…or Just When You Thought the Stooopid Couldn’t Burn Any Worse Than it Already Does.
I wasn’t going to post anything after today’s Trigger Warning. I’ve got three reviews to write, plus a ton of reading to get caught up on, not to mention the second set of exams that I haven’t started grading. So what did I do tonight?
I got sidetracked by a number of things, with the highlight being the latest fisking (read it, it’s brilliant) by Larry Correia of K. Tempest Bradford’s challenge to only read approved writers for a year. Approved being defined as what she thinks you should read, of course.
Or rather in this case, what she thinks you shouldn’t. That would be books by straight, white, cisgendered males. Finger lady there doesn’t think you should read books by authors who fall into this demographic. Because badthink or something. You’ll notice that the book she’s holding up is by Neil Gaiman, while the T-shirt she’s wearing is Dr. Who, some episodes of which were written by Neil Gaiman. (What is it with these people and Gaiman lately, anyway?)
Bite my ass, lady. Who are you to tell me what to read or not read? I’ll read what I damn well like and make no apologies to anyone. Certainly not to the likes of you.
Here’s my challenge. It’s twofold. First, I’m challenging myself to read interesting, exciting, entertaining books by writers who gender, race, religion, etc., I don’t give a rat’s red ass about. Second, I’m going to challenge myself not to read any books by outspoken SJWs who want to indoctrinate me in goodthink more than they want to entertain me. That would include authors like…what was her name again?…the finger lady up there.
And don’t raise your scolding finger to me, Bradford. I might raise my middle ones in response.