The “Angry Foreigner” (very clever and terribly crude) exposes the horny, menopausal Social Justice Warriors (SJW) behind the fetish, calling this archetype a “Bohemian witch, tie-dye hag,” and worse. It is this horny SJW who’s lusting after young men.
I’ve made the point that it is the feel-goodism of do-goodsim itself that gives these idiots a sexual rush.
In any event, the horny SJW is in a position of power to (inadvertently, in my opinion) fuel the immigration, as she generally works for The State or for some related interest group that influences policy. She is particularly prone to hysteria.
At about 15:35 into the broadcast. European commenters are much wittier and daring than ours. Brighter. But this is definitely too risqué.
Gorgeous, entertainer, great dancer, great beauty, well-coordinated, fabulous at twerking, a glorified lap dance: Beyoncé is all those. A musician she is not.
At last, someone who is a musician calls it as it is. Carlos Santana stands firm (no apology tour, maestro), insisting that Beyoncé is no musician:
“With all respect to our sister Beyoncé,” he said, “Beyoncé is very beautiful to look at and it’s more like modeling kind of music—music to model a dress—she’s not a singer, singer, with all respect to her.”
What a lovely analogy! The girl models a song. All the video vixens act and model their “numbers.” Without the indispensable aid of the almighty Auto-Tune, Katy Perry would sound even more like a chipmunk. That’s fine. There’s a market for this. But please don’t call it music.
Santana stands against decades of pop-porn marketed as “music.” He knows that definitions matter. We need to know the difference between Santana’s playing and the two-chord wonders in most bands today.
And Santana’s not the best. This unknown neoclassical guitarist isn’t famous, but he’s far and away the superior player: exquisite compositions, stunning virtuosity (not sure Santana could play “Mushrooms of Fire.” It’s effing impossible. My fav. The short samples don’t upload in the Fire Fox browser. Try Microsoft Edge.)
In this column, “Are Liberals Turned-On By Turning The Other (Gluteus Maximus) Cheek?,” we revisit the curious case of the Norwegian politician, Karsten Nordal Hauken, “who … was raped by a Somalian asylum seeker.” Hauken has since come up with a penetrating observation about the ordeal: He might not have been raped after all, but simply subjected to “a cultural difference.”
A Norwegian male was raped by a Somali asylum seeker. The last term—Somali asylum seeker—is something of a contradiction like the first (Norwegian man). The asylum-seeker honorific is given to practically anyone from the Dark Continent or the Middle-East who washes up on Continental Europe’s shores.
The politician, Karsten Nordal Hauken, who says he’s heterosexual, went public with the details of his awful ordeal. “I was raped by a Somalian asylum seeker,” he wrote in a Norwegian newspaper. “My life fell into ruin.”
But it was Nordal Hauken, not his assailant, who proceeded to assault sensibilities with a confession that rivals the crime for reprehensibility. Hyperbole? I don’t think so.
As Hauken, a self-described left-wing feminist, tells it, he has been wracked by guilt because one night of passion has caused his Somali assailant to be returned to sender. After resting up in a Norwegian prison, the rapist is said to have been deported to Somalia. (I can find no evidence of said rapist’s whereabouts. Maybe he’s en route to the US?) Hauken laments being overcome by “a strong feeling of guilt and responsibility. I was the reason that he would not be in Norway anymore … .”