A wave of national protests began in 2014 in Ferguson, Missouri, after a white cop fatally shot Mike Brown, an unarmed African-American teenager. The protests focused on the police brutality, extortion and murders targeting predominantly black communities. It was followed by a stomach-turning series of widely-covered extrajudicial assassinations by law enforcement officers, many captured on video and spread through social media. Markedly few of the officers faced any legal consequences for their actions. A Department of Justice investigation found that the Ferguson PD was using outrageous fines, questionable arrests and a pattern of violence and intimidation to squeeze the local population for revenue. Subsequent reporting suggested this conduct is not limited to the St. Louis suburbs, but is a nationwide pandemic. The demand for justice, equality, and the recognition that Black Lives Matter spread rapidly. But just as fast a counter-narrative was propagated; a vicious, uncharitable rot of grotesque stereotypes. This poisonous bile was distilled by the major organs of American media. Talking heads sprayed each new viral snuff video with a suggestion that the unarmed and unconvicted dead was a ‘thug,’ a newly favored dysphemism.
It was a symptom of a growing dyspeptic rump in the American body politic; a strain of reactionary ideas that seemed, at least for a little while, to have gone into remission. Instead it revealed itself as a boil, swollen with resentment. Dysphemisms police how we talk about systems of exploitation. They can infect movements for solidarity, create perpetrators where there are none, or launder injustice as part of the natural order. The abscess of hate that surfaced was built up over decades injecting dysphemisms peddled by cable news and AM radio quacks. It is a bitter malpractice that continues to this day, while the only beneficiaries of the treatment are those who profit off society’s ills.
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A couple months ago, someone taught me newlyweds used to plant sycamore trees on both sides of a walkway leading to their house, then join them together to symbolize two becoming one. Today I saw it for the first time. (by frique)
Thank you for coming to my baby’s gender reveal party! I can’t wait to share the precious moment when I find out whether this bundle of joy I’m carrying is a little ballerina or a little truck driver. I am just so excited to talk about my future child’s genitalia with 30 of my closest friends and acquaintances!
You know me and my hubs Andy. We’re obsessed with being extra and we’re never going to settle for just an ordinary gender reveal party. We’ve had a cake prepared that’s either pink or blue, based on whether our child is a Little Man or a Little Miss. First, I will cut into the cake and show a slice. If it’s a Boy, the cake will be blue, because blue is Boy! Blue is color of Boy things, like the sky, which is where the Air Force lives. Pink is color of girl, because girl things like flowers and laundry mistake.
We’re not stopping there. After the cake, Andy is going to use a crossbow to shoot 12 wild rabbits that he bought at a store where you get food for large snakes. Each guest will then take one of the dying rabbits into her hands and look under the tail. If the dead rabbit is (was) a girl, our baby will be a little fashionista. If the rabbit has a little penis? Our lovebug will grow up to be a doctor or other type of Man!
This is a party for adults, so feel free to get a little naughty. There’s nothing that makes me feel like making fun dirty jokes then thinking about my unborn child’s Boy or Girl pubic mound! We’re going to play a twist on “pin the tail on the donkey,” and you’ll either stick penises or vaginas on a picture of my ultrasound. We’ll be using glue that’s made from either Boy or Girl racehorses. This grown-up game will be made even more fun by the fact that we will be eating gourmet ice cream cones that are either flavored like Boy (scotch with a fun spicy touch of hot sauce) or Girl (nothing). Can’t wait to meet our Little Heartbreaker or our Little Slut!
I never knew this before getting preggo, but there are a lot of rules for Girl or Boy! There are many things that are Boy. Boy is Blue, dog, numbers, fireman (even though fireman Red, it is Boy), hair (coarse), shape of ball like soccer ball, bricks, glass, buildings, car, sharp. Girl is Pink, cat, hair (soft), shape of square like purse, skin, boat, dry. I know it’s a lot to remember but look, I don’t make the rules! (The person that make the rules is Boy.)
Andy and I love our traditional gender roles. He makes the money and cuts down the trees because Boy, and I am House for baby. Andy loves to make me eat vitamins so the House will be nice for Baby. Each vitamin is like a gift I give my baby’s House! I can’t wait to see what job my baby have. If Boy, maybe Racecar Scientist, Ambulance Lifter, or Priest Batman. If Girl, only job option is House or Lesbian.
Even I don’t know what our baby is! When ultrasound technician which was weirdly Girl told Andy what gender our baby was, I told him I didn’t want to know. Andy was able to keep a stoic face when Girl Technician told him Boy or Other One! He was completely deadpan except for one tiny body language thing, where his mouth said “now our baby can’t be Blacksmith.” Andy is so good at keeping surprises! I hope our little bundle of joy looks just like him when grows up to be Ice Fisherman Man.
Thank you all for sharing this day with us. I can’t wait to start this family with my sweet Andy. We will be the perfect Dad and House. But just remember: I will love my baby no matter what, whether it decides to be Lumberjack Surgeon or just normal Umbrella Girl On Salt Container. In the end, it does not matter! Whether Boy or Girl, my baby can do anything, like wear a pant or do computer. After all, Boy or Girl, my baby still White.
Reading this was like having a slowly building heart attack
