Why have I written so much about Jian Ghomeshi? Because he’s an irresistible grotesquerie, mainly, but also because he may be a sign of the times. The deference given him by the CBC and his victims is certainly consistent with the current zeitgeist of pathological striving. The CBC wanted the rock star, and the women he preyed upon wanted to ride his coattails to their own breakout successes in the big city.
Kevin Donovan has written a lot about Ghomeshi, too. He isn’t as polished a writer as I am, but he’s a much better journalist (duh; you didn’t imagine I’ve been to J-school, I should hope), and he gets paid for it, which sounds suspiciously similar to #WINNING! In addition to his Ghomeshi perv series, Donovan has contributed to the body of literature on Ghomeshi’s conflicts of interest. Serious, earnest question: was anyone at the CBC supervising Ghomeshi? Doesn’t an organization of its size have internal watchdogs who are responsible for keeping an eye on the ethics and competence of its hosts? A CBC spokesman interviewed by Donovan basically said that Q is just an entertainment program, so it doesn’t have ethical standards. Oh. Or, as an unqualified, quasi-Anglophone buddy of mine said during his “studies” at the La Salle MBA program, in reference to the proper response to the discovery a competitor’s private documents in a dumpster, “Why don’t we put it back in the dumpster? Too much ethics!”
As far as the, if I may, sexier elements of the Jian Ghomeshi iconoclasm are concerned, holy fucking shit, partner. I’m again vacillating between the idea of Ghomeshi as a preternaturally skilled predator and the idea of his being a high-functioning nutcase. Just the sheer amount of validation that he demanded sounds like the outbursts of a deeply troubled soul. The insecurity about his own celebrity, the therapy bear, the sudden changes in temper, the bizarre vocal affectations: there’s something seriously wrong with him, but I can’t decide whether it’s moral or mental and psychological. Maybe it’s some of both. He doesn’t seem to care much about right and wrong, but he also doesn’t sound like a dues-paying member of the reality-based community. I don’t really know what to make of his level of moral culpability. I may never know.
I do, however, know what to make of the moral culpability of the CBC for not pinning his feet to the ground. That was an epic sin of omission. It was a years-long expression of venality masquerading as incompetence (and, to be fair, probably aided by genuine incompetence) the likes of which we poors can only dream of equaling in our lives. Most of Ghomeshi’s victims only hoped to gain financially and professionally by tolerating him; the CBC, for its part, was making serious bank from its relationship with Ghomeshi at a time when there were multiple stories in quasi-private circulation indicating that he was seriously unhinged.
Not everyone, of course, can be Jian Ghomeshi. Some rising stars must settle for third-class accommodations on the gravy train. That said, on the plus side, there’s food service. Yes, “feeder porn” is a thing. It has something to do with being accused of stealing french fries from the to-go order placed by a group of subnormal bimbos, then being force-fed in rotation by all three of them during a four-way orgy. The poor bastard who falls into this trap gets to screw three women who are out of his league, but the women are shoving fast food into his mouth and they don’t know the rules of “rock, paper, scissors.” As the Eagles helpfully told us, every form of refuge has its price. Of course, they were only thinking of an old man’s trophy wife who kept a lover from her own generation on the side. Sad to say, the Boomers did not hit rock bottom; my peers are giving them stiff (heh) competition.
The male star of this particular production of feeder porn, one Jonathan Daniel Brown, has come to minor prominence recently as a sort of internet troll enforcer for the anti-GamerGate crowd. This means that he’s a professional male feminist who’s against professional MRA/PUA agitators who are against professional feminists and the crooked game review journalism that they suborn. If any of this has a material bearing on the real world, your guess is as good as mine. It does, however, seem to pay well enough to maintain its practitioners at a level somewhere above utter indigence. Flattering or sexing poobahs who are higher on the totem pole than oneself seems to be an industry standard for career development in these lines of work. Morally, it doesn’t sound all that different than the Jian Ghomeshi machine, but it’s a lot lower-rent. The dean of the anti-GamerGate opposition (a movement whose position seems to be one of grievous butthurt over the hateful things said about them by misogynists) seems to be Anita Sarkeesian, a former multilevel marketing promoter turned feminist grievance troll. If she sounds bad, realize that one of her most vigorous opponents is Roosh, the jet-setting PUA dandy who’s always complaining about how American women are a bunch of stuck-up bitches who have no style and don’t know how to properly cook for him.
This is how kids make a living these days. There’s a certain decadence about it all. A society can withstand a certain percentage of its young people devoting their careers to fraud and wankery, but there’s a threshold at which it becomes destabilizing, and this threshold drops as the bullshitters and wankers on the wrong side of the line become more prominent and influential. Tracy Clark-Forry, Anita Sarkeesian, Roissy, Roosh: these people have large audiences, especially given the quality of what they’re offering. And they’re just the tip of the jizzberg. They might be considered horsemen (yes, that includes women, too, you mewling boor) of the apocalypse. Just realize that they number many more than four, and that they’re mounted (heh) on massively hung horses. Their mounts (hey, that word again!) probably wouldn’t have to be forced to finish a taco and a triple order of fries.
Come to think of it, maybe I should do some Mountie porn. Because, you might want to put the burn unit on speed dial for this confession, but last night I royally mounted your Canadian mom out behind the police stables. I know, that was bad, but it wasn’t feeder porn. I can only see the Promised Land from this gutter.
Don’t let anyone tell you that there aren’t alternatives to common prostitution.