(These are rough times, and I’m going to use some very rough language; I think the world would be a better place if we all just got comfortable with this language — and what it conveys — but I understand that people come to what I write with their own histories, attitudes, and feelings, and some might be offended by my words; this posting is not suitable for them)
I live in a world where my government has declared, in effect, that anyone other than a straight white cis-gender Christian male (a swhiccm, for short) in a position of significance holds that position only because of efforts to advance diversity, equity, and inclusion; we non-swhiccms are inferior by nature, members of various untouchable castes (and therefore we should all be dismissed from these positions). That fratbro hounddog Bret Kavanaugh serves as a SCOTUS justice because of his extraordinary legal acumen, yeah right, while the distinguished jurist Ketanji Brown Jackson sits on the SCOTUS bench only because KBJ is a black women.
Getting personal … I have an adjunct professor position at Stanford, the story goes, only because I am a DEI poster boy, and I’m a DEI poster boy because I’m a pussy-boy gay / queer / faggot who’s highly visible, one who somehow got ahead in linguistics and mouths off on the net, willing to talk about almost anything. (On pussy-boyhood: I really do have a t-shirt that says FUCK ME LIKE THE WHORE I AM — I don’t wear it in public only because I believe you shouldn’t make offers you’re not in a position to deliver on, and though I’m ready at any moment to explain the physical and emotional satisfactions I used to derive from getting fucked, I’m a very old, sick, and disabled fat guy, and I haven’t been, um, up to the act for decades, though it lives on vividly, every day, in my sexual imagination. Daily happy balls!)
Now. If I’m going to be tarred with the DEI label, I’m going to wear it like a badge of honor. I’m going to flag DEI the way the hanky code advertised preferences in gay sex acts: I’m hot to DEI your fuckin’ socks off, buddy!
So, of course, I shopped for a t-shirt.
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