Harvey, George, and the Hollywood Horndogs

Hell’s bells through Hollywood tolling. hollywood-sign-burns-down

Shower? Massage? More cajoling.

Harvey should have kept it zipped.

But he had a really decent script.

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make light of a serious situation. I mean, nobody really believed those casting couch rumors that have been around since, like, the birth of Hollywood?

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It makes total sense that Golden Man-About-The-Globe George Clooney and his Boy Wonder Matt Damon knew nothing about old Horny Harvey.

I mean, isn’t Hollywood’s A-List our collective conscience? Our voice of reason in the darkness? They surely like to preach. And without them, how would we know how to vote?

They walk on water. And, of course, they all became stars because of their talent, not their connections.

And certainly not because of their talented, willing orifices.

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But I’m going to take this flaming hotdish-du jour a pinch further.

Who cares? Those of us carrying the burden of the middle class on our shoulders–we don’t give a crap–hell, we don’t even have time to take a crap most days.

All of you celebrity It-girls? You’re no better looking–dare I say no more talented than the rest of us. You just got lucky.

And so did the men who polished your stars.

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That’s not to say I don’t empathize with you as a victim of harassment. I do.

That’s because–like the rest of the xx chromosomes on the planet, I’ve been sexually harassed. Maybe some day I’ll even blog about my experience at Paramount Pictures, or with every “agent” in L.A. back in the 80’s.

The difference between us? There was no amount of fame and wealth that was worth my self-respect. I took myself out of the situation.

With that in mind, I’d like to address the bursting dam of complaints flooding the news now that the swine that is Weinstein has fallen.

So Kevin Spacey made moves on a drunk 14-year-old at a Hollywood party back in the day…

As the mother of three sons, I’d like to know what a 14 year-old was doing unchaperoned at a Hollywood party where alcohol (and other things, no doubt) were being consumed in abundance. And why was that youngster the last person at Mr. Spacey’s home that night?

I can hear the snowflakes now… “You’re blaming the victim. You’re victim shaming.” 0087b067023eb5d55c7d9dc63e0c1629--take-responsibility-accepting-responsibility-quotes

Yeah. I am. I happen to believe in personal responsibility.

No one forced that kid to go to that party.

Hey, if I walk alone in some parts of Baltimore at night, what will happen to me? Yeah–that’s why, even at the tender age of 14, I knew to stay out of Dodge.

So now it’s open season on Spacey. Suddenly, everyone who is anyone has been accosted, crotch-clawed, or booty-plundered by this private man’s privates.

Oh the horror. It’s right up there with the genocide of Christians in the Middle East and North Korea and–no, wait a minute–the media won’t cover anti-Christian atrocities…

But we all know Netflix has canned Spacey’s fantastically popular series, thereby putting people out of work and fans out of luck. Oh, and his special Emmy award is being cancelled.

Nanny-nanny-boo-boo. Serves the perv right. So now, Hollywood feels so much more proactive and sanctimonious, all while trying to anticipate and dodge the next pointed finger.

And here it is: Pointed straight at our beloved Dustin Hoffman. Yeah, that great guy from The Graduate. Tootsie. Meet the Fockers for crying out loud. Not him, too?

You know, if you go deep enough into anyone’s past, you’re bound to find some shameful things. skeleton-in-the-closet.jpg

But that’s our latest national obsession, isn’t it?

Measure the past based on today’s P.C. standards. And then out the sorry bastard who, back in the day, was living life according to the norms and mores of his or her time. Humiliation and ruin to follow.

Salem 2.0

Don’t like history? Re-write it. Or bust a nut to erase it. Take it down. Burn it, baby.

Lately, watching the news or checking social media makes me feel as if I have fallen into a science-fiction novel. George Orwell was right after all.

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As I write this on Thursday, November 2 for Monday’s post, I am sure that by the time this is published, there will be more people fingered. And also identified.

Hell’s bells continue to toll.

More heads are sure to roll.

foxyxoxo…my bad–is that sexual harassment? One never knows these days. Big Brother and all that, Comrade.

Susan J. Anderson

Foxy Writer Chick


3 thoughts on “Harvey, George, and the Hollywood Horndogs

  1. There are 2 sides to every story and truth is rather elusive. Although I subscribe to the idea that no means no and that unless sober there is no way to give consent. I do also (the realist/pragmatist) think that when you put yourself into harms way you have to take some responsibility for the consequences of your actions….

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, I don’t excuse Weinstein or Spacey, but I’m not for dragging skeletons out of the closet for others from the 70’s or 80’s. It was a different time then and we had different cultural norms for making a pass–Dustin Hoffman, from what I’ve read, wasn’t a rapist. If he did something in this century, fine, but as far as I’m concerned, the statute of limitations has run out. 😉

      Like

  2. Two things I hate. when I get the finger of morality pointed at me by actors and people in authority. Then the truth comes to light ( people who live in Glass Houses should not tell other people who live in glass houses to throw stones). People change as they age, attitudes change, and looks change. It’s not fair to judge somebody today for actions in the past. Fox on!

    Liked by 1 person

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