Thomas Wictor

One of the benefits of age is experience. Younger people often think that things are worse than they really are. I’m here to tell you that I saw this over thirty years ago. What’s old is new again.

If you can’t follow what’s happening, I’ll explain: Social justice warriors carried out another fake hate non-crime at the University of Missouri (Mizzou). The accusation is that someone drew a swastika with his own feces on the wall of a restroom. No evidence of this swastika was produced, but the students and faculty at Mizzou went all funny in the head, and president Timothy Wolfe resigned.

The police were called in—even though drawing a swastika in your own feces isn’t a crime—and a group calling itself @ConcernedStudent1950 began issuing demands. It organized an outdoor protest, accompanied by an infantile request.

We ask for no media in the parameters so the place where people live, fellowship, & sleep can be protected from twisted insincere narratives.

We’ll overlook the fact that the fake feces-swastika is a “twisted insincere narrative.” What matters is that barring the press from attending outdoor events at college campuses in Missouri is illegal. Photographer Tim Tai—the man in the video above—could file multiple assault charges if he wanted.

The Missouri University Police Department (MUPD), for their part, sent out an unconstitutional e-mail.

This is actually wonderful. All it does in ensure that the school and its police department will be tied up in court for the next decade. And no male uses the word “hurtful.” All over the US, real police officers are laughing their heads off at the pretend-cops of the MUPD.

Here’s the MUPD (“Moop-dee!”)

Here’s the LAPD.

People are understandably upset over the rampant thuggery among our students and the craven response from school administrators, but it was the same over thirty years ago when I attended Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. You know who else went to Lewis and Clark?

No, not the president. His grinning humidor went to the same college as I did.

Oregon is a weird state that combines gun-lovin’ redneckery and progressive moronism. There were very few normal people at Lewis and Clark. The professors and administrators let the students get away with everything, because the older folks were living vicariously through the young ones. Secretary of the Navy John F. Lehmann Jr. once visited to give a speech.

About three minutes into it, a bunch of smelly, homely girls and smelly, effeminate boys got up and began shrieking about cruise missiles. They had cardboard missiles that they’d folded up to fit inside their backpacks. It didn’t matter that I wanted to listen to what Lehmann said; he was not to be allowed to speak. Letting him be heard would’ve been a war crime.

The interruption went on until Lehmann’s security detail charged the smelly crowd and shoved them out of the auditorium. As they were being pushed, they wailed.

“Ow! Ow! You’re hurting me! This is brutality!”

Another time there was a speaker trying to describe the situation in Nicaragua. An obese, plain hippie girl went up onstage, took the mic, and proceeded to regale us with her sexual fantasies about how the Reagan-supported Contras were “skull-f*cking” women. She used the term at least sixty times. The woman’s eye is put out, and the man then uses her eye socket to satisfy himself.

Well, the average adult human eye socket has a depth of one inch (2.2 centimeters) completely empty. To get even that, you’d have to remove all the muscles. We all know what happens when criminals force themselves on women; if a terrorist is going to sexually assault a person’s head, he’s not going to go for the eyes.

At Lewis and Clark I had a very entertaining history professor who was obsessed with World War I. We had lots of great conversations before and after class. I was the only person he’d ever met who didn’t think he was a freak. We’d talk about the Mauser T-Gewehr, for example, the way others discuss bands.

It was a German antitank rifle with a kick so powerful that it often broke the shooter’s shoulder or damaged his back.

Talking with my prof was nice because there was no need for the usual disclaimers: “I don’t love war, I don’t love killing, I don’t like to see people suffer…”

But on the first day of his class, the professor called the roll to link names to faces: “Mr. Smith. Ms. Jones. Ms. Satan. Mr. Cancer.”

When he got to a chubby, homely girl with pimples and long, greasy, dust-colored hair, she said, “Um, you know, I have real problem being called ‘Ms.’ It’s just not respectful, I don’t think.”

The professor was confused. “What’s disrespectful about it?”

“Well, it’s not as legitimate as ‘Mr.’ It’s a sort of made-up word that smacks of patriarchy.”

“All right. I’ll call you ‘Miss.'”

“Well, that’s not any good either! Why are there three different titles for women and only one for men? As a woman, I find it very insulting.”

“Well, how about if I call you by your last name with no title?”

“No, I wouldn’t like that. It shows even less respect than using a contrived title or some anachronism from the patriarchal past.”

“Then that just leaves your first name.”

“But I don’t like that either! Everybody else gets a title. Why don’t I get one?”

I would’ve given her a title: Bidet. And I would’ve thrown her out of my class. Instead, the intimidated professor indulged her. They negotiated for another fifteen minutes, repeating themselves over and over, until they agreed that he wouldn’t use any form of address whatsoever. The rest of us had to sit there and take it while this narcissistic lunatic got to exercise power over all of us.

This was thirty-three years ago, back when I looked like this.

That’s my Lewis and Clark ID.

The campus police were as fake as the Missouri University Police Department. They arrested a kid I knew, based solely on an accusation made by an unstable, drunk woman, and he sued the hell out of everyone in sight. He got a massive payout, and he made the entire administration, the cops, and the woman sign a groveling apology and an admission that they acted simply to placate a vindictive feminist. It was a remarkable document.

I hated college. Most of the people at Lewis and Clark were far stupider than I was. The non-stupid ones were insane. What I hated about college was that everything was upside down. Adults looked up to children, and nobody had any boundaries. Professors slept with students, crazy people were encouraged to act out, public nudity was common, horrendous drug abuse was peachy. In their terror of being judgmental, everybody became trivial, utterly lacking individuality and imagination. I’ve never attended a reunion.

But in lots of ways our society is far better today than it was thirty years ago. Our crime rate is massively lower, we’re living longer, all of us are far more technologically adept, and the number of Americans who own common stock has more than doubled. I’m not saying that you should ignore the fascism and zombification of our institutes of “higher learning,” but I see no real difference from how things were when I was in college.

Except the music. The music thirty years ago was much better. Anyone who disagrees is a patriarchal cisgendered microaggressionist who should be executed.