“—he picked up a blackjack and he said, ‘you rich C,’ and he called her the c-word, and they beat her to death in Death Wish. Now, we all understand, ‘Oh, that’s an actor doing a role.’ But why, as an artist, do we give an actor a pass for convincingly playing a brutal rapist, but go after a comedian for making fun of something and mocking something? Like, why do we allow an artist to do something convincingly—what’s going to affect a rape victim more? Seeing that rape acted out properly? Or hearing some comedian make fun of it?”
Bad-faith bullshit. Fuck this, I thought. Are you supposed to like and sympathize with Jeff Goldblum’s character in Death Wish? When people go to watch it, is Jeff Goldblum physically in the room with them pretending to rape people? Does he sometimes break the fourth wall, point into the camera, and say, “Hey, Karen Ferguson, wouldn’t it be hilarious if everyone in this theater raped you right now?” Why is it a given that seeing a rape acted out is more traumatizing than hearing the concept of rape turned into a joke? Who appointed Jim Norton the arbiter of every rape victim’s feelings? If moviegoers just had to deal with the fact that any movie, at any time, could have a random rape scene spliced into it, out of nowhere, that might be a parallel example. A parallel example is not a movie CALLED DEATH WISH, with a rating on it that literally warns you about what’s in it, that you’ve presumably gone to see deliberately because you watched a trailer and decided, “Yes, this is up my alley.”
For fucking fuck’s sake.
“We don’t have to choose between those two things,” I said, cold. “If someone went and saw that movie and they were offended by it, they are more than welcome to complain about it, which is all that I’m doing right now. It’s about accountability—if you want to make that product and stand by that, that’s fine, but I get to call you a dick, I get to call you out. And if we all agree that it’s just a crutch, a hacky premise that people use because you want to get a reaction, you want to shock people, like, why does my vagina have to be your crutch? Can’t you use something that’s yours? Why do you have to come into my oppression and use me for your closer?”
“I think the best way to end this is for Lindy and I to make out for a while,” Jim joked over Kamau’s outtro—deliberately sexualizing me for a laugh at the end of a debate about the dehumanization of women in comedy.
Then it was over. Guy had been right. The time did go too fast, and I didn’t get to my best material. I felt pretty good, though. Mostly I just wanted to sleep.
My hotel room didn’t have FX, so I couldn’t watch myself. I was grateful.
It’s About Free Speech, It’s Not About Hating Women
The first day, it was just a few tweets here and there—regular Totally Biased viewers, plus the small number of my fans and Jim’s who made it a point to tune in on cable. These broke down pretty uniformly along preexisting ideological lines: Jim’s fans thought Jim “won”; mine sided with me. Everyone seemed to feel that their previously held opinion on rape jokes was validated, and, seemingly, no minds were changed. “Maybe this’ll just be a blip,” I thought as the chatter subsided, honestly a little disappointed. I agreed to do this debate because these ideas are important to me (and, in my opinion, to the development of a more civil, inclusive world)—I wanted to have an impact, maybe shift the conversation, just a hair. I felt good about my performance; I’d held my own against a TV veteran on his turf. You don’t go through that much stress to let it just vaporize and blow away.
The second day, my phone buzzed me awake.
Bzzt.
no need for you to worry about rape uggo
Bzzt.
Jesus Christ this woman is about as fun as dry rape. Lighten up Lindy!
Bzzt.
you are really annoying. Don’t worry no one would ever rape u. Worry about ur Health & the heart attack that’s coming #uglycow
The debate had gone up on YouTube, and Jim had posted it to his social media accounts.
I love how the Bitch complaining about rape is the exact kind of Bitch that would never be raped. Bitch have you looked in the mirror?
There were hundreds and hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. I had never encountered such an unyielding wall of vitriol. They flooded in, on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, my e-mail, the comments on Jezebel.
Who the fuck, in their right mind, would want to rape you?
I had been trolled before—for confronting Dan, for mocking men’s rights activists, for disliking Sex and the City 2—but nothing like this. Nothing could compare to the misogynist rage of male comedy fans at being challenged by an unfuckable woman.
I wanted to rebut every one, but didn’t. There was no point. This thing was alive.
She wants to get screwed so badly I bet you all the rape she is shaking her finger at is exactly what she wants.
You cannot “want” rape.
That big bitch is bitter that no one wants to rape her do some laps lardy holly shit her stomachs were touching the floor
Rape is not a compliment.
No one would want to rape that fat, disgusting mess.
Rape is not a gift or a favor or a validation.
lets cut the bullshit that broad doesnt have to worry about rape
Fat women get raped too.
You’re fat, ugly, and unfuckable. You don’t have to worry about rape!
Are you sure?
There is a group of rapists with over 9000 penises coming for this fat bitch
There is nothing novel or comedic or righteous about men using the threat of sexual violence to control noncompliant women. This is how society has always functioned. Stay indoors, women. Stay safe. Stay quiet. Stay in the kitchen. Stay pregnant. Stay out of the world. If you want to talk about silencing, censorship, placing limits and consequences on speech, this is what it looks like.
She won’t ever need to worry about rape, ever!
I don’t know any woman who hasn’t experienced some level of sexual predation, from catcalls, to unwanted advances at bars, to emotional manipulation, to violent rape. I certainly have—even “unrapeable” me. All women do need to worry about rape.
Don’t disrespect ppls way of calming themselves down. Embracing the sick idea of rape keeps some from ever actually doing it
You are a rapist.
What a fucking cunt. Kill yourself, dumb bitch.
No.
Why is it almost all women that hate men are the most unfuckable people ever.
I stepped off the plane in Seattle, my phone vibrating like a pocket full of bees. The local comedy scene had started in on me at this point: I was a cunt, a fraud, a failed comic, I knew nothing about comedy and had no right to comment on it. (Strangely, they’d had boundless confidence in my expertise back when they were kissing my ass for a mention in the paper.) Someone made a “parody” Twitter account called “Lindy East” (wow, you guys really are comedy experts), its avatar a stolen photo of me, my neck and face grotesquely inflated into a massive gullet. One guy—someone I’d never met personally but who was a regular at the same clubs I frequented—wrote on Facebook that he wished I’d fall down a flight of stairs. (Let’s call him Dave.) People I knew “liked” Dave’s comment—one was a regular at The Moth, whom I had to intro with a smile onstage a few weeks later. But it’s just comedy. To worry about my safety was a form of hysteria. Insulting, if you think about it. Can’t a nice guy just defend his art?
Jabba has nothing to worrie about, not even a prison escapee would rape her.
I was determined to show my face at the open mics that week—to make it clear that I wouldn’t be cowed or chased away. “I’ll be at the Underground tonight if anyone wants to talk,” I wrote on Facebook and Twitter. I’d have Aham with me. Nothing would happen. We’d be safe. I hadn’t done stand-up in at least a year, so I threw together a few new jokes: “When people want to insult me, it’s always ‘Jabba the Hutt.’ Which is really insulting. To Jabba the Hutt. The dude is an intergalactic warlord. He owns a monster. I’m a feminist blogger, you guys.”
Aham and I went to the open mic, did our sets, had fun, and went home.
There is no way a straight dude would fuck or even rape that ugly heifer. What an annoying cunt.