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Revolution And Pussy: The Sam Kriss Story

"A motto for the young leftist: revolution and pussy." -Nicholas Gomez Davila

Ever since the giant flesh bomb of Harvey Weinstein's sexual harassment allegations went off in the middle of downtown Hollywood a specter has begun haunting, not only Hollywood but the entire Left-Liberal establishment itself. It's hard to say what exactly was the actual cause of this tsunami, as the Weinstein allegations, while certainly shocking, were surprising to no one with even the slightest bit of inside knowledge of how Hollywood actually works. After all, one of the lesser explored sides of the Weinstein scandal has been the question of where exactly the other women are, i.e. the women who gladly slept with Weinstein in exchange for career advancement. Who are these women and what should we think of them? Are their actions those of true feminists, who wouldn't let outmoded and Puritan sexual ethics of a hegemonic patriarchy prevent them from chasing their dreams? Are they victims, who simply lacked the agency to turn down such a persistent and powerful man? Or are they enablers and traitors, whores who willingly betrayed the solidarity and trust of their fellow actresses in exchange for an unearned "leg up" over the competition? Such questions will, wisely, be left unanswered by the Left-Liberal Press Corps for the foreseeable future. Moral panic sells much better than self-reflection.

And a true Moral Panic we have. Something about the details of Weinstein's potted plant seduction techniques seems to have set the gears of a million female hamster wheels spinning into overdrive. The murmurs of "me too" can be faintly heard almost everywhere now. Thousands of brave women are now coming forward with their stories of survival: Annemarie Tender barely survived a 2014 Golden Globes Ass Grab at the eager hands of known sexual predator Ben Affleck, while Jennifer Lawrence (who, rumor has it, may have benefitted just a little from Weinstein's peculiar career promotion scheme) revealed that she had been "forced," like an Ottoman slave, to do a nude line up with other, thinner actresses and then told that she should "lose 15 pounds." Almost as if she had willfully entered into an industry where a woman's looks take precedence over all other qualities or something.

Of course, more than a few of the women who have come forward have told truly compelling stories which very well may be both true and actually constitute legitimate sexual assault. These stories are genuinely tragic if only someone could have devised some sort of social paradigm in which women are structurally protected from the predations of sexually aggressive men, but alas, we live on this side of paradise and that's a discussion for another time.

What concerns us here, though, is that this moral panic has not confined itself solely to the sleazy hotel rooms of the Hollywood elite but has now raised its specter in other haunts of ideological Left-Liberalism. Such as its most recent haunt: in the fellowship of the "Dirtbag Left."

The "Dirtbags" (also known as Ironycels) managed to launch a remarkably successful political insurgency against the democratic party machine during the 2016 campaign of Bernie Sanders. Focused around online hubs of Left Wing dissent like Jacobin, The Baffler and the incredibly popular podcast "Chapo Trap House" (which as of the writing of this article is receiving an impressive $86,664/month in Patreon contributions) they tend to focus more on traditional leftist concepts of class struggle and economic inequality while downplaying the role of intersectional identity politics. A market which has already been firmly monopolized by the Neoliberal, Clintonite wing of the Democratic party, a wing they openly detest.

A big part of the "charm" of the Dirtbags has always been their magical ability to combine impressive vulgarity with quick-witted humor and relatively intellectually honest, Left-wing political analysis. But this strange brew, oddly enough, seems to bring with it a certain kind of left-wing Machismo. Or at least this seems to be the image they, consciously or not, wish to project. Chapo Co-host Felix Biederman trains MMA and writes articles about what it's actually like to get punched in the face. Brace Belden, a Chapo regular, became internet famous for flying to Syria to "fight" for the Socialist YPG (the word "fight" in this sentence being code for "mostly guarding outhouses.") And Matt Christman is, well... just kinda fat, but in an edgy and cool Leftist way. Thus, the overall impression one gets of the Dirtbag brand is of a group of individuals who are dedicated to self-consciously cultivating an image of revolutionary machismo. The ultimate goal of which is the same as most other male endeavors: the eager spreading of female legs.

Revolution and Pussy

Such a noble goal has a long history in Left Wing circles, ironically making it quite "traditional" in a certain sense. Leon Trotsky was famous for his numerous extramarital affairs, including one with the then married artist and famous unibrow icon Frida Kahlo. Likewise for his partner in the Russian Revolution Vladimir Lenin. Fidel Castro was a noted enthusiast of the many beautiful women of the island of Cuba. While the French existentialist and noted Stalinist Jean-Paul Satre (who resembled nothing if not a gigantic and misshapen human millipede) used his notoriety to attract women who would otherwise be repulsed by his genuine physical hideousness. Karl Marx himself was a notorious philanderer, even fathering a child with his housekeeper at one point.

"Revolution and Pussy" are the two things always on the mind of every young (and old) Leftist, and not always in that order either. This was always a part of the deal, an important part of the "benefit package" if you will of the chic revolutionary. The entire point of deconstructing traditional bourgeois sexual norms, norms which Leftist revolutionaries have always been so keen to ridicule, was not to ensure genuine equality for their female comrades but rather to secure a generous sexual bounty of newly "liberated" females for themselves. This always was, and always will be the case. In fairness, you really can't fault them too much for this underhanded gambit, as men have always sought gimmicks of one kind or another to increase their value in the sexual marketplace. The gimmick of Entrepreneurial Podcast Communism is just another one of these, no different than becoming an indie rock vocalist or getting a full sleeve of tattoos and getting a job as a bartender.

This state of affairs would be all well and good for the Dirtbags if it wasn't for the ideological monsters they themselves have spent years attempting, without success, to dodge and placate. While the Dirtbags adhere to an ideology which is ostensibly class-based and traditionally Marxist, they haven't been able to truly find a way to circumvent the increasingly rabid and insane wave of intersectional grievance feminism. A feminism which identifies, a priori, "cis white males" like themselves as inherent enemies and oppressors.

The Dirtbags have long been accused of cryptic misogyny and of holding "problematic opinions" by the gender studies brigade but have been always seemed to find a way to wiggle their way out of it. Until recently that is when they made the mistake of tweeting out the following:

Now the interesting thing about this tweet is that, on some level, it is actually kind of funny. The joke being, that while Liberals have been in quite a haste to tear down monuments to long-dead Confederate soldiers, they have left living serial rapist Bill Cosby's star on the Hollywood walk of fame completely unmolested. The joke, naturally, was lost on the grievance studies brigade who immediately decried it and demanded recompense in the form of participation in a public Maoist Struggle session for the wayward chuds, who quickly submitted:

But this amusing episode was nothing compared to what happened, barely a week later, to Chapo ally Sam Kriss. Kriss has become something of an icon amongst the brunchtime bolshevik set that comprises the Dirtbag's primary audience, writing for outlets like The Guardian, Jacobin, The Baffler, Slate and other, similarly shitty media outlets. Kriss's brand was established by mixing obscure Neo-Marxist critiques of Neoliberalism with a peculiar kind of rhetorical cruelty towards those he deems beneath him (i.e. everyone) all while positioning himself as a peerless champion of women and minorities, "the oppressed." A cruelty which, as we shall see, is rooted primarily in the quasi-sexual satisfaction he takes in humiliating others:

The Heterosexist Hellscape

In a tell-all facebook post one of Kriss's rotating cum receptacles recalled a harrowing experience she had with Kriss. Here are a few of the more amusing highlights:

I confided in close friends about what happened at the time, but really hoped to never have to publicly recount the humiliating and degrading experiences I was dealt by Sam Kriss. I met Sam ‘on Twitter’. I invited him to a talk at my alma mater. Unfortunately, tickets sold out too soon and Sam suggested instead we go for a drink. I chose a pub near where I was living at the time...

Sam began forcing his tongue into my mouth. I said to him, jokingly, but also seriously, “I don’t think we should kiss here - we might make the old folk jealous of our youthful affections”. Sam replied, “Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, I say!” pressing his face on mine again. Someone directly behind us (it was tightly packed, the audience sat on school chairs, someone’s knees touching my back, shoulder-to-shoulder) said, “eurgh” and I pushed Sam away saying, “I’m not really a fan of PDAs”.

There was more general grabbing, pressing his mouth against mine and even putting his hand on my breasts. I grimaced, put up with the kissing, but freaked out at the breast touching, pulling away. How is touching someone’s breasts in public normal?! Are women in pubs sex show fodder for onlookers?! I wish I’d caused a scene, but I was so embarrassed at this car crash of an evening and felt worried what Sam might do. I got up to go to the loo, Sam smacking my backside, hard, as I walked past. I felt as if trapped in some sort of hyper heterosexist hellscape.

When I returned I sat away from him. Then the various manoeuvres to get me to go home with him began. I want to relay precisely how he first suggested this because it demonstrates a willingness to laud wealth (and thus power). Sam said, “so do you want to come back to mine to see my massive house?”
“Don’t you mean your parents massive house?” “Yeah, but when they die I’ll inherit it”

It's all so delicious, isn't it? The aggressive groping, the creepiness, the desperation to get laid at any price, the attempt to employ his inherited wealth as a kind of aphrodisiac. Especially in light of the fact that Kriss has for years, been an obnoxious and self-righteous advocate for both Communism and Feminism. A noble defender of women who have been marginalized and oppressed by the insidious basement dwelling "failsons" whose resentment and "inceldom" causes them to lash out impotently against empowered females.

A certain amount of gloating is in order here, as the beauty of the entire situation is multifaceted and, like a fine wine, should be properly sniffed and savored before finally being greedily gulped down. Arguably the best and most obvious irony of the situation is that the entire Left-Liberal establishment is now being eaten alive by a beast of its own creation. For years they championed women's rights (in particular the right for women to seamlessly murder their own children) while bemoaning the "Rape culture" of the Western Capitalist World. But the operating assumption of the progressive male feminist was always that this rape culture was perpetuated by skeezy frat boys slipping roofies into their date's beer pong cups at frat parties or Patrick Bateman look-alikes on Wallstreet sexually harassing their secretaries. Ever the true narcissists, our male feminists couldn't imagine that their own sexual misadventures could ever be construed in a similar light. After all, they were enlightened, progressive men of the 21st century who weren't intimidated by confident and sexually empowered women. Unlike the sad, sexually repressed conservatives which they mocked with glee, they were sexually adventurous lotharios who weren't bound to outmoded reactionary ideas of female purity or even of monogamy (itself a hopelessly outmoded idea.) Respect for women could be maintained in almost any erotic circumstance, whether receiving fellatio in the filthy bathroom of a dive bar after splitting a line of coke with a podcast groupie, penetrating a stranger at a burning man orgy yurt, or pleasuring a tinder hookup on the couch while their husband (who is ok with the open relationship) quietly reads a book in the next room.

But as the earnest men of the Left are now finding out, when you begin to tell women that they are an eternal victim class that has been perpetually preyed upon and exploited by a nebulous but all-powerful patriarchy and that this exploitation frequently takes the form of unwanted sexual advances (which can mean almost any act that makes a woman feel awkward or uncomfortable) eventually some of them are going to actually believe it. And when they do the former perks of being a podcast revolutionary may be severely curtailed. The motto "Revolution and pussy" will have to be altered to simply: "Revolution and woman respecting." A tedious fate if there ever was one.

Kriss's accuser went public barely 5 days ago and already he has been shamed, fired from his gig with Vice, suspended from the labor party and had an English MP propose that he should immediately be sent to prison for sexual assault. If Kriss weren't a contemptible piece of Neo-Marxist shit who would gladly sign off on the death warrants of the majority of the people reading this article, one would almost be tempted to feel sorry for the man. Thankfully, given his status, we are under no such obligation and can gleefully warm ourselves next to the dying embers of his journalistic career.

The good news doesn't stop merely with the implosion of the career of a single podcast communist though. Since Kriss's public shaming, at least two more progressive media icons have met similar fates. Lockharte Steele, the editorial director of Vox.com, has been fired from his job for sexual harassment. While Rupert Myers, another noted male feminist, who was accused by another female journalist of making unwanted and aggressive sexual advances, as she described it:

I was very clear about not being romantically or sexually interested in him, once the subject was raised. I suggested we be mates. He said “I’ve got enough mates, I’d rather fuck you” and forced himself on me outside a pub in Fitzrovia.

Needless to say, Rupert is no longer writing for Vice, or anything other media outlet for that matter.

But these three amigos are merely the tip of the sexual assault iceberg, as according to Buzzfeed a list of "Shitty, Media Men" has already begun circulating in which a list of sexual media predators has been cultivated whose crimes include everything from "flirting" to "weird lunch dates" to actual rape.

This is all a truly glorious turn of events for those of us on the right, who now will be able to comfortably watch as the left drags its most capable and talented propagandists and saints through the mud in a mad drive to realize the insane principle of full equality (sameness) between the sexes. The hysterical crusade has reached such a fevered pitch that some of them have even begun to figuratively exhume the dead to face the kangaroo court of progressive public opinion:

The Future They Wanted

Thus, the Feminist Left is now beginning to fracture and come apart under the weight of its own ideological absurdities. Absurdities which are so deeply believed by so many that they are simply not psychologically capable of dealing with the terrible truth which has begun to manifest before them like some sort of inexplicable cosmic horror. Namely, that the vast majority of their male intellectual heroes, comrades, co-workers, and bosses did it all, in the words of the great American poet Fred Durst, "for the nookie."

This revelation comes as a crushing blow to the armies of idealistic young female writers and journalists who staff so many of the publications inhabited by the men whose names appear on the Shitty Media Men List. Women like Anglea Nagle, the great Leftist chronicler of the Alt-Right, who has long decried the pervasive Misogyny, Nihilism and Sadism she has observed amongst the online New Right. She's not entirely wrong in this assessment, of course, but Nagle’s tragedy is that while she is able to see obvious manifestations of this Nihilism and Misogyny among masses of anonymous online trolls she can’t (or rather, won’t) see the same attributes, which are just as obvious, among her own Leftist compatriots.

In her haste to expose and condemn the new surging tide of “Misogyny,” she has forgotten her Lenin, in particular, his famous question: “ Who Stands To Gain?”: “In politics, it is not so important who directly advocates particular views. What is important is who stands to gain from these views, proposals, measures.”

And who gains from the current state of contemporary Feminist discourse? Certainly not the filthy nihilist basement dwellers for whom Nagle has such seething contempt. Rather the primary beneficiaries are the Harvey Weinsteins and Sam Kriss’s of the world, spiritually malformed and physically misshapen flesh sacks who, if they had lived under a more traditional and patriarchal paradigm, would have seen their sexual prospects significantly curtailed. The same goes for the vast majority of the “male feminists” who staff the tentacles of the Liberal Media industrial complex. The destruction of the old system of patriarchy was to their benefit, and in its place they have merely set up a new, inverted one. So much for liberation!

Remember Nagle, this was the world you wanted.

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