Thoughts from the ammo line

Ammo Grrrll reflects on PARTIES – THEN AND NOW. She writes:

I have been either affianced or married to Mr. AG since 1966, so I haven’t really had a “date” for 52 years, give or take. Is it possible some things have changed in the high school and college social scene since then? (Haha – I’m kidding, of course).

Neither did I date much in high school until senior year. (Sadly, not for lack of hoping or trying.) I had numerous boy friends, as opposed to boyfriends. But the parties I went to were just close girlfriends sitting around in Bonnie and Heather’s finished basement or out on Loretta’s farm. We made boxed Chef Boyardee Pizzas, played records, talked about books, read Mad Magazine aloud, and discussed our hopes, dreams, and boys. Parents were always home. Always!

Never even once was there liquor at those gatherings and, if there had been, I would not have had any. Except for a couple of glugs of cheap wine at our very casual wedding reception, my first drink was on my 21st birthday when my young husband ordered me Crème de Menthe over ice cream. Queen of the Nerds, huh?

Now I know that there were cooler kids – athletes and cheerleaders and the like – who spoke of parties, but these were overwhelmingly couples affairs. From second-hand reports, I gleaned that everybody paired off, danced, and snuck into dimly-lit corners to make out. So I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that even if alcohol had been involved, the girls would have noticed if a queue had formed with their steady boyfriends waiting their turn to rape. The very thought boggles the mind.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has noticed that in the preposterous claims and anonymous letters accusing Judge Kavanaugh there has been a staged ESCALATION from one drunk teen groping a fully clothed other drunk teen while his wingman “laughed”; to weenie-wagging in a large group; to multiple gang rape parties and now, a rape-a-thon car ride story that was so absurd it actually made me LAUGH. And ALL missed by the previous six FBI investigations!

But returning to the accusation that started it all, to me, the most “un”-credible claim in Dr. Ford’s unsubstantiated tale is that she got “assaulted” because she went upstairs to use the bathroom. Two miscreants were just lurking there, hoping that Nature would call one of the two only girls. There is no house in America without a bathroom on the first floor, though many do not have bedrooms down there. But, see, the fabulists had to get her to a bedroom to make this work. The evil liars churning out these fantasies have obviously got subscriptions to Penthouse Forum. It has long been my impression that “rape” is mostly a solo gig. Yet in every fictional incident involving young Kavanaugh he seems to have chosen to have a witness along for the ride. Did no one else find this curious? Why is that?

Is it because two guys (or a queue of guys at the Rape Parties) make it more unlikely that the poor drunk damsel could not just knee the pig and escape? I guarantee you that at 15, even IF a drunk fellow laid on top of me while using both hands to try to disrobe me (not easy while lying on TOP of someone – try it!) AND held his third hand over my mouth while turning up the stereo with his foot, there would have been some serious signs of a struggle upon his person. Had I not told MY parents, HIS parents would have wondered where the scratches, bites, bloody nose and black eye came from. If he could still walk.

Friends, I can’t take much more. So, this is me screaming in all caps to all and sundry: NO NO NO NO. Her story is NOT “credible.” It is not brave or sad. It didn’t happen — only with someone else. It is preposterous! And it is a tightly plotted Agatha Christie novel compared to the subsequent accusations.

But it does raise the question in both of the high school claims: WHERE THE HELL WERE ALL THE PARENTS??? Especially in the absurd porn fantasy told by Creepy Porn Lawyer’s client. That tale included TEN, count ‘em, TEN drug, liquor and GANG RAPE parties. What I love most about that crock o’ kaka is that the college-age Julie loon either continued going to high school parties AFTER she had been raped or went back at least nine times until she finally got her turn. You betcha. Happens all the time.

One crucial mystery in this whole surreal, depressing saga remains unsolved: So please bow your heads with me now as we pray: ”Oh, Lord, please let America find a Forensics Fart Slang Expert for the Kavanaugh yearbook. It may be too much for the FBI and fall to the CIA to solve. Lord, should we reinstate Brennan? It’s probably right in his wheelhouse. He looks perpetually furious and red-faced such that he could have been suppressing painful gas for decades. Which would explain a lot. Thy will be done.” Amen.

For the lying liars to have the slightest hope of their many fairy tales passing muster, parties must have changed dramatically between the ’60s and the ’80s. For psychotic partisan hacks who recommend mass castration, the stories don’t have to make sense. But what about Normal Americans? What would make anyone say, “Well, that probably happened!”?

Certainly in that 20 years from the ’60s to the ’80s, fear of pregnancy at some point was not even a fleeting anxiety – readily available birth control, unlimited abortion and lack of stigma about unwed motherhood meant every day was Christmas for horny young men.

Divorce became far more common. Did the breakdown of the family in the same period contribute to the opportunities afforded teens to get into trouble? Was it more common for children of divorce to be unsupervised or for a non-custodial parent to be kept in the dark? Or did rich, private school kids’ parents travel a lot and leave teens home alone? How else to explain where all the empty houses full of liquor came from? With no nosy neighbors!

And that’s my final point. I’m just a small-town girl. Everybody knew everybody else’s kids and cars. Maybe neighborhoods with palatial, gated estates provide privacy for criminality. Let’s say Mama and Daddy had been out playing several rubbers of Bridge with friends. So I quickly invited one girl and four guys to come over — pretty good odds, even for me – AND found somewhere to stash my tattletale younger siblings. Mrs. Saiko and Mrs. Wendt across the street would have TOLD my parents the second they got home.

“Sorry it’s after midnight, Dorothy, but I thought you should know that Susan had quite a few friends over while you were gone… QUITE a few…mostly boys, too!” And being interrogated by Daddy would have been far worse than by Fossil Feinstein, Da Nang Dick or Departacus.