It’s funny, but I think that there has been an acceptance of vulgar language in our society. People routinely drop words like “bitch” or “asshole” as if those words are no big deal. Even fuck” and “motherfucker” are common enough to have lost a lot of the impact they might once have had.
But there is one word that still seems to elicit shock when it is uttered.
CUNT.
For reasons I do not understand, the C-word is apparently one of the last profanities that still freaks people out. It’s the verbal equivalent of an atom bomb, and can silence a room when it is used to refer to a women.
I’m a man, so some will question my right to assess the hurtfulness of a word, but I’ve given this a lot of consideration simply because it seems that the outrage over being called a cunt often exceeds that of other similar profanities. It’s as if people just decided that it’s somehow worse than other vulgar words.
There is understandable anger over the use of vulgar words for female genitalia. Sexism is alive and well in our culture, and women have been and still are oppressed because of their gender. I can understand the anger that many women have when they hear a word like “pussy” used to indicate a state of weakness.
But there’s a difference with the word “cunt.” When a woman is called a cunt, it usually seems to be because she is powerful.
The following is from a very good article on this subject from the website Jezebel by Katie J.M. Baker:
“As Laurie Penny argues, “there are no other truly empowering words for the female genitalia” besides the c-word. “Cunt” isn’t scientific, it’s erotic. “Cunt” doesn’t refer to a baby cat or a treasure chest. It conveys purposeful sexual power, not submission. It’s mature. Women get called cunts when they reject sexual advances and assert themselves in the workplace; in other words, when they don’t play nice.
People who use ethnic or racial slurs propagate long-held systems of oppression. But “cunt” doesn’t have the same type of larger, disturbing historical context. Slate ran an etymology explainer post yesterday explaining how the word went from street name-suitable in the 13th century (“Gropecuntelane.” Nice.) to vulgar (Francis Grose’s 1785 A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue defines “cunt” as “a nasty name for a nasty thing”) to scoring the #1 slot in a 2000 BBC ranking of the most offensive words of all time.
Seriously? Why do we let “cunt” retain so much negative power? The only possible explanation is because so many people still think the worst crime a woman can commit is to be unapologetically sexual.
I can understand the argument that calling a woman a “cunt” is akin to telling her that is all she is: a brainless hole that needs to be filled, etc. But since so many politicians and comedians and cops and college kids seem to think that anyway, the solution isn’t to be afraid of the word and therefore scared to admit we have cunts — and are capable of acting like cunts, if the situation calls for it.”
At one point, use of the word seemed rare in America, and “bitch” was generally used more commonly. But now, “bitch” has been assimilated into popular culture and speech to the point of it losing most impact. Seeing some middle classed mom wearing a “Super Bitch” shirt at Walmart illustrates its fall from power as both a curse word, and as an indicator of a female that doesn’t submit to any old authority. It’s basically the equivalent of some elderly man in a “Grumpy Old Fart” shirt these days, and since men are often referred to as “bitches” now, it’s not exclusively aimed at women. The same can be said for “cunt” really.
But when used derogatorily towards a woman or group of women, “cunt” still feels like an indicator of power, not weakness, to me. I think that by embracing that attachment as a power word, women would rob the creeps that use it to insult them of a lot of their power. You know what scares sexist men? Women that don’t back down and don’t let things like unmentionable words upset them.
I also considered the other commonly used slang terms for female genitalia, many of which are used as insults. “Twat,” “pussy” and “snatch” all sound worse than “cunt” to me. One indicates a small cat, the others just sound gross. Cunt sounds warm and pleasant by comparison. Even “vagina” sounds horrible to my ears. It’s just an ugly sounding word. It’s also Roman slang for a sword sheath. Sort of the equivalent of “pussy” somehow becoming the preferred scientific term for lady parts after a couple of thousand years.
I’m sure I’m getting written off of some of my female friend’s Christmas card lists for writing this, because as a man how dare I take a position on the use of a bad word for female genitalia? But all I’m saying is that allowing the word to have such negative power really just arms the sexist assholes that are most likely to use it to try to “put a woman in her place.”
Besides, I kind of relish the idea of seeing middle aged women wearing “Bitchy Cunt” t-shirts at the local mall in a few years without the cops getting called on them.
Couldn’t think of a good photo to use for this article, so here’s a picture of mt beloved dog Bitsy… Who really wants to reclaim “Bitch” for her canine crowd
In the late 80’s, I was seventeen years old and freshly relocated from a podunk high school in a small town to a huge new school in the middle of Houston. I didn’t really know anyone there yet, and felt like an alien in a strange new world.
I still had good friends from my old school, but only saw them on weekends. I was a weird looking kid into weird music (mostly hardcore punk rock and thrash metal at the time) and while that had been enough to mark me as an outcast at my old school, nobody seemed to care at all in the new one.
I was like most boys my age, trying to find a comfortable spot in my own skin, trying to rebel a little bit, and trying to figure out exactly who I was. So I was basically a disaster as a teenager, a total mess. Pretty typical I’m sure.
Nevertheless, I’m sure I looked scary to some folks. I was a large, long-haired guy that wore Slayer t-shirts and leather jackets, maybe occasionally even sporting a pentagram necklace or something vaguely sinister that I’d picked up at a weird music culture boutique somewhere along the line. In a world of mainstream late 80’s high school kids, I was still one of the weirder ones.
But I was pretty much just a shy kid that would’ve liked to have made more friends. Maybe a little scary looking, but very harmless despite my attraction to dark music and horror movies.
There was a problem brewing however. In the 80’s there was a social phenomena called “The Satanic Panic” going in full force, and it was a witch hunt that claimed many innocent victims.
Somehow, a large number of extreme fundamentalist Christians, crazy people, and money-grubbing con men convinced enough people and law enforcement organizations that it was reasonable to believe that there was widespread Satanic Ritual Abuse happening around the country.
Many of those people thought any kid wearing a concert shirt or playing Dungeons and Dragons might be an agent of Satan, leading a double life as a murderous cultist waiting to sacrifice innocent Christian classmates to dark and unholy pagan gods.
In retrospect, the entire phenomenon seems ridiculous. Modern people made insane claims that, under even light scrutiny would’ve been proven impossible, and yet they were often assumed to be fact by the media and by some law enforcement agencies. Such an environment of hysteria, where outlandish claims were taken entirely seriously, and lives were ruined as a result? Yeah, the 1980’s had a seriously dark side to them. It wasn’t unseen devils or people killing because of their occult beliefs that made the decade that way. If anything it was the primitive religious folks who demanded that their simplistic view of good and evil be used to persecute others.
So back to me and my awkward teenage rebellion. I stood out, and I guess that in an environment where certain people actually thought Ozzy Osbourne was a Satanist, going to school wearing a Venom shirt was probably a good way to get the wrong type of attention.
After a few months at the new school I got it, and good.
I was sitting at my desk in History class when it happened. A stern looking toad of a man came in, whispered something to the teacher, and walked over to me, demanding that I follow him out of class. Turned out he was an assistant principal that I’d never seen. I hadn’t been at the school long enough to really know too much about its inner workings or faculty.
Principal McToad led me to his office, and I was met with quite an ominous scene. The head principal of the entire school, my father, and a campus cop of some kind were all gathered there. It looked like I was at my own funeral.
On the principal’s desk was the entire contents of my locker. They were picking through the pile like it was a crime scene, and any piece might be the vital evidence they were searching for. At the time I was drawing designs for a friend’s small skateboard company, so I had a couple of sketchbooks filled with typically sinister looking drawings. The types of things one might expect to see on a 1980’s skateboard – skulls, monsters, things of that nature.
Long story short, there was absolutely nothing criminal found, since despite appearances I was a pretty boring non-criminal kid. I hadn’t even snuck a beer at a party at that point in time. I mostly went to concerts with my equally non criminal friends, and hung out at arcades. We looked a little weird, and we listened to scary music and watched a lot of horror movies, but none of us was secretly killing babies under the full moon in exchange for magical powers.
In fact, I can’t speak for my other friends, but I personally didn’t believe in the reality of a Devil.
Since a giant sack of heroin or human skulls wasn’t found in the locker raid, I was suspended from school and then totally transferred to another school across town. It was all very traumatic at the time, and it screwed up my relationships with my parents. There was nothing fun about it at all. The upside was that the school I got sent to was some sort of magnet for weird punk rock and heavy metal kids, and I met some people that I’m still very close friends with today.
It turned out that the reason I had been taken out of class was that a religious cheerleader that I’d never met or talked to felt threatened by me. I guess she thought I looked scary. At that point of time in the 1980’s that’s really all it took to end up on the wrong side of things.
I didn’t even know her name.
So when I hear people today talking about “Satanic Ritual Murder” or how Satanists really DO run some evil network of baby sacrificing Hell factories I may laugh a little at the obvious bullshit they’re spewing, but I’m always mindful of just how dangerous that kind of bullshit can be.
When I see Internet fools tossing around crazy conspiracy theories that involve the Illuminati or Lizard People or just the old classic evil Satanists, I never forget that all it takes for complete paranoid fantasy to ruin a few lives is for enough people to believe that the patently unbelievable might be true. That Ronnie James Dio was a devil worshiper, that listening to Judas Priest albums makes teens kill themselves, that kids wearing black and listening to Metallica are the likely suspects when someone is murdered, that Dungeons and Dragons unleashes REAL black magic, and that demons actually empower every album that has scary lyrical content…there are people that believe these ridiculous fairy tales, and they are dangerous. Not the things they fear and rail against, but them. THEY are dangerous. We should never forget that.
I know people that are, for lack of a more specific name, actual black magicians of one type or another. You know what? The vast majority of them are no more criminal than the average Christian. In a lot of cases, far less so. Sure, there is the occasional story of some usually deranged, drug-addled loser that’s read “The Satanic Bible” and claims to be a Satanist that does something illegal, but nine times out of ten, that person isn’t affiliated with any real occult organization. They are often people that used to be Christians, and who still believe the mythology that they grew up believing in. They just switched sides because they hated their parents or something. A lot of the time they’ll find their way back into the fold once they’ve been sentenced to prison and feel the need for forgiveness. It’s all a very simple view of good and evil, of light and darkness.
But the ridiculous things that the types of religious people who think certain music is “Evil” believe about the occult and its connection to the world? It’s all bullshit. The actual devil worshipers out there are not interested in using Twisted Sister to snare souls for Satan, and guys like Marilyn Manson are trying to get paid and get laid. It’s very doubtful that they are trying to lead kids to eternal damnation, or even believe in it to begin with.
Most organized occult groups are not actively battling Christianity or trying to pave the path for Satan to take over the world. Those are the kinds of fantasies that certain kinds of religious people have. Where would be the evidence of these activities? In a D&D manual? In the liner notes to a Motley Crue album? Or all in the too bored minds of people with a simple and silly view of the world? I’ll let you guess which one I think is closest to the truth.
Two weeks ago I got one of those calls people dread getting. My younger brother was dead.
Before shock set in, I started to get additional calls as word got around. The are a lot of cliches about what happens to a person when someone close dies, but I’m not sure how I feel about those things.
I don’t tend to grieve openly. Nor do I go through the various stages of grief that we’re supposed to all go through. I have no problem accepting when someone dies. I don’t go through denial, nor do I get angry at them for leaving me alone. There is no guide book for this kind of thing, and quite frankly anyone that’s trying to tell you what you are feeling, or should be feeling, doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
My brother and I were not very similar to one another. While we lived near each other, we were not the types of siblings that saw eye to eye on everything, and we didn’t call each other on a weekly basis. Some might see “distance” between us, but that’s not true either. We were just cut from different cloth, enjoyed different things.
I mostly have been deconstructing our youth together. We lived out in the country, and for a lot of our childhoods, we were each others’ only playmates. I remember catching my brother playing with matches when he was three and I was five. I still feel bad about ratting him out.
That’s the weirdest part of this for me. Even though we never called each other with any regularity, now I CAN’T. I’ll never hear his voice again.
So, like everyone else that loved him, I’m left with a ragged hole in my life. Although it’s not a savage wound that feels like I will also die, it feels like it will always be there.
One thing his death has reminded me is that every day I wake up is a lucky one, and is not guaranteed. It’s also a reminder to live life – not to avoid doing things I want to because they carry some risk, but to embrace them because that risk is part of life. Cowering because death is around the corner is no way to go through this world.
One cliche worth observing is that nothing in life is certain, and spending time with those we love is important. It may be the only thing that is, and it’s not something to be pushed aside until later. Because “later” might never come.
Anyway, I probably would not normally share something like this so openly, but my brother was worth it.
I love you, James. Some day we’ll play by the creek again.
I remember being an adolescent in the very early 80’s, and it seemed that a lot of the adults around me were just waiting for some insidious activity to trigger criminal and perhaps Satanic behavior from me and my friends. The fact was, we were neither resourceful enough or driven towards anti social behavior enough to get lured into anything particularly awful when we were that young – The criminal/dangerous stuff would have to wait a few years.
And yet, our parents and assorted other adult authority figures sure thought that everything we liked dong was going to cause us to become violent junkies worshiping dark gods.
Comic books, Role Playing Games, Horror Movies… The list of moral threats was a long one. And of course there were video games… Particularly arcade games.
Like everything from rock and roll to comic books, parents have always seemed to distrust whatever it is their children are excited about, and in the late 70’s and early 80’s, a lot of parents were scared of the then new arcade games that were fast sweeping the nation in popularity.
Here is a sweet look back, at the dumb stuff that scaredy cat parents were freaked out about way back then:
There have been popular songs with creepy or spooky lyrics since the beginning of rock music. Sure, there are entire genres of rock music that are intentionally dark and scary, but when you filter out songs by shock rockers, heavy metal bands, and gothic groups, there are still plenty of songs that seem a little “Off” in disturbing ways.
Here are a few of those I thought of off the top of my head, and I will probably add more as time goes on:
Wildfire – Michael Martin Murphey (1975)
This gentle sounding 70’s soft rock tune is a weird one for sure. The lyrics:
“She comes down from Yellow Mountain On a dark, flat land she rides On a pony she named Wildfire With a whirlwind by her side On a cold Nebraska night
Oh, they say she died one winter When there came a killing frost And the pony she named Wildfire Busted down it’s stall In a blizzard he was lost
She ran calling Wildfire [x3] By the dark of the moon I planted But there came an early snow There’s been a hoot-owl howling by my window now For six nights in a row She’s coming for me, I know And on Wildfire we’re both gonna go
We’ll be riding Wildfire [x3]
On Wildfire we’re gonna ride Gonna leave sodbustin’ behind Get these hard times right on out of our minds Riding Wildfire”
If I read this right, the song is about some spooky ass ghost and her ghost pony, coming down off of a mountain in Nebraska somewhere, to claim the soul of a hard working farmer, who seems to long for the sweet embrace of death. That’s some heavy shit right there. Great song to listen to right before bed.
2. D.O.A. – Bloodrock. (1971)
Ok, this is one example of a song that was written by a band that was probably trying to be spooky. I include it here because as far as I know, it was Bloodrock’s only truly scary song, and the band itself is still a relatively obscure one that scored a hit with this creepy oddity. Being a Texas band, a lot of radio stations will play this tune around Halloween in my neck of the woods.
The Lyrics:
“I remember, we were flying low, And hit something in the air
Laying here, looking at the ceiling, Someone lays a sheet across my chest. Something warm is flowing down my fingers Pain is flowing all through my back.
I try to move my arm and there’s no feeling And when I look, I see there’s nothing there. A face beside me stopped the totally bleeding The girl I knew has such a distant stare.
I remember, we were flying a-low, And hit something in the air.
Then I look straight at the attendant, His face was pale as it could be He bends and whispers something softly, He said “there’s no chance for me”.
I remember, we were flying a-low, And hit something in the air.
Life is flowing out my body, Pain is flowing out with my blood. The sheets are red and moist where I’m lying God in Heaven, teach me how to die.
I remember, we were flying a-low, And hit something in the air.”
Yeah… I’ll remember that stuff about flying low and hitting something in the air the next time I board a plane. Thanks Bloodrock!
3. Obsession – Siouxie and the Banshees (1982)
This is another case where some people might cry foul and complain that Siouxie and the Banshees was a gothic band, so it makes sense that their songs are creepy, but the band carved out their own identity and was never really a cookie cutter goth band. They don’t have a lot of songs specifically about death or vampires, or any of the cornier themes that many gothic bands seemed to gravitate towards.
No, what makes this song creepy, is that it describes a person obsessed with another. Anyone that used to date within their local gothic scene would probably find a lot to relate to and to be creeped out by.
The lyrics:
“Do you hear this, breath it’s an obsessive breath Can you feel this beat? It’s an obsessive heart beat Waiting to be joined with its obsession
I close my eyes but I can’t sleep The thin membrane can’t veil The branded picture of you
The signs and signals show, the traffic lights say, go Again you baffle me, pretending not to see, oh, me
I broke into your room, I broke down in my room Touched your belongings there and left a lock of my hair Another sign for you
You screamed into my face, get the hell out of my place Another sign for me, can you forgive me? For not understanding your ways
You know sometimes you take it all too far Then I remember it’s a game between you and me A divine test for us two
It’s all in my imagination Yes they even say that our mission Is only my obsession
Do you hear this breath? It’s an oppressive breath Suffocating in the poison of your obsession Can you feel this beat? It’s a possessive beat Your pulse stops in the claws of your obsession
The signs and signals show, the traffic lights say, go Again you baffle me pretending not to see, oh, me”
Yeah… shiver.
4. I Can’t Stand Losing You – The Police (1978)
The Police started out as a relatively edgy band, but there’s something incongruent about the mostly non threatening and happy image the band had, and this dark song about some guy about to kill himself to guilt trip his recent ex.
The Lyrics:
“I’ve called you so many times today And I guess it’s all true what your girl-friends say That you don’t ever want to see me again And your brother’s gonna kill me and he’s six feet ten
I guess you’d call it cowardice But I’m not prepared to go on like this
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing you
I can’t stand losing you I can’t stand losing you I can’t stand losing you
I see you sent my letters back And my L.P. records and they’re all scratched I can’t see the point in another day When nobody listens to a word I say
You can call it lack of confidence But to carry on living doesn’t make no sense
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I guess this is our last goodbye And you don’t care, so I won’t cry And you’ll be sorry when I’m dead And all this guilt will be on your head
I guess you’d call it suicide But I’m too full to swallow my pride
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand losing
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t stand Can’t stand losing you”
Yep… That’s some pretty dark subject matter there lost in that mountain of “Can’t” , and it’s particularly dark all wrapped up in the context of a catchy pop song.
5. I Don’t Like Mondays – The Boomtown Rats (1979)
Here’s another innocent sounding song, after all who DOES like Mondays?
The Lyrics:
“The silicon chip inside her head Gets switched to overload. And nobody’s gonna go to school today, She’s going to make them stay at home. And daddy doesn’t understand it, He always said she was as good as gold. And he can see no reason ‘Cause there are no reasons What reason do you need to be shown?
Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. I want to shoot The whole day down.
The telex machine is kept so clean As it types to a waiting world. And mother feels so shocked, Father’s world is rocked, And their thoughts turn to Their own little girl. Sweet 16 ain’t so peachy keen, No, it ain’t so neat to admit defeat. They can see no reasons ‘Cause there are no reasons What reason do you need to be shown?
Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. I want to shoot The whole day down.
All the playing’s stopped in the playground now She wants to play with her toys a while. And school’s out early and soon we’ll be learning And the lesson today is how to die. And then the bullhorn crackles, And the captain crackles, With the problems and the how’s and why’s. And he can see no reasons ‘Cause there are no reasons What reason do you need to die?
Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. Tell me why? I don’t like Mondays. I want to shoot The whole day down.”
Hmmm… A few weird lyrics about killing and shooting in this pop tune. What’s up with that?
The song is about the 1979 school shooting committed by a teenager named Brenda Anne Spencer in San Diego. She managed to kill two men and wound eight students and Alice officer before being stopped.
When asked what her murderous motivation had been Spencer replied:
“I don’t like. Mondays. This livens up the day.”
6. Brown Sugar – The Rolling Stones (1971)
My mom used to dance her ass off to this song when I was growing up, and it’s a pretty good tune. I could never understand the lyrics, and I’m sure my mom couldn’t either, because if she had, she might have chosen a different song to dance to.
The Lyrics:
“Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields Sold in a market down in New Orleans Scarred old slaver knows he’s doing alright Hear him with the women just around midnight
Brown sugar How come you taste so good? Brown sugar Just like a young girl should
Drums beating, cold English blood runs hot Lady of the house wonderin’ where it’s gonna stop House boy knows that he’s doing alright You shoulda heard him just around midnight
Brown sugar How come you taste so good, now? Brown sugar Just like a young girl should, now
Get along, brown sugar How come you taste so good, baby? Got me feelin’ now, brown sugar Just like a black girl should
I bet your mama was a tent show queen Had all the boyfriends at sweet sixteen I’m no schoolboy but I know what I like You shoulda heard me just around midnight
Brown sugar How come you taste so good, baby? Brown sugar Just like a young girl should, yeah
I said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah How come you, how come you taste so good? Yeah, yeah, yeah Just like a, just like a black girl should Yeah, yeah, yeah”
Ah, the realization that for most of your life you’ve been jamming to a song that seems to be about a scary old slave owner raping his female slaves. Priceless.
That’s a nice Segway into my next creepy picks, which are of a similar theme.
7. You’re Sixteen, You’re Beautiful, and You’re Mine – Johnny Burnette (1960)
Ok, I’ll admit that this one is more of contextual creepiness based on the passage of time. I hear this song on the radio at work about once a day, and it’s happy sounding delivery is not the problem. It hails from an era where most of the people listening to rock and roll were teenagers, and in 1960, it was still relatively common for girls to get married at that age. The song gains extra creep points from the Ringo Starr cover version.
The Lyrics:
“you come on like a dream, peaches and cream lips like strawberry wine you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful and you’re mine
you’re all ribbons and curls, ooh what a girl eyes that sparkle and shine you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful and you’re mine
you’re my baby, you’re my pet we fell in love on the night we met you touched my hand, my heart went pop ooh, when we kissed i could not stop
you walked out of my dreams and into my arms now you’re my angel divine you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful and you’re mine
you’re my baby, you’re my pet we fell in love on the night we met you touched my hand, my heart went pop ooh, when we kissed i could not stop
you walked out of my dreams, and into my car now you’re my angel divine you’re sixteen, you’re beautiful, and you’re mine”
Seems pretty innocent, and I guess it was. But Johnny Burnette sounds like an older guy to me, and there’s something distasteful when I hear this song with modern ears and sensibilities. It’s like I almost hear an additional line in there:
You’re sixteen, you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. Now get in the van and take off your dress.”
8. Going Blind – KISS (1974)
I like a few of KISS’s older songs. They’re not high art or anything, but a few are catchy rock tunes, and sometimes that’s enough.
But that doesn’t change the fact that KISS is now comprised of elderly men that dress like clowns and sing about sex with teenagers, making “Going Blind” hit a little close to the mark than is pleasant.
The Lyrics:
“And I know how it should be There is nothing more for you and I Some are young and some are free But I think I’m goin’ blind
‘Cause I think I’m goin’ blind And I know how it should be, yeah
Little lady, if only [Incomprehensible] You’re so young and so much different than I And I know how it’s to be Can’t you see I’m goin’ blind?
‘Cause I think I’m goin’ blind And I know how it should be, yeah
‘Cause I think I’m goin’ blind And I know how it should be, yeah
Little lady, can’t you see? You’re so young and so much different than I I’m ninety-three, you’re sixteen Can’t you see I’m goin’ blind?
‘Cause I think I’m goin’ blind And I know how it should be, yeah”
The 1970’s were a… “Unique” decade, and rock stars in their 20’s and 30’s writing songs about sex with teenaged girls was commonplace. Jimmy Page was knowingly fucking a 13 year old at one point, and I’m sure that kind of thing was commonplace.
Still, “Going Blind” is just a creepy song of many creepy ones by KISS. It’s made creepier still since they still perform it live now that they are all hitting their golden years.
And I guess that is a fitting note to end on – Old men wearing clown paint, singing about molesting teenaged girls.
This Sinister Zombie Probably Wishes That Ice Cream Was a Dick.
Way Back in the 1980’s, during the Satanic Panic, various con men tried to scare folks into believing that pretty much EVERYTHING was “Satanic”, particularly anything kids enjoyed. Phil Phillips was just one of those joyless creeps, and wrote a series of books that found the Devil hiding in kids toys. His book “Turmoil in the Toybox” is a classic of ridiculous for profit fear mongering, and is well worth tracking down for comedic purposes.
In this video documentary, Phillips opines that E.T. and Star Wars are both Satanic, and the Smurfs are zombie gay guys or something. The Thundercats and He-Man are also evil agents of Lucifer, as is Rainbow Brite.
It’s easy to ridicule this stuff, but we shouldn’t forget that Phillips and people like him were also responsible for contributing to an environment of fear that caused many innocent people to have their lives ruined by the outlandish accusations of “Satanic Ritual Abuse”. I’m sure Phillips was responsible for many unfun Christmas mornings.
Trailer Park ninja 