Well, I’ve gone and done it again: I’ve upset Zuck the Great and Powerful and brought down the ban-hammer.
Not on myself: I was perma-banned from Facebook ages ago (and have not missed it one whit, I might add; if anything my life’s been the better for it). No, this time it was The BFD’s Facebook page which felt the wrath of Zuck-by-proxy.
As you may recall, I posted that the Science-Based Medicine website had pulled a review by its long-time contributor and associate editor, Dr Harriet Hall. Hall is a veteran caller-out of bullshit, with whom I’ve enjoyed the occasional correspondence. The book she reviewed was Abigail Shrier’s Irreversible Damage: The Transgender Craze Seducing Our Daughters.
In her review, Hall argued that “the current political climate has made scientific study of these matters nearly impossible”.
As if to prove her argument, Science-Based Medicine hurriedly pulled the review.
Facebook is going even further. The BFD‘s Facebook page was slapped with a seven-day ban for posting a link to my post.
The auto-da-fé from the Facebook Inquisition stated that Your post goes against our Community Standards on hate speech and insults.
Yes, folks, what apparently sent the fruitcakes at Facebook HQ into a fit of the vapours was this shocking slur.
Brace yourselves: this one is worse than the “n-word”.
OK, are the children and pregnant women, oops, I mean, “birthing people”, out of the room?
Never mind that RuPaul’s Drag Race and Project Runway both feature liberal use of this supposed hate-speech. Or that the Tranny Awards were a much-coveted (in some circles, at least) gong, up to 2014.
I guess, like that other “word”, it’s OK when they do it.
But, dear readers, now I find myself in a quandary.
I’ve written a long paean to the beloved transistor radio I owned as a youngster in the 70s.
Dare I now publish The Tranny That Changed My Childhood?
Because I loved my tranny, when I was a pre-teen. Oh, the long nights I spent, huddled under the blankets with my tranny. Pressing it right up to my ear. Twiddling my tranny’s knob for hours (finding the right station was quite a challenge).
After all those hours of knob-twiddling I’d have to change the battery, of course. Otherwise, I’d be slapping my tranny hard, trying to get a sound out of it.
But turning my tranny on after inserting a new battery was something to look forward to.
The first time I heard the Sex Pistols was on my tranny.
Ah, yes, the humble transistor radio was a life-changing experience for a pre-teen rock’n’roll fan in the 70s.
But I can’t talk about it on Facebook any more.
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