A Yale-Educated Feminist Calls Herself a ‘Morally Vacuous Harlot’

Posted on | October 22, 2015 | 368 Comments

Alana Massey (@AlanaMassey on Twitter) is a godless degenerate who once gave her thumbnail biography in an interview thus:

So I was a walking cliche of disastrous 20-something in New York: I treated mental illness with alcohol and drugs and bad sex with much older men. I had a series of bad assistant and PR jobs and would fall back on stripping and fetish work when I inevitably quit my jobs or couldn’t cover expenses. I enrolled in Yale Divinity when I was 25 in the hopes that if I just got a good helping of Jesus, I’d be cured of my debauchery and sadness. While I was there, I halfway cleaned up my act in terms of my health and my priorities and realized that I had been embarrassed by all of the wrong things. So when I returned to New York and my relationship ended, I decided not to ashamed of my creative ambitions or of the fact that I worked in the sex industry. I was told that the best thing about surviving being a chaotic f–k-up in your 20s is turning it into something worthwhile in your 30s, which is what I am trying to do personally and creatively now.

To summarize, Ms. Massey is a drug-addled, mentally ill ex-stripper who has had the privilege of being educated first at the prestigious private New York University (annual tuition $46,170) and subsequently at elite Yale University (annual tuition $47,600), so that we might estimate she has consumed somewhere in excess of $300,000 in order to become a freelance writer. Considering that there are no real entry barriers to the field of journalism (Hunter S. Thompson became a Latin American correspondent in 1962 with no educational credentials beyond a high-school diploma), we must view Ms. Massey’s stunning profligacy as a typical example of The Higher Education Bubble.

Yale tuition is $47,600 a year, but you can't afford to pay for your own contraceptives? https://t.co/O4h0vZXSv1 pic.twitter.com/nM2W2QO6rO

— Robert Stacy McCain (@rsmccain) October 23, 2015

Furthermore, could anything be more absurd than Ms. Massey’s idea that she could get “a good helping of Jesus” at the fraudulently named Yale Divinity School? The place has been implacably hostile to Christianity for decades. The impiety and secularized gnosticism of that decadent institution did much to inspire William F. Buckley Jr.’s monumental work God and Man at Yale. If anyone is seeking “a good helping of Jesus,” probably the last place you’d find it is New Haven, Connecticut, being tutored by the academic High Priesthood of postmodern paganism.

The deities worshipped at Yale Divinity School are a pantheon of bloody idols, chief among which are Equality and Progress. Devotees of the Cult of Social Justice celebrate their perverse beliefs with rituals involving fornication, sodomy and abortion, occasionally organizing protests to demand that U.S. taxpayers fund their heathenish rites. No Christian would dare go near such an ivy-covered Temple of Satanic Wickedness, except perhaps to deliver a prophecy of its imminent doom, then fleeing in haste before Jehovah sends fire and brimstone showering down to incinerate the foul stench of that latter-day Gomorrah. But I digress . . .

When you're at a lingerie party at the Plaza but you keep your blazer on cause you're a professional. pic.twitter.com/gxfChWofTe

— Alotta Massey-cres (@AlanaMassey) October 22, 2015

Alana Massey recently produced an article for The Atlantic celebrating the scientific wonders of “the Mirena IUD, an intra-uterine device.” This implant has so successfully shut down the biological function of Ms. Massey’s reproductive organs that is has actually prevented her from having a menstrual period for more than three years.

Having been contraceptively spayed, as it were, for what purpose do you reckon Ms. Massey has done this? If you guessed “riding the carousel,” congratulations, you’re a winner:

“I don’t mind motorcycles but do mind when people ride them without helmets,” I lied to a man named “Carl” on the dating app Bumble when he brought up his Yamaha. I actually believe that the only commendable function of motorcycles is to make aging dads feel the crisp bite of youth again during their midlife crises rather than resorting to age-inappropriate affairs, but I was trying to be pleasant.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked soon after, apparently not registering that not minding a thing is hardly the equivalent of being interested in it. I answered, “never in my life,” still willing to give him a shot but making clear that his motorcycle would not be a selling point.
“I’m not talking about riding my motorcycle,” he replied.
In no mood to hold Carl’s hand through how game actually works, I said, “Okay you have a good night,” hoping he’d realize defeat. “Haha! I’m joking! Someone is slightly uptight I see.”
Oh, Carl. I would have been tempted to defend myself by letting him know I am actually a morally vacuous harlot devoid of sexual mores, but I was busy talking to another man also using the app. We hadn’t met yet, but his sufficient flirting skills prompted me to take a flurry of explicit photos and send the keepers his way. We would later have sex on our first and only date.
I am icy, certainly, but I am not uptight.
Beyond establishing my reputation as a woman who enjoys sex and a bit of text-based flirting, this episode highlights the troubling ease with which men dismiss women as prudish if they are not immediately open and enthusiastic about sex. It is cruel tool in a culture that was infiltrated by a certain brand of blasé sex positivity long before achieving true gender equality and, by extension, before we’ve decentralized men’s orgasms as the ultimate purpose of sex between a man and a woman.
We pathologize women’s entirely rational reactions of “nah” and “meh” to sex as the result of antiquated values. Often, these reactions are because sex might be perilous to a woman’s well-being — and often, if we’re honest, a physically substandard experience. . . .
Too often, sex positivity feels rooted in a feminism that secretly wants boys to like it. It wants to be cool.
Media outlets feed us a relentless stream of articles . . . [in which] inequality is exemplified by the wage gap, the number of women in Congress, and whether women are courting poverty and death by having babies before they’re rich. What is decidedly absent from the debate is a woman’s sexual fulfillment. . . .
But the absence of sexual satisfaction from these discussions is also due to the belief that, for the most part, sexual inequality was resolved by the sexual revolution, women’s lib and the widespread adoption of birth control.
The legacy of these movements is a mountain of unfinished business which gave birth to a half-formed sex positivity lovechild now wrecking havoc on anyone who isn’t down to f–k. . . .

You can read the rest of that, or gouge your eyes out with a rusty screwdriver. Either option will do you as much good.

Let me reiterate what I have previously said (“Hit-It-and-Quit-It on Tinder”) that no sane person would ever hook up via online apps, whether it’s Tinder, OKCupid or whatever. This is not “dating,” this is digital degradation, a 21st-century rewrite of Looking for Mr. Goodbar, which is a story that does not end “happily ever after.”

If someone is so recklessly desperate as to peddle themselves to any stranger with a smartphone or a wifi connection, we must be suspicious why they cannot find romantic companionship among people who actually know them in real life. Any attractive single man or woman of good character — kind, courteous, honest — will find no shortage of opportunities to meet potential partners.

What kind of guy seeks prospects on Tinder, and for what purpose? He either (a) has failed in prior attempts to establish any durable romantic relationship, or (b) has no interest in anything more meaningful than a sweaty “pump-and-dump.” Or possibly (c) he’s a sadistic psychopath in search of a victim for his next heinous atrocity. If we may presume that there are no decent men to be had via these apps, what conclusions may we draw about the women who peddle themselves this way? Alana Massey describes herself as “a morally vacuous harlot” who pursues one-night stands and complains of the “physically substandard experience” that does nothing for “a woman’s sexual fulfillment.”

Let us ask: Can feminism solve a problem that feminism itself created?

Is this Yale-educated woman too stupid to see that her compulsive promiscuity — a lifelong habit now abetted by advanced technologies of contraception and dating apps — is the basic cause of her problems? How does her whorish “sex-positive” feminism contribute anything to “true gender equality”? Yet what exactly does she imagine “true gender equality” would look like, if ever we were to achieve it?

Of course, such a question would presume that (a) “sexual inequality” is the explanation for whatever makes women unhappy, (b) “true gender equality” is possible and (c) there is anyone who would actually rather live in that imaginary egalitarian utopia than to live in any other social order which has hitherto existed. Each of those premises is subject to dispute, but the “morally vacuous harlot” just takes it for granted that Progress must inevitably lead to Equality and that, having arrived at her hoped-for destination, she will find there a system that universally provides for “a woman’s sexual fulfillment.” Every hookup in Feminist Heaven will produce ecstatic spasms of pleasure, you see, and the streets will be paved with gold. Or maybe cat litter.

What every Women's Studies major should get on her first day of classes. pic.twitter.com/gb7sWWft98 @p_w_sterne

— Robert Stacy McCain (@rsmccain) August 23, 2014

Excuse my extreme skepticism about feminist utopian fantasies. The Gods of the Copybook Headings could not be reached for comment.

As it will be in the future,
it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain
since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit
and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger
goes wabbling back to the Fire . . .

Speaking of dogs and vomit, Miriam Mogilevsky — the feminist who calls herself “queer, gay, femme, and homoflexible . . . on the asexual spectrum somewhere” — rejects any criticism of her labels:

“Well I personally don’t see why anyone needs to label themselves with all these complicated new words,” says someone who is able to find people who fit their sexual and romantic preferences just by walking into literally any bar in any town.

Translation: “Heterosexuals have it so easy! Don’t they know how hard life is for us queer gay femme homoflexible asexual women?”

Unfortunately, too many heterosexual women have bought into the bogus idea of feminist “empowerment” and turned themselves into morally vacuous harlots like Alana Massey. Some guy “walking into literally any bar in any town” will probably encounter a lot of damaged women like her, and no one would envy him the prospect of a loveless hook-up with a twisted bundle of Yale-educated cat-lady craziness.

This pillow is dressed up as a cat for Halloween. pic.twitter.com/jQfRPyNGyT

— Alotta Massey-cres (@AlanaMassey) October 22, 2015

I swear to God, this enchanting beast's first act if he ever got opposable thumbs would be to take a selfie. pic.twitter.com/yJs7XEl65F

— Alotta Massey-cres (@AlanaMassey) October 22, 2015

Communism = "Dictatorship of the Proletariat" Nazism = "Dictatorship of the Aryan Race" Feminism = "Dictatorship of Crazy Cat Ladies"

— Robert Stacy McCain (@rsmccain) September 29, 2015

 

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