I have my own selfish ends. Unsurprisingly. Right? OK good full disclosure out of the way.

Now this Julian Assange and Michael Moore Sweden condom story is happening and it’s here and all that. I’m glad that there are a lot of people working on this. A lot of smart thoughtful great people.

On the Internet it seems like the some of the big dicks write about music and cultural Times Arts Section stuff. It seems really important because most of the stuff on the Internet seems to be about music and what else is there beside the Internet.

I’m afraid this isn’t making a lot of sense. Stick with me?

Derrida would perhaps call it an eruption. And then the New York Times would dance on his grave. And then make millions of dollars from printing Wikileaks. (what a stupid fucking name). But when rape is foregrounded, it is pretty easy ahem to most ahem people that sure you don’t have a fully formed epistemological system and accompanying treatise and INFOGRAPHIC explaining what exactly is going on. Who wikileaks the wikileakers am I right comic book nerds?

But the smart set is able to see that there are certain cultural conditions that predispose people to take sides in a rape accuser/rape accused situation. These conditions bubble up in times like now.

When a teenager wins big (he makes a headshot?) in Call of Duty: Halo, he’s said to have raped his competitor.

There are other times when rape is foregrounded, like in movies. In TV shows. Sometimes the disgusting bald guy on 30 Rock rapes his wife and it’s a joke. Other times, some lady gets blackout drunk and is found to have had sex with someone. Who didn’t use a condom because he’s a jerk. And then she’s pregnant with some schlubby asshole’s baby. That’s the worst, right.

Other times there are a bunch of kids from LA. Kids! Young ‘ens. Rapping about raping the hell out of everyone. And sometimes, yes, our favorite albums of the year were called “rapegaze” by the big dick music pub of the Internet. Other times, your musical hero raps about beating up his girlfriend and perhaps raping a stripper in a bathroom.

In sports. Well you can’t even talk about rape and misogyny in sports. Maybe in five hundred years when we all finally have the flying cars and those silver/blue uniforms and we’re playing Ken Tremendous Nerd Ball using only nano-super-computers to figure out the players’ v0rp^3. (sorry only nerds may get that, you nerds) But the point is that it’s basically more than useless even to care about misogyny in sports.

At least, you would think, since like half the best-selling albums are by women and women seem to make up half the music buying audience, you would think that people would care about rape (and murder, yes, but that’s not what we’re talking about) in music.

There’s a line to be drawn, and that line runs right down the center of everyone who believes that the larger cultural apparatus is by definition or by luck devoid of morality and good sense. It splits you down the middle and your cowardly, inbent ugly spirit spills out and you look foolish. Being against rape starts everywhere and it never ends, and longhair swedes and young kids in la and quarterbacks and yes even our favorite basketball player—none of them is above reproach. And none of them deserves much more than scorn. To say differently is to give in to whatever you want to call it. David Lynch called it owls and dopplegängers. The point is, evil is evil is evil is evil is evil and you’re for it or against it.

It’s hard to stand up to evil. Even when you think it has fucking fat beats and manic youthful energy. Or when it sounds awesome. Or is really fun to play. Or you love watching it on TV. Or you gamble on it and play fantasy rapists. It’s hard to stand up to evil because fucking duh it’s evil.