Personal lubricant does not, intuitively, feel like a controversial topic. What is there to discuss, really, about a semi-viscous substance designed to reduce friction during “human sex acts” (per the so-specific-it’s-a-little-weird Wikipedia definition)? But for a big chunk of the general population, the very existence of lube is a matter that’s ripe for Discourse. More bluntly: What’s with all the hang-ups that straight people seem to have about lube?
Sega is in an unexpectedly good place right now. The company was never on top of the industry; it’s been beaten by Nintendo, by Sony, by the decline of the arcade. It spent years nursing the wounds from its fall from grace in the ’90s, and through the ’00s and early ’10s could seemingly do little right.
‘Easy Rider’ was the 35mm celluloid Woodstock; it was the reckless hippy gypsies’ manifesto of endless asphalt ribbon. Of course it has dated, the fact that the road trip was funded by smuggling cocaine from Mexico has lost its romance, as has the whole – in retrospect grotesque – glorification of drugs. On the other hand, Peter Fonda’s film was the first to portray LSD as a horror show. Either way, people my age watched Fonda on the edge of our seats, wanting to be him; to feel that liberation through wind and speed across America’s boundless space, to be by that camp fire. But we didn’t want to be attacked by club-wielding rednecks, we didn’t want the bad trip, and certainly didn’t want to be gunned down on a lonely road.
In this way, Fonda was the cautionary tale in all that summer of peace and love. He took the 1960s dream out of the comfort zone, away from Haight Ashbury, Sunset Boulevard and Greenwich Village, out into real America – where it twisted into nightmare.
The Boys benefits from a strong cast, what had to have been a large budget, and a tone that confidently bounces between horror and humor. “What if superheroes were bad?” isn’t exactly a new idea, but this is one of the best mainstream takes on the idea I’ve ever seen.
Donald Trump reflects the dark truth of America’s true identity. Ana Kasparian breaks it down on TYT.
In the short essay, Hughes recounts an experience he had outside Savannah, Ga., in which he encountered a young person escaping from a chain gang. It was the summer of 1927 and Hughes was traveling by car with his friend and fellow writer, Zora Neale Hurston.
“That night, a strange thing happened,” Hughes writes. “After sundown, in the evening dusk, as we were nearing the city of Savannah, we noticed a dark figure waving at us frantically from the swamps at the side of the road.”
The story is the same, from the day-care panics to QAnon: It’s not really about the kids. It’s about fears of a changing social order.
The children were being sodomized in secret underground tunnels. Their captors drank blood in front of them and staged satanic ritual sacrifices. Sometimes the kids were filmed for pornographic purposes. In total, some several hundred children were subjected to this treatment. And it all happened in the middle of a safe neighborhood where crimes were not supposed to happen, let alone such unspeakable and horrific ones.
Not that anyone else witnessed the abuse. Nor was there any clear evidence that it was actually happening. But people were sure it was real. It made too much sense, they all agreed. “Everything fell into place,” one of them said.