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Todd Nickerson would like you to know that he’s a pedophile. A non-practicing pedophile of course. There, now don’t you feel better? At least you know that he’s not a monster; he tells you so right up there in the title of his self-serving pity-piece. Why, you might wonder, would he be so cavalier in his announcement? He tells you that too, albeit farther down in his narrative; “Please repeat this mantra to yourself: a repressed, unhappy pedophile is a pedophile at risk.”

If only you had listened...

If only you had listened…

So there. It’s all pretty simple to me. Todd is a victim here. Read the piece through, and then read it again. Understand that your failure to sympathize with him puts him at risk. Quite telling really that he doesn’t come to terms with the fact that his being unhappy as a repressed pedophile puts children at risk. Screaming about your narcissistic personality disorder doesn’t endear you to anyone Todd. And as is usually the case with those of his disorder, he continues to see the world through how his affliction only affects him, not those around him, not society at large. He plaintively askes the reader questions he struggles with, questions he’s sure will invoke the sympathetic image he wants to portray; “What if we have children?  Will I be a threat to them?  Can I ever share this fact with my spouse?  Can I ever love and want her as much as I do a child?”  Interesting questions to be sure, but questions that society can no longer ask of those with this affliction, questions that come back to label the rest of us as haters or bigots or whatever phrase du-jour the accommodating left uses to marginalize those who may just find this disturbing. You see Todd; we wonder the same things about you.

I tried to read this several times with an open mind, hoping that Mr. Nickerson would give some insight into how we can accommodate those so afflicted, how we can assure ourselves that maybe they aren’t the monsters we envision them to be. Alas, all I could find was the same old tired obvious process that the left has used to normalize other such wretched behaviors, moving them from the realm of the hideous to the mainstream through sympathy, understanding, through to acceptance onto enforced support. He touches all the tear jerking moments; he lost his job at Lowes; he “retreated like a kicked dog” after failing to remake himself into a regular person; he couldn’t control his bladder when he was younger; he’s even got a prosthetic right hand.

What he doesn’t tell us is anything about the early formative years. What kind of upbringing did he have? The only clue he gives is that he often felt like an outsider; he was a shy boy, uncoordinated at sports. He speaks about insecurities in elementary school and low and behold, he’s a pedophile. How many other young boys, gangly and skinny, nerdy and bullied are now at risk for becoming pedophiles? Any other young men wish to recount beatings from their strict fathers, or having to work at thirteen to help support the family as the cause of their specific dysfunction? No need to be embarrassed, it’s liberating to exclaim to the world that you’re a non-practicing pedophile. It’s just a sympathetic short trip from being fired from Lowes, living below the poverty line and collecting welfare to ending up on the front page of Salon.

Non-practicing is the key here. Of course, he’s wondered at times why he’s bothered to stay legal. Interesting thought, that. He assures us that “I’m not the monster you think me to be.  I’ve never touched a child sexually in my life and never will, nor do I use child pornography;” a phrase likely uttered by every criminally convicted pedophile at least once in their lives.

Two things stand out the most in his memory; one episode involves Hans, a friend of his German relatives who came to visit when Nickerson was seven years old. Hans couldn’t speak English very well; he did manage however, to get his hands down the front of Nickerson’s knickers. But be careful here Todd; sexual proclivities aren’t supposed to be learned, they’re supposed to be innate, you’re born that way. He recounts the tale with Hans, seemingly out of place in the article, as just paragraphs before, he speaks of the “bubbling up” of his sexuality at thirteen, his “eureka moment.” The image still haunts him today of the seven year old child, angelic in stature with blue eyes and golden curls standing in front of him in his grandparent’s Living room. Nothing happened. He never approached her. But from Hans’s foray into Nickerson’s trousers at seven, searching for his pre-pubescent “peepee” to an event six years later where he momentarily came face to face with a child he crushed on, he was hooked. All horrifically sympathetic, the victim the whole time.

I still cannot grasp what purpose he has for trumpeting his predilections so loudly. Although he assures us that, “it’s impossible to know how many non-offending pedophiles are out there, but signs indicate there are a lot of us, and too often we suffer in silence. That’s why I decided to speak up;”  this still tells me nothing about his motives. He certainly doesn’t see this as a warning to others; he still refuses to name the “unhealthy pedophile forum” that he says gave him a feeling of belonging somewhere; the very same forum on which he first publicly outed himself as a pedophile. Of course, it’s the public shame, his public outing that seems to bother him most of all. After he let the world know what he was, he was shocked and dismayed that he came to the attention of the public at large through the same outfit that started the “to catch a predator” series. It was this attention, after all, that caused him to lose his job at Lowes. He eventually found a support group called Virtuous Pedophiles that he credits with saving his life, a safe place that he can use his “pedo-powers” for good. He wants to be commended, not feared.

Still, he wants more than that. He may not come right out and say it as others with his particular desires have, but it’s there. He’s grooming his audience, much the same way other pedophiles groom their intended victims. He’s plying you with all sorts of reasons to sympathize with him; if you don’t forgive him for when he offends, at least you might go easy on him. He’s had such a hard life, the subject of scorn, a result of his desire to broadcast his affliction to anyone who would listen. If he didn’t tell you what he was, if he was suffering in silence, looking for cures and not acceptance, maybe I could feel the pity that he is pretending to ask of me. Unfortunately, he can’t stand in the checkout line next to you unnoticed and unremarkable; no, he has to show you his pedo-club membership card, needs to let you know that if he eventually offends, it’s because you’ve made his life a living hell by turning away; turning away from a concept which you find repulsive, one that you hadn’t brought up and wouldn’t have assigned to him without his insistence. No-one labeled him a pedophile other than himself. And he did so because he seeks the twisted notoriety that comes with it.

Of course, he only wants us to listen; it’s a great start he tells us. If he is going to make it in this world without offending, he needs our help. What kind of help that would be he never details. For good reason; if we offer no help, then it’s just as much our fault when he finally offends as it is his. The crux of his piece can be summed up in just one sentence; “unlike with most sexualities, there is no ethical way we can fully actualize our sexual longings.” The long term goal? Give it time Todd. The special rights of the victimized minorities take time to acquire. Before long, you’ll no longer be sympathetically asking us to listen; you’ll be demanding that we do.


No one knows when he died. No one knows how he died. Well, obviously someone does. Whoever wrapped his little body in a black plastic trash bag sealed with duct tape certainly knows. Aside from that, if not for a routine traffic stop, the only person who would have known that Quincy Davis was dead would have been the person who stashed him in the truck of her car ten years ago; his loving mother.

Who loved Quincy?

Who loved Quincy?

No funeral, no memorial, no grieving for Quincy. Apparently, his mother Tonya Slayton felt no remorse at all; well, she might have been a little annoyed at the inconvenience of him taking up valuable cargo space in her car, but other than that, she went on with her life pretty much as if nothing had ever happened. Or, quite possibly, it got a little better as she was no longer burdened with the very child she brought into this world.

Sorry, but children are, bluntly, inconveniences to many people. I see it all the time. Parents pushing their children into the arms of strangers, if not outright abandoning them to the streets. Keeping them busy in one activity or another so they don’t have to spend any face time with them. “I need a little me time, time with adults,” I’ve heard often. Take it for what it’s worth. I take it at face value. You can’t stand to be with your own children. Then again there are those for whom a child is nothing more than a conversation piece, a trinket, a possession, something they can put on display. Ask them just who their kid’s friends are, what their child’s favorite color is. Yeah, good luck.

No mention of the father in any story I have found to date; fathers are pretty damned inconvenient in society today too. What about siblings? No aunts, grampy or grandma? No favorite uncles, snot-nosed cousins, rambunctious best friends? No neighbors, parents of BFF’s, coaches, teachers, pastors, local friggin’ barbers? No one on this great green planet noticed the hole created by Quincy’s absence? Did no one ever hug this child, kiss his forehead, feel for him in their hearts? For God’s sake, what kind of miserable existence must this child have had before someone ended his life and he became a permanent fixture in the rear of his mother’s mustang? How could anyone, let alone a child, live day-to-day knowing that he was of such little value to anyone that he could vanish forever and no one would notice. Or care. And don’t think this wasn’t Quincy’s life. You know damned well it was. Just another expendable little life, brought into this world by another selfish cretin with a personality disorder so advanced that the stench of her own son rotting in the truck of her car had no effect.

Yes, it tears my eyes to read this. Catches in my throat. His death was probably quite violent, the final culmination of a life that was deemed absolutely worthless from the beginning. It was his mother who determined he was of no value to anyone in this world. As a result, there is no one to mourn him now.

Well, I mourn you Quincy. You deserve your special place in heaven. Rest well little man.


Who the heck is Josh Duggar? Sorry, I don’t cruise the dial on the sewage pipe that often, basically I stick to old westerns, documentaries or the history channel. I can’t switch the channel fast enough when I see one of these unreality shows; seems like they’re always about some oddity, a spectacle for the feeble-minded. Not sure what’s worse, the fact that there are people like this out there, or that there are people who make them millionaires. Geez, if I could just develop some behavior more bizarre than my almost normal (?) routine, I might be able to dig myself out of the financial black hole. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’d look that good with man-boobs or a silicone pumpkin-ass. But I digress.

Just a man groping with his faith?

Just a man groping with his faith?

So Josh is a member of a devout Independent Baptist family whose apparent claim to fame is the fact that Mom and Dad only have one hobby. One that they are obviously pretty darned good at. So are people watching this show for its uplifting message, its family values and its weirdness factor or were they just hoping for the eventual train wreck? Beats me, but I don’t go to the idiot box for morality lessons or someone else’s skewed vision of “reality.” I guess entertainment is a pretty broad concept. Hey, I still watch the Stooges so what the hell do I know.

However, one can’t get through a show without an infotainment blurb about “what the Duggars are saying now” or “what’s next for the Duggars”, etc, etc. The story is crowding out real news, like what cup size is Caitlyn? Yeesh. So I just hadda take a peek to see what the fuss was all about. Fuss indeed.

Mr. Duggar seems to have violated four of his younger sisters when he was a young teen himself. How sweet. And Mom and Dad, taking a limited break from their own copulation, apparently tell the local authorities that Josh admitted to “fondling the breasts and genitals of several victims while they were sleeping in the family’s home and that similar incidents happened for or five times.” Months later, Josh admits to his parents that again, he fondled another victim while she lay asleep on the family couch. And he continues, nine months later molesting one victim as she sat in his lap.

Question; what kind of idiot continues to expose the vulnerable to the predator? Maybe I’m old school, maybe its hyperbole or maybe I don’t really know what I’d do in that situation and I’m blowing smoke; but my gut tells me that my son would be immediately enrolled in some type of institution, both arms in casts. So I’m not giving Mr. and Mrs. Procreation a pass here. One can debate where Josh learned this behavior from in the first place, but anything beyond one chance is enablement.

Sickening enough was the act. Now we get the follow on chatter about the evils of religion, or maybe the evils of no religion, or forgiveness or how the hell can you forgive this, yaddi yaddi yadda. How Josh “admitted” his mistake, his sister-victims forgave him, his parents were anguished, his wife stands by him. It’s all still noise to me. He’s a sick individual, period. Said the same thing about the wonderful Ms. Dunham when she admitted to “finding” her toddler sister stuffed full of pebbles. Twisted people, in need of help. Can people like this ever be cured? I seriously doubt it. Can they ever be forgiven? If the victims wish to forgive them, fine. If they believe that whatever God they worship forgives them, I’m good with that too. And it’s not like they need to seek forgiveness from me which is a good thing, because I know I couldn’t and I’m not even involved. I guess forgiveness helps with the healing. Only the victims can say and they’re the ones who have to rebuild their lives, trying to recover something that is lost forever.

Just as sickening is how society at large looks at this. Maybe I’m making too sweeping a generalization here, but it’s “your side” versus “their side” over this issue, marginalizing the damned perverted act in the first place. The deeply religious were offended by Ms. Dunham, quite sure that her lifestyle was related to her lack of morals, her upbringing, and her permissive views; the left see nothing but hypocrisy in the religious who tout family values and morals, with neither side willing to admit that evil, horrifically disturbed people need no creed, religion, viewpoint or party on which to base their deviancy. But this is the game today. Let’s not worry about the act, let’s see if we can pin it to something I disagree with; my side wins! The left is quite sure that there is a cover up going on based on the Duggars’ religion; maybe their beliefs fostered this behavior; it certainly sought to hide it. Even though Duggar admitted his behavior, that’s not enough; although at seventeen Ms. Dunham continued to masturbate in bed next to the wiry body of her younger sibling and that was just peachy from their point of view. Exception’s all around, no matter what side of the spectrum you’re on. If Josh wasn’t religious but still a famous reality star, maybe Whoopi would have said it wasn’t real “fondling-fondling.” Or heck, maybe if his name was Polanski he’d have a much better career path than the one he has now. All he’s left with is a possible book deal, and a career giving motivational speeches at camps for wayward religious youth. All is forgiven.

You can pick and choose sides over any issue and relate it to the superiority of your viewpoints, or the inferiority of those you disagree with; but be careful. All you’re doing is marginalizing the seriousness of that issue. This has nothing to do with politics; nothing to do with religion. It has everything to do with a young man who was twisted enough to find sexual gratification at the expense of his own minor sisters. Until we can all agree that it’s hideous and it occurs everywhere, far too often, we’ll never come to any agreement on how we should respond to it or prevent it.

As long as my side can score points, the act has a perverse value and the victims are nothing more than collateral damage. And society is nothing more than an old Jerry Springer re-run.

I hope the Stooges are on……


Haven’t heard much about Justina Pelletier, a young girl I had previously written about who was for all intents and purposes, kidnapped by the Boston Children’s Hospital with the legal authority and weaponry of the State of Massachusetts. Her crime? Being a sick young girl whose parents had opted to follow the medical advice of their team of doctors from Tufts Hospital over the well-connected authority of BCH. After a year of state sponsored medical experiments, she finally returned home to Connecticut, and Google searches reveal nothing about her since then. The state it seems, is no longer concerned that her parents are abusing her medically. More likely, they decided they could no longer dance their macabre dance of tyranny in the public eye. Not that they could be wrong. No, it will always be presumed by weight of the legal records that the state had the moral authority to steal this child from parents who were unfit to decide what was in the best interest of their child, and it was the parents who should forever be ashamed of the year long near-death imprisonment of their daughter at the Boston Children’s Hospital and Penitentiary.

Tell her to jump? Or give her a push?

Tell her to jump? Or give her a push?

Maryland too has had to correct parents gone astray. Child Protective Services in Silver Spring rescued the ten and six year-old children of Danielle and Alexander Meitiv after their children were found alone in a Silver Spring park earlier this month. The Meitivs are “free-range” parents; a ridiculous term that, one assumes, is to delineate them from the “helicopter” variety of parents so prevalent today. (Disclaimer; I’ve logged a few hours in my own “Kid-Sikorsky”. Mine may have felt that they were independent and on their own; not so much. Stealth dad as it were…)

Again, the state decided that instead of picking the kids up, they’d just hold on to them for a while. The kids had promised to be home by six; they were two blocks from home when the police picked them up and held them for over two hours before sending them to Child Protective Service ten miles away. They finally released the kids to their parents at ten-thirty, four hours later than the kids had intended to be home and ten miles farther away then the two blocks they could have covered in less than fifteen minutes. Probably less than five minutes if the police had just brought them home.

Who in their right mind let’s their kids wander alone these days, especially kids that young? Makes me think of my school days though; We lived within, just within, the minimum distance that would have allowed us to ride the school bus and we walked or rode our bikes to school every day. State law, you see. We were state-sponsored “free-range kids” before it was cool. By law. But of course, back then, we didn’t have all these nut-jobs waiting in the bushes or lurking in some dark, broken-down shanty in the neighborhood the way we do now. Oops, my mistake. Of course we did. And we have them now only because we’re not allowed to restrict them from “adjusting” back into society or lock them up forever; and heaven forbid we be allowed to know which houses they may be occupying on the state enforced “free-range” walk to school. No, I don’t allow my kids that kind of freedom, whether they think I do or not. And it’s a good thing too or they’d be cooling their little heels in the back of some squad car or locked away in some comfy little state-sponsored juvi-hall, ala Justina Pelletier, victims of parents so horrible that the state just has to step in. Nothing worse for a child than his parents.

I’m usually all about parent’s rights, but still ready to admit to and scream about the idiots among us who shouldn’t be allowed to raise a potato plant let alone a child. I’m pretty damned consistent about it too. The “free-range” idiots are placing their kids at risk; one I wouldn’t take. But we’ve assigned guilt to them for things that might happen; might happen because we’ve allowed society and our neighborhoods to devolve into areas where our children can no longer roam alone. It pisses us off that these boneheads let their kids walk alone and so we attack them; it’s easier than fixing the problem we should address. But the state knows best. We can’t be too inhumane about the cretins that make our streets dangerous; instead, let’s lock up the kids that can’t follow the rules. Parents just can’t be left alone to decide. Or can they?

Okay I’ll bite. Why then do we celebrate the courage it takes for a parent to decide they want to send their child down the path of gender reassignment at the ripe old age of three? Or Four? Apparently, little Jacob, formerly a little girl named Mia informed her parents that she wanted to take the “free-range” walk down transgender lane as young as age two and hey, Boston is enamored with their strength and courage. This is no mere tomboy phase we’re assured; it’s the real thing. The four year-old told us so. She’s only two years away from getting busted for walking alone to the park, but we’ll set her on the path to self-mutilation and years of therapy, quite content in the knowledge that the parents are doing the right thing for their child. This time; on this issue.

Let the hate and derision begin. I’m bigoted. I’m evil. I’m hateful, spiteful, and probably a whole of bunch other things I’m sure I’ll shortly be made aware of. And let’s get the other stuff out of the way as well. No, I don’t know what they’re going through. No, I don’t hate people who are different. It just seems that we’ll bend ourselves into all sorts of contortions for the malady-du-jour, and no I’m not making light of this as much as it pisses me off.

We indulge these illnesses, without even letting this child approach an age where she can be exposed to others around her as she starts to mature naturally. We make no assumption that she may grow out of this or may develop a mechanism to cope, never truly supporting her in the body that she is in, fully exploiting and amplifying her illness, setting it in stone in her psyche as we wait for the opportunity to permanently disfigure her body to match? Is this not in fact, cruel? Of course, we’ll be told that we’re cruel to let her suffer, how horrible it will be to make her wait until she gets old enough to rationally make this monumental, permanent change on her own. If she felt her left hand didn’t belong to her, really felt that way, would we also encourage her to remove the right? If she were anorexic, would we feel it was cruel to help her see her body in reality, to help her accept and understand the fact that her mind is broken and the problem is not in her weight? Or would we acquiesce, tell her yes, we agree, please eat less, you’ll feel much better about yourself dear. We don’t encourage any other of these types of illnesses; we don’t pat ourselves on the back for our courage to indulge them. Why this one? Do we really believe that we’re doing the right thing when we have what in reality, is a very basic and rudimentary understanding of the complexity of the mind, let alone the brain itself? Do we really believe this is the cure, and believe it so strongly that we’ll do anything we can to make the change easier, faster, and more “natural?” Are we really so worried about her being too “different” to be accepted, by others as well as herself, that we’d make her infinitely more unique? Or is that the goal? If she told us she really believed she was a bird, would we take her to the rooftop and toss her off, hoping that in some way she’d eventually be able to fly?

Go ahead, throw the darts, but I can’t wrap my head around this one. I would suffer along side of my child, encouraging her and helping her to reach the age of maturity, helping her to understand that she can be whoever she wants to be; the girl she wants to be. But I would never encourage her to live this confusion, to give up fighting against it until she was old enough to rationally, competently make this decision on her own. And until she spends any time exploring what it means to be a girl, to be the body nature developed her to be, to have her first crush, to watch other boys develop and mature around her, then these parents are just allowing her to walk to a distant park, all alone and unprepared for either the journey or the destination.

At the end of this walk, the cops can’t bring you back home.


It usually starts out small, unnoticed; some obscure study or paper, published by a noted (or notorious) academic, supported by the learned bastions of academia like Cambridge or Essex University. Left unnoticed and unchallenged, it soon becomes the basis for further development and support, reaching far beyond the numbers, statistics or density within the population studied to justify a certain behavior or particular point of view. It slowly finds its way into mainstream thinking, reviled at first, but soon determined to be “normal” or “acceptable” because, hey, a study at a major university said so. Who knows, after a few years, it might just start reaching the point of adding to our diversity, demanding tolerance and the enforced, militant acceptance on the larger population. How soon before it becomes settled science that demands deniers be branded as hate mongers or idiots? Call me an idiot; there are some things I will never accept. No, I’ll never tolerate the belief that the “majority of men are probably paedophiles and hebephiles” and that “paedophilic interest is normal and natural in human males”. Nope. Not ever.

Two peas in a very perverted pod...

Plummer and O’Carrol: Two peas in a very perverted pod…

Last July at a conference at the University of Cambridge, the lead presentation opened the conference by stating, “Paedophilic interest is natural and normal for human males,” and “At least a sizeable minority of normal males would like to have sex with children … Normal males are aroused by children.” This love-fest of perverted thought brought together all manner of experts on the subject of the conference, which was about the classification of sexuality in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. The battle is over the classification, or lack of one, to encompass Hebephilia, the sexual preference for children in early puberty, typically eleven to fourteen-year-olds, which is different from Pedophilia, the sexual preference for pre-pubescents.

The argument centers around the legality of the terms used by courts and law enforcement. With puberty starting younger in the last several decades, the definition of Pedophila may not encompass a large number of children who were pubertal; victims who were not covered by the term Pedophile because of their early puberty. The American Psychiatric Association, which publishes the DSM, sought to classify Hebephilia as a disorder, concerned that the lack of clarification was “tantamount to stating that the APA’s official position is that the sexual preference for early pubertal children is normal”. The proposal was defeated. Another victory for yet another tiny segment of the population who see their predilections as completely normal and looking for the acceptance of the larger population and quite possibly, eventually laws and further studies to support that claim. Settled science as it were.

The attacks on the APA were telling, if not disgusting. Professor Ray Blanchard who headed the APA working group on the subject, was criticized by another learned perv, Professor Patrick Singy of Union College of New York. Professor Singy is concerned that convicted sex offenders might be detained as “mentally ill” and that the diagnosis of Hebephilia would be abused to keep sex offenders incarcerated after their sentence under the US “sexually violent predator” laws. Oh shame on us for protecting the weakest among our society. After all, as Professor Philip Tromovitch from Doshisha University of Japan noted, the “majority of men are probably paedophiles and hebephiles” and that “paedophilic interest is normal and natural in human males”. Maybe in the circles he travels; maybe it’s something in the water at these universities.

A large number of those at the conference are connected to the Pedophile Information Exchange, a group founded to legalize sex with children. Many of the attendees are quite sympathetic to the plight of the Pedophile and the Hebephile, looking for academia to help them convince us all that we need to tolerate and accept their behavior. Apparently, one attendee named Tom O’Carrol who is not only a multiple child convicted sex offender but was once the head of the Pedophile Information Exchange, was positively giddy about the whole conference. He blogged about how “wonderful” the conference was and how “It was a rare few days when I could feel relatively popular!” Describing a wonderful evening after the conference where he had drinks with the esteemed Professor Tromovitch, O’Carrol stated, “The conversation flowed most agreeably, along with the drinks and the beautiful River Cam.” Yes, I’ll just bet the evening was just ducky; I don’t really want to think about the conversation though, thank you.

I’m not sure why we decided, or even when we decided, that we’d start to sacrifice the greater good for the miscreant few. My sympathy for anyone who considers themselves ill quickly evaporates when it includes the predation of the innocent. My sympathy turns to revulsion, very short of anger when they no longer consider themselves ill but rather a small point on the ever sliding scale of “normal”, but normal nonetheless. An outlier, but just as normal as you and I. The only thing they crave more than acceptance is the young, innocent bodies on which they prey.

If we can’t agree that this is abnormal, that this is repulsive and that this is a sickness, we can agree on nothing. How long before academia instructs us that the science is settled?

It already is for me.

 

 

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