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Ps & Qs: Party girls

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By Jeannie Perry 


Despite what they may think, the Trumps are not American royalty (the only royal thing about that family is the pain in my arse.) If America has a royal family I think it should be Willie, Waylon & the boys. No one else even comes close to owning such a crazy, limitless brood. The rumors, the innuendos, hell — the facts are over the top; even compared with the British royal family. And to think, that’s just in a few generations! It took ages of blue-bloods interbreeding to get to Prince Andrew and his foot fetish (which, by the way, is child’s play compared to the antics of some of these royal wannabes.)

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The Trumps hang out with all sorts of unsavory folks; the only common denominator seeming to be their bank accounts. One such fellow is Jeffrey Epstein, a.k.a. the philanthropic pedophile. Jeffrey likes to throw wild parties and keep track of his guests’ names and sexual preferences in a little black book that puts Heidi what’s-her-name’s to shame. These parties that we hear vague details about, that we can only imagine after watching too much Cinemax, are real. They happen in fancy homes, with awesome food, top notch drugs, top shelf liquor, and B-list celebrities like Courtney Love and Blake Lindsley (Who?) Which is fine, as long as everything is consensual, but the problem with Jeff’s parties is that there are minors there doing things that, even if consensual, are illegal because of their age.

We all did some pretty stupid stuff in our youth, and I am not trying to judge anyone’s inner party girl. (By the way, Party Girl is a great movie starring Parker Posey about a young woman who is ready to give up her all-night ravin’ ways in order to become a librarian. Highly recommend it!) But buying a young person’s affection before her hippocampus is fully formed does not make these grown men look younger — on the contrary. These men, who stand up and lecture us with their superior indignation and fancy suits to cover their cowardice and pale skin. These men who deign to decide which restroom we can and cannot use. These are the men we’re supposed to trust with our children’s health?

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Jeffrey Epstein was convicted and served a ridiculously short sentence, but he managed to keep his wealth, connections, and oh-so-incriminating dirty little secret book. No one in Washington DC can come forward to accuse another for fear of being incriminated by his/her own deeds, yet they can determine an alternative lifestyle, lived by free and consenting adults, to be wrong? Let me ask you which is scarier; meeting someone who is transgender in a public restroom, or going to a party in the woods where the host has brought in under-age entertainment for the evening. Because one is an individual choice about sexual orientation and lifestyle, and the other is sex trafficking.

I’m sure that I am naïve in my knowledge of what goes on in the dark corners of the world’s parties, and I know that registered sex offenders usually start out as victims themselves, but I think age and autonomy are the keys to any healthy fetish. And breaking the cycle. Just because it happened to us doesn’t mean we have to watch it happen to our kids. If we let them grow up free to decide which gender letter they identify with, instead of pushing them into an uncomfortable stereotype, maybe we will see less domination and harassment in the future. And how healthy are the gender roles, anyway? Is there gender in the after–life? I don’t think so. It seems more likely we are all made from the same energy, just here for the love and support and doughnuts.

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Hopefully this is our darkest hour, with a self-admitted sexually harassing president and his boorish first family. There’s still time to turn it around and leave this dark path of shame and weakness that leads through the woods and over the bridge to one of those parties we’ve heard tale of. We can simply go the other way; choose to foster kindness, tolerance, and a crayon-box-style of gender identification. That’s the ideal standard and the royal ‘we’ we want for future generations, n’est ce pas?

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