Tag: McRapey

He can handle her

Rollo responds to a meme popular among some women:  “I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out
of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at
my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” 

That’s not a bad response.  But Shiunji Watanabe’s is arguably more tolerant, less judgmental, and thereby superior in every way.  Now, THERE is a man who could truly handle a woman at her worst.  And don’t forget, 95 percent of all the weirdness in the world comes out of Japan.  True science fact.

However, since we are considering the wit and wisdom of Marilyn Monroe, surely we would be wise to also contemplate the noted English philosophers collectively known as One Direction?

1.  A lack of consciousness of her beauty is what makes a woman beautiful.
2.  There is no woman less conscious of her beauty than a dead women.
3.  Therefore, dead women are the most beautiful.

ὅπερ ἔδει δεῖξαι.  Thereby justifying not only Mr. Watanabe, but the infamous Hoodoogurus.  Now, I can hear some of you wondering if presenting logically impeccable arguments for necrophilia are the right way to go about winning the upcoming SFWA election, but keep in mind that these are the very people who have created a global cottage industry out of thinly disguised necrophilia and bestiality, to say nothing of electing McRapey not once, not twice, but thrice.

An addition to my platform

[Redacted due to a violation of SFWA Forum policies, which forbids both quoting and paraphrasing of Forum discussions.  Also, I should mention that I was in error in assuming that a question on the Forum was directed at me; it was directed at another individual’s post that I did not see.  My apologies to the questioner.]

If I win I will form a committee consisting of one author from each major publisher, who will be charged with discussing the issue with their publisher and receiving either a confirmation or a denial that the publisher has engaged in “bestseller campaigns” via bulk-buying or other methods.  What will be done with that information will be up to the membership, but at least they will be informed as to the facts of the situation.

Anyhow, it struck me that the problem of the appearance of corruption in science fiction and fantasy might have an easy solution.  Since Tor and its authors appear to be inordinately focused on seeing their names on bestseller lists and being nominated for awards, why not give them exactly what they want?  The SFWA can give out two Best Novel awards, one for Best Novel and another for Best Tor Novel.  That way, all the Tor writers can take turns giving each other awards, which is pretty much what they already do anyhow, and all the other books published in the genre can be considered on their literary merits. This would likely result in the genre’s best writers, such as Neal Stephenson, Charles Stross, and China Mieville, finally having a reasonable chance of winning and thereby legitimizing the Nebula awards again.

The alternative is for the organization to continue to hand out Nebula awards for Best Science Fiction Novel to parodies of Regency romances and thereby looking increasingly insane, until McRapey finally wins one for his historic “reboot” of John Norman, Cisgenders of Gor.

As for the bestseller campaigns, I have a solution there too.  Because the NYT is desperate for cash, it can surely be convinced to create a new SFWA Bestsellers category to which the various SF/F publishers can subscribe and be charged a moderate subscription fee.  Different slots will be sold each month, and the publisher can place whatever title he wants each week in the slots he owns that month.  Everyone can become a “New York Times Bestselling author” whether their books come anywhere close to the top 100-selling books or not, and the publishers can slap “New York Times Bestseller” on every book they publish.  Everyone is happy, everyone wins!

Two brilliant solutions.  Frankly, I’ll be shocked if they don’t elect me dictator-for-life.  Also, given what I am told about the vital importance of these lists, I should appreciate it if every reference to me in the future includes “TwoThree-time Billboard Top 40 Recording Artist”.

On the radio

I was on Brian Greenberg’s Philadelphia radio show last night, where we talked all about McRapey, and how terribly persecuted I am, and how bravely and ingeniously I’ve handled being persecuted, and how my books aren’t derivative ripoffs AT ALL.  It was a very courageous performance by me and I feel much better about myself now that my feelings have been affirmed by a sympathetic media figure.

You’re going to want to hear it, because I also gave some important hints about my totally all-original next book!  That’s right, you can squee now!  Here’s a hint: my inspiration rhymes with Why Zack Does Improv and it’s a “reboot” of a certain science fiction classic, only instead of predicting the collapse of the Galactic Empire, Mary Spelltown proves mathematically that by switching over to a matriarchal system of rule by lesbian Empresses of color, the Empire will become even more vibrant and fabulous and fair, thanks to the invisible guidance of a secret dance club of mutant, mind-reading, mixed-race homosexuals that is founded by the brilliant, (and woman!) hard scientist.

And here is the best part.  They communicate by farting!  That’s right.  You may as well pencil in my 2014 Nebula Award for Best Tor Novel right now!

Everything has fallen into place

In music, as in all artistic endeavors, one often waits for inspiration to strike.  Sometimes one is inspired by a sudden desire to create something beautiful.  Sometimes, one is inspired to share a particular emotion or experience.  Sometimes, one is inspired to challenge the status quo.  And sometimes, one is inspired to mindlessly imitate works by superior and more original artists over and over again.  But rather than doing a “reboot” of Thriller, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, or a dubstep remix of “You Light Up My Life”, the Pink Rabbit Posse happened to find inspiration in an interview on Canadian radio during which the interviewee inexplicably announced himself, again, to be inclined towards engaging in a certain activity that is quite rightly denounced by all decent and law-abiding Canadian citizens.

Hence Everything is Falling Into Place (Groove Kittens mix) by Rapey McRaperson and the Pink Rabbit Posse.  McRapey really did an amazing job on the vocals; he nailed them in just one take before rounding up a few local college girls to help with the backing vocals.  This is the first single for the Pink Rabbit Posse, which is presently hard at work on a techno opera based on the works of Isaac Asimov and his hitherto unknown career as a flasher.

Mailvox: “McRapey and me”

EGA writes to describe how l’affaire McRapey has caused him to rethink his opinion of the theory of Game, particularly as it concerns the socio-sexual hierarchy:

I have read your blog for some time. Your posts at Black Gate during the fluffle started by Leo Grin’s descriptive essay on the “bankrupt nihilism” of the current wave of epic fantasy were my start. You made me laugh and cringe while arguing with R. Scott Bakker, and I enjoyed your posts on economics, about which I admittedly know very little and found many of your posts challenging, yet enlightening.

I read your blog mostly for the economics posts, and enjoy much of what you write on other subjects. I never exactly agreed with your writing on a few subjects. I am very skeptical about much of what is written about “game,” about human biodiversity and a few other subjects. In fact, I didn’t think that your breakdown of the sexual market place hierarchies synced, at all, with my own experiences or observations. And while I do enjoy some of what is written in the manosphere, Heartiste and others set me on edge.

So when the posts on John Scalzi started, I cringed worse than I ever did when you had a similar argument with Mr. Bakker. And I wanted for Scalzi to win, at least in some fashion. I was the one who commented on his blog, trying to point out how much he was only proving you correct. Every chance he gets, he manages to do almost as you (and I) might predict, almost as if he were following a script. You know because of your experience and observation. I know how to predict him because, honestly, I am him.

I didn’t want him to lose that fight because I didn’t want to believe that what you wrote about the “gamma male” was true, which is perhaps indicative of how weak my intellectual opposition to the idea was in the first place. You wrote that it is a good thing to lose well. I don’t know how to do that. I am that guy and I hate myself for it. You wrote that it is a good thing to use knowledge you share to improve your lot, but I don’t even know how to start with that. Few things I have ever read have ever scared me or caused me to question what I’m doing with myself, but I am lost here. Hence, I’m writing to you, asking for any advice on what to do with myself now that I’m ready to admit that I’ve been looking at the whole subject of male-female relations, intellectual argument and epistemic pursuit hopelessly backwards.

P.S. I recall that in my exchanges with Scalzi, I claimed that you were
enjoying an echo chamber of sycophants. This was unfair and untrue. I
apologize for that.

His apology is accepted, of course.  Unlike the rabbit warrens, VP has never been an echo chamber and even the Dread Ilk cannot be reasonably described as “followers”, much less “sycophants”.  And EGA’s ability to admit that he was wrong is the first step forward in the journey upon which he is about to engage, in consciously developing his self-respect and improving his status as a social creature in a social hierarchy.

How does one learn to lose well?  One puts oneself in competitive situations where one is going to lose, regularly and frequently, until the sting of defeat disappears and the fear of failure is gone.  That is the point at which progress towards becoming a true competitor begins.  It is also why non-athletes are disproportionately represented among the gamma population; few athletes reach 10 years of age without experiencing a considerable amount of defeat.  I may have been a NCAA D1 sprinter who played for a #1 ranked soccer team in high school, but I was also a member of a church basketball team that lost its first game by 47 points.  (Note: if you’re a white kid without a jump shot who is going to play in a church basketball league, a Lutheran league is your best bet.  Baptist leagues, not so much.)

I’ve written before about my favorite kids team.  I was their coach for all three years they were in the scuola calcio, from 6-8.  The first year, we had one 7 year old and we were winless, losing most of our games by double digits.  It was brutal, but by the end of the season, there were no more tears and losing didn’t faze them.  The second year, they started to become competitive, winning games here and there, although they were still beaten badly by the two big teams attached to the professional clubs.  But the third year, they went undefeated, and I have never seen a more fearless and ruthlessly competitive team play any sport at any level.  It was like watching a squad of sharks dispassionately ripping apart everything that crossed their path.  It was one long glorious bloodbath.

Before the first game, some of the parents complained that I was only bringing the 8 year olds and the best seven year olds to the tournament.  So, I brought everyone and started all the little kids.  We were down 3-0 within three minutes, two of the little ones had been hurt and had to come out of the game, (they weren’t hurt badly, they’d just been hit by the ball), and my playmaker cried out, in genuine anguish, “what are you doing?”

“I’m making a point,” I said, loudly enough for the problematic parents to hear.  Their ringleader promptly stepped forward and explained that the point had been taken, so I signaled the ref and mass substituted the entire team.  The boys cheered as they ran onto the field, visibly alarming the other team, and went after them with all the gleeful fury of weasels in a hen house.  We won that game by four goals. 

In the championship game of the big tournament, it was tied 1-1 at halftime.  I knew we would win, and even told a Brazilian acquaintance whose son played for the other team as much, because my kids knew how to lose and didn’t fear it, while some of their opponents had quite literally never lost a game in their lives.  I knew that if the other team scored next, my kids would try all the harder, whereas if we scored, they would quit.  Sure enough, we scored the next goal, every head on the other side went down, fingers started pointing, and their voices started sounding accusatory and panic-stricken.  We ended up winning 5-1, beating the very same team that had beaten us 14-0 two years before.  More importantly, we had beaten a club that had beaten ours for literally generations.

One defender’s father was openly in tears at the end of the game.  I asked him what was wrong and he shook his head and smiled.  He said: “They always beat my grandfather.  They always beat me.  But my son, he has defeated them!”

The best thing was that the competitive culture the kids created was, for a short time, passed down to the younger kids.  We went undefeated the next year too; four of my boys ended up being recruited by the top pro program, which was three more than in the previous 20 years.  And their pride in having been a part of that team was such that when the big club played against our club in subsequent years, they refused to take the field.  In one star striker’s case, he even put on his old training jacket over his uniform and sat on our bench for the entire game.

They weren’t any better than the kids from the best programs, in fact, they were mostly smaller, slower, and less skilled.  Two of our three biggest players were rejects who didn’t make either of the elite teams.  But they were fearless, so perfectly fearless, that it was a joy to watch them and a privilege to coach them.  I quit coaching a few years later when I found I couldn’t replicate their success to the same extent.  I definitely played a role in their success, but I now believe it was mostly the result of the tempering they had received during that season of unending defeat.  Looking back, I realize that my three most valuable players were, ironically enough, the least talented; the miniscule defensive rock who couldn’t kick the ball ten yards, but reliably brought down attackers twice his height, the single-minded lupolino who couldn’t do anything with the ball but put it in the back of the net, and the emotional leader of the team, who had two left feet and berated his own failures more ferociously than anyone else’s.

They were magnificent.  I’ve had my share of victories in athletics, as an individual and as part of a team, in a variety of sports, but I couldn’t forget those kids if I tried.  If you ask me what is a champion, I think first of them.

Just as the seeds of future failure are often sown in success that comes too easily due to good fortune, the seeds of future success are planted in our failures.  Don’t be afraid of them.  Admit failure and attempt to understand it, so that you can avoid making the same mistakes in the future.  Even when you can’t reasonably expect to succeed, you can try to fail for a different reason.

Mailvox: comparative ROI

Phoenician is pleased with his work that inspired an earlier post:

Well, that’s VD huffing and puffing followed by 160 comments – due to a few off-the-cuff sentences.  Best ROI ever. Keep dancing, fools.

So close, and yet so far.  This is an fascinating statement from a guy who asserts that the Gamma Rabbit is !WINNING! by raising $60,000 due to a few contemptuous references to “Rapey McRaperson”.  Now, it seems to me that $60,000 in wasted cash and multiple mainstream media reports would trump 160 whole comments, but then, one can hardly blame the little rabbit for getting excited and concluding that fiver must mean win.

Mailvox: the charity war

Phoenician presents a fascinatingly ironic defense of McRapey:

Your attempt to smear him is a joke, and you’re a joke, you twerp – and what you don’t get is now you’re an even bigger joke known to many, many people who had no clue you existed.  Scalzi has pwned you. You might as well drop your pants, paint your ass red, and bend over.

So he can do what, gently massage my gluteal muscles?  Surely Phoenician doesn’t mean to suggest McRapey would, you know, sexually assault someone!  It appears that Mr. Scalzi’s fans share his public fascination with “cranial-rectal insertions”, “assbags”, and rape.  Now, perhaps I am a joke, an even bigger joke than before, and yet I can’t help but notice that the Dread Ilk appear to be the only ones laughing.  Phoenician, for one, appears to be a good deal more angry than amused.

Here is the question:  If l’affaire McRapey is going so fabulously well for the Gamma Rabbit, why is it only his fans who are urging me to stop?  My readers don’t appear to mind a daily update on the latest gamma antics and one would certainly hate to see the poor little gay black children shortchanged.  Does Phoenician simply hate little gay black girls?  I am absolutely committed to ensuring that they get every last penny of the $50,000$60,000 now pledged to them; I do wish there was an official counter or something to which I could link just to keep track.  In additional to the charitable imperative, I note that not only has Mr. Scalzi never once asked me to stop referring to him as McRapey, but has repeatedly professed his delight at all the attention he is receiving.

I, for one, would be devastated to see the anticipated recipients of such charitable largesse deprived of 95% of what they are expecting.  I expect that even if Mr. Scalzi no longer enjoys the attention, he would be loathe to make any request that would cause them to lose out on $57,000 in donations.  If he genuinely wished me to stop, then surely it would behoove him to simply ask me to do so rather than engage in all of these theatrics.

But what if Phoenician is correct and it is the Gamma Rabbit’s approach that is proving to be the more effective?  In that case, then logic clearly dictates we must follow the man’s charitable example.  Here’s what I’m going to do: From now until the end of 2013 (and
backdating to January 1st), each time John “I am a rapist” Scalzi forces himself on a woman “without their consent or desire and then batter(s) them sexually”, I’m going to put $5 into a pot. At the
end of the year, I’m going to tally it up.  All the money, up to $1,000,
will be donated to Victoria’s Secret, a stripper named Sunshine, a restaurant called The Black Cat, and the Sexual Assault Response Network of Central Ohio.

Nothing is going to stop Gamma Rabbit from doing what rabbits do.  But at least the thought of all that money going to causes the Chief Rabbit of the Whatever warren hates will enrage him to much the same extent that the idea of FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS pledged to Emily, rain, Rainbow Pride, and the Colored People infuriates me.

Rabbit logic

One attempts to move on, but they keep pulling one back in.  And honestly, how can anyone not enjoy watching their tiny little rabbit minds so furiously at work?

staranise says:    Asking for “debate” confuses me simply because it presupposes that it would accomplish something different from the current situation, in which any parties concerned have an unlimited personal platform to put forward their ideas and reasoning. It supposes that the parties are unfamiliar with each other’s positions and reasoning. This isn’t true, so there’s not much new to say. Nothing significant would change. Ah. Except, of course, RSHD would get happy pantsfeelings from being paid attention to.  The call for debate is the same as standing outside Scalzi’s house with a boombox over one’s head. It’s not going to work! Turn off the Peter Gabriel. Go home.

John Scalzi says:    Guys, I think we can give the topic of a debate a rest.

MMAH says:    Oh, and look–front page at Salon this morning, too.

Yes, I’ve noticed many things confuse them.  What is particularly funny about this little dialogue is that I never challenged McRapey to a debate.  The challenge came from Ed Trimnell, who happens to be a critic of mine, and it would be Ed, not me, who is metaphorically standing outside in the rain.

But to return to the rabbit logic, apparently I would get “happy pantsfeelings” from Ed’s call being answered and thereby having to spend a modicum of effort to kick around McRapey in front of a few thousand blog readers, but was devastated by the brilliant way in which McRapey and Ensign Wesley banded together in order to draw attention to me in the Guardian, the BBC, and Salon, among others.

It’s rather like watching them try to add 2+2+2 and coming up with the answer “purple badger”.

Salon on troll-beating

Apparently McRapey is stabbing me in the eye.  Or something:

 Here’s how you beat the trolls: Turn their hatred into cash for charities they despise.

That’s what science-fiction writer John Scalzi
has done — and in the process, he’s raised more than $50,000 in pledges
for Emily’s List and the Human Rights Campaign, specially chosen to
earn the ire of a blogger Scalzi calls “my racist sexist homophobic
dipshit.”

Every time Scalzi’s online nemesis — a former WorldNetDaily columnist who writes under the name Vox Day – used his name or called someone by a derogatory nickname, Scalzi set aside $5 for charity
— and his readers pitched in, too, raising tens of thousands for
charities designed to uplift women, minorities and gays. Rape, Abuse and
Incest National Network and the NAACP also benefit; Scalzi capped his
own donation at $1,000 and his readers took over from there.

“The
whole point of this is not to intimidate him to stop speaking. You will
not get this guy to stop speaking. He sees this as a contest, as a
battle of wills,” said Scalzi, in an interview with Salon. Giving money
to charities like RAINN and the NAACP is, he says, “an extra stab in the
eye.”

I am, of course, frothing with rage at the unspeakable generosity being shown by the dastardly Rabbit People.  Oh, how the anger courses through my body, from clenched fist to clenched fist!  First Emily’s List, then RAINN?  It’s like a one-two punch!

Whatever shall I do?

Very important international news

Insightful investigative reporting on the part of The Guardian reveals that John “I am a rapist” Scalzi lied when he claimed that he was enjoying the attention of what he hitherto described as an adorable “mancrush”:

John Scalzi is the author of several books, including the Old Man’s War series and Redshirts, published in the States by Tor and the UK by Gollancz. He’s also the president of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. Fed up of being constantly targeted on his website by one particular individual and his followers, Scalzi decided to take action, pledging US$5 every time “the Racist Sexist Homophobic Dipshit in question posts an entry on his site in which he uses my name (or one of his adorable nicknames for me)”.

Scalzi put a ceiling on his “troll tip jar” of US$1,000, figuring that gave his bête noir 200 opportunities to abuse him over the coming year, and said he’d give the cash to four charities: RAINN, America’s largest anti-sexual violence organization; Emily’s List, dedicated to electing pro-choice Democratic women to office; the Human Rights Campaign, which works for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Equal Rights; and NAACP: America’s oldest and largest civil rights organization.

A novel enough way to tackle the trolls, for sure, but what happened next was somewhat astonishing: Scalzi’s friends, Twitter followers and readers asked if they could jump in with pledges too. Many of his friends are high-profile authors and industry types – Will Wheaton, the actor who played Wesley Crusher in TV’s Star Trek: The Next Generation, and a writer in his own right, was one of many who promised to match Scalzi’s US$1,000 pledge.

By the early hours of this morning, UK time, the pledges for Scalzi’s chosen charities had grown to US$50,000.

One of the triggers for the trolling of Scalzi seems to be a satirical blogpost he wrote in October last year attacking conservative politicians for their line on abortion control. It took the form of an open letter to them, in which he adopted the persona of a rapist….

However, the Guardian doesn’t seem to have gotten the story quite right.  The reporter appears to be under the impression that Mr. Scalzi did not enjoy the attention, when we were repeatedly informed, in writing, that he did.  When was it, the inquiring mind wants to know, that “the “McRapey” comments became too much”?  And why were we never informed?

The headline is certainly interesting: “Troll’s comments prompt author to pledge charity donation for every insult.”

John Scalzi’s name is an insult?  I suppose that’s true enough in light of his antics.  But just to set a few things straight.

  1. I have never trolled or sock-puppeted Whatever.  I am not sure of the exact number, but excluding the 30 or so comments on the TIA Big Idea post, I believe I have posted fewer than 10 comments there since 2005.
  2. I have never encouraged anyone to visit Whatever, to leave comments there, or to troll there.  I have linked to various posts at Whatever; a look through the blog archives shows a grand total of 58 references since 2005.
  3. I do not wish to have what passes for John Scalzi’s stature in the science fiction field.  If I had any desire to write unoriginal and derivative takes on Heinlein, Dick, Piper, and Star Trek, I would do so.  As should be obvious from my 854-page epic fantasy novel, my sights are aimed elsewhere.
  4. Since when does “constantly targeted” mean “criticized 26 times in eight years?”  Of the 11,327 posts here on Vox Popoli, precisely 58 refer to John Scalzi in any way.  Of the 58 references, 32 of them are not even critical.
  5. It was really reprehensible of The Guardian to omit to report that in addition to raising $50,000 for the noble cause of not quoting, criticizing, or even mentioning John Scalzi, Mr. Scalzi also commissioned the painting of a dancing pink rabbit.

What can we conclude from all of this?  Sheldon Cooper was right.  McRapey isn’t the problem.  We have to fight the real enemy!  Ensign Wesley must die.die.die!  Now, to be fair to the Guardian, it is entirely possible that the reporter, David Barnett, attempted to ask me for a comment before writing his story, but was unable to reach me as I was much too busy laughing.

UPDATE: A sometime critic of mine who has challenged me to a debate with John Scalzi adds his thoughts on the increasingly hilarious matter:

As Helen Smith demonstrated, John Scalzi likes easy and ideologically safe (politically correct) targets. This rule applies on those rare occasions when he responds to criticism, as well. Scalzi realizes that the best way to smear an entire group is to cherry-pick its worst members, and then present them as the representative norm. I noted earlier how he cherry-picks anecdotal cases of aberrant male behavior to build the case that women require his advocacy against sexism. In a similar manner, Scalzi strategically chooses which critics he responds to.

He would not respond to Helen Smith, as this would place him in the difficult situation of having a woman expose his chicanery and call his bluff. Nor does he respond even to Vox Day—who swings back and forth between moderate positions and more extreme ones. But Vox Day frightens John Scalzi not because he is sometimes extreme, but because he is consistently articulate and often insightful. Scalzi does not want real dissent; he wants either sycophants, or babbling cardboard opponents whom he can casually demolish. The more likely a critic is to debunk his methods, the less likely John is to engage him or her in open debate.

That is inarguably true, but on the other hand, John does commission rabbit paintings and solicit the burning of other people’s money in lieu of debate, which is considerably more amusing than mere rational discourse.  I certainly have no complaints.  I’m simply enjoying the dancing rabbits.

UPDATE II:  This should be amusing.  I’ve already done two little interviews with publications in the USA and Canada doing stories on the affair.  Is there no end to the madness?  How is he so masterfully pulling the strings of the global media?