wouldn't let you, cuz I don't let dudes near my balls.  I'm straight, see, and I dig chicks. And chicks dig me, at least the ones I git with, who don't really know what balls are like -- I mean the balls of other dudes.  

It's not hatred.  Befuddlement to a degree.  But it's disgust not with her, them, thhem, but with a depraved society that so utterly encourages a mutilation that briefly ameliorates the catastrophic mental illness of gender dysphoria or sexual dysmorphia.  There are cases where it's not about genitals, but, say, an arm.  The tranz solution would be to amputate the arm at the shoulder.  For all that it cuts as deep as can be, it's such a superficial response.  But lobotomies are still practiced -- I'm guessing mostly in, say, North Korea. 

With or without a dot, it's a 'j'.

Elliot is pro-abortion ... I think that's their locution -- oh, poor-choice. No, a typo, pro-chaz, d'oh, chew, well that was spellcheck ... but I clearly have a glitch in my brain about this. What's the matter with me.  She loves abortion is my point.  No, dang, HE loves abortion.  Well, I've lost my train of thought.  Why was I talking about abortion?  Something about uteruses, maybe.  Yes, that's it.  

She thinks that scalpels are the solution to unwanted organs and organisms, and feelings.

J

RG

Why is it always Hitler? Stalin was worse. So was Mao. But those are just the big names. I thought of Idi Amin, whom you probably don't even remember.

Maybe from SNL sketches.

He did love the medals, that Idi. I think I see a Vlasics Pickles jarlid over on his mid lower chest area. No, lower. Lower. At the bottom. We'll call it chest. Perhaps half a million killed. Hard to keep track. He died in 2003, in Jeddah. He was demented even back when he was in power, but he died utterly insane, from syphilitic degeneration.

There's Che. What, you thought he was heroic?

You shouldn't let your political opinions be formed by teeshirts. This is how I like to remember him:

But Che doesn't really rank up there with the big monsters. Not enough power. Sufficient evil, but not enough time.

The one I latched onto though was Pol Pot, whose face you wouldn't even recognize.


Not a bad looking man. An air of confidence will do that. You didn't know the face, but you'd heard the name. And you loved the movie. The Killing Fields. Pol Pot was the author, or rather the inspiration.

Allow me to introduce you to some of the denizens, if that's the right word ... no, it isn't. But here are some of the people whose bones cluttered those fields.

Look again. Look close. Closer. Make eye-contact. Linger.

I apologize for the poor quality of the pictures. They're from the '70s, but the circumstances must have been a tad constrained. All of these children were tortured to death.

What a world.


J

Whiteface

 Blackface is of course utterly outré.  And there's just no need for it.  Plenty of talented africans to fill appropriate roles.  And what is an appropriate role?  Any non-specific role -- you know, for a human being.  Also a specifically african role, like Harriet Tubman or MLK jr.  But what about Brownface, or Yellowface, or Whiteface?  I just don't see the need for a hispanic to play a  hispanic role.

Is that insensitive and racist of me?  Well, I have a right to be racist and insensitive. That's what freedom is -- the right -- not the necessity -- to be offensive.  Civility and good-breeding should daub up the cracks, and tolerance -- actual tolerance, for what is obnoxious -- will cover the rest.  It is pathetic that we need to remind them of this -- the opposite of freedom is coercion.

But to return to the matter.  I think it's racist to require that actors play only their own race. Pace the Huntington Post, with its blindside racism. Thus, the Globe Theatre's casting of a black youngster as  Romeo.  He's just too earnest and breathy and smiling to be pleasing, and the ahistoricity of it is jarring to me -- call me a bigot -- but to our modern sensibilities there's nothing necessary in Romeo's being white.  Same sort of casting in the most recent film of As You Like It.  And there's a Midsummer Night's Dream  with an african female.  We just have to redefine the meaning, when she is called "fair".  Fair enough.  Off hand  I don't recall any BBC attempt to cast an asian in a comparable speaking part.  Odd.

Point is, any nose-shape, any length of hair, any mere detail of physicality need have no impact on the role.  So, a dwarf as One of the  Gentlemen of Verona?  Nowadays there are some excellent little person actors.  No need to cast  them as weird dream visions, or as comedy props.  Once you're not an adolescent any more, the old funnyman references to midgets just isn't funny, man.  They're depending on the condition itself to be the joke.  Lazy hack stuff.  Like old-time radio with its dialect humor.  Italian and Irish and Jewish -- it was a SCREAM.  Deadly unfunny, to us.  Tastes change.  The essence of humor is surprise -- witness the hilarity to an infant of  peekaboo -- and the surprise of such differences as dialect has worn off.  Thank heaven.

And hispanic is such a mixed bag, that just about anyone could play it.  I'm about the only exception -- tall lanky blue-eyed blond.  Africans can play hispanic.  Asians can play hispanic.  Europeans can play hispanics.

And given the wide phenotype of american blacks, do we really truly need only ethnically african american actors to play such roles?  Well, as an affirmative action thing, sure, maybe.  It's not like there have been that many non-musician/criminal roles open to blacks.  Fortunately the audacity of hope has changed that forever.

But I do have two issues.  First, asians.  In olden days, honestly, when an asian actor was cast in a movie or early tv, it was more because they were asian, than because they were good actors.  You do know what I mean, hurt though your sensitivities may be.  Same with giants -- Richard Kiel was okay, but no great shakes as an actor.  Same  with little people -- they got the role because they fit the part physically.  Michael Dunn, as an obvious exception.  Sociological reasons for all of this -- lack of encouragement to even find out if you were a good actor, if a minority. Toshio Mori's "Japanese Hamlet" touches on this theme.

I suppose that's mostly in the past, now, although these Hollywood lefties are as racist as any clansman.  Good roles, you know, go to our  people.  Crossburning, or speech codes ... means of control.  (I know, I'm evil for saying it.  I should be stopped.  Opinioncrime (henceforth, opcrim) will not be tolerated.)

Of course, no one could have been less talented than Micky Rooney as Mr. whoever in Breakfast at Tiffany's. Any asian off the street who could find his mark and remember lines would have been as good, or as bad. You'd have thought someone in the studio would have seen that. But they still had blackface in the 50s, so, uh, there. Peter Lorre  could, uh, pass, as Mr. Moto.   But  Boris Karloff and Christopher Lee ... and Glen  Gordon -- as Fu Manchu? Ah, so.   It's a great character.  Unnecessary casting, though. Warner Oland?  He was a freakin swede.  John Wayne as Genghis Khan -- famously awesome.  Nuff said.

But my real question is really an answer to the PC lefty racists.  How have europeans been portrayed, in asian productions?  Well, originally, at first contact, we have this:

Slightly demonic.

It was hard to get the eyes right:

And the nose was a problem:

But it started to come together:

Hey, foxy lady -- come here often?

And by the time Commodore Perry hove to, we get the idea pretty well:

Recognizable.

But that was then and this is now.  I went online to see if there were any scholarly or journalistic studies of how europeans have fared in the past hundred years or so.  Crickets.  Something must exist, but not in the first few pages of google -- and how could anybody be expected to look further than that?  Be sensible.  Get a grip.

My deep expectation is that we -- and by we I mean normal people ... you know, tall lanky blue-eyed blonds -- have been portrayed by ethic asians, in asia.  Mostly.  I have only one bit of evidence for my intractably-firm opinion.  Something I saw a few years ago, to my delight.

Look familiar?

I will never be convinced but that this is meant to represent my people.  A few more inches in the nose, please.  Just think about pulling taffy, and you'll get it right.  Haw haw haw.

So the next time some lefty hack racemonger complains about, well, what else, it will be easy and useless to suggest that, yes, true, america sucks, but so does everywhere else.


J