
Sexual harassment: it’s not always as bad as it sounds.
Sometimes it’s better than bad — it’s great! And you can’t spell “harassment” without “ass,” so there’s a Freudian tell for you.
I’m not talking the creepy, stalky, lawsuit-filing kind. I mean the ass-slapping “Uuuuh! Looking good, baby!” sort we all either have to keep ourselves from indulging in or secretly wish would happen to us. The Eric Massa scandal kind of started out rather cheeky and funny in several respects, but as it’s grown increasingly ugly, it’s clear how some things should stay grounded in the windmills of the mind and consequence-free porn plotting. If we lived in a world wherein all employers were hot as hell, sex carried no problematic implications, and there were no Bible-happy buzzkill co-workers, we wouldn’t need GLAAD or the ACLU because we’d all just gleefully fuck our way to the top.
So who suffers the worst? You’d think it would be the ladies infiltrating the workforce and getting paid less while having to fend off skirt-chasing churls with wives at home, a Mad Men boys’ club mentality, and lecherous superiors wanting to coerce them into doling out sexual favors if they want to ascend the career ladder. You’d think old world machismo is the problem.
But no. It’s the Muscle Heads — they of the trademark mandanas, douchey tattoos, Ed Hardy attire, porcupine quill hair styles, and jacked-up roid racks — who are the real victims of our culture of lust politics. Their opponents: the queers with their perpetually roving eyes and inability to keep it in their pants. Their battleground: the locker room. Forget the Lilly Ledbetter Act. This misunderstood minority needs a Donny Dumbbell Act mach schnell. (read the full article)






