The Fabric(ation) of “Innocence”


The last eight days have been orgasmic for the UK moralfag contingent. Why? Well, beyond the de facto banning of Human Centipede II

Newspapers, Mothers Against Everything groups, and assorted Question Time panellists gave a resounding “hurrah” to a looming government crackdown on salacious kids clothes and “sexualised music videos”. Defiant voices of dissent found themselves well and truly drowned out by the sound of nanny statist cockslurping.


According to Mother’s Union chief Reg Bailey: “parents feel there is “no escape” and “no clear space” where children can be children.”

Yet, I sit here thinking to myself: if these provocative clothes are so despised by parents, why the fuck do they continue to circulate? Some parents, somewhere, must be laying cash on the counter for such sartorial salaciousness, no?


All this highfalutin horseshit reminds me of the Swedish toy ad ban: an example of watchdogs and busybodies stepping in ‘cos Mum couldn’t muster the mettle to tell her crotch-spawn: “I’m not skipping the rent to subsidise your Ben 10 habit.”

Bit by bit, the nanny staters move to transform the UK into one huge ‘n’ glorified nursery, babysitting not only kids, but their priggish, petrified parents, too.

But hey, so long as the “innocence” of the little ones remains intact, it’s all good…right?

Hyeah, right!


Whenever parents, paternalists and Puritards preach the “innocence” of children and childhood, keep in mind they’re trying to sell you what Robert Anton Wilson called “Ideal Platonic Horseshit”. Reflecting on my schooldays, as well as the observed behaviour of present day kids, I strongly suspect the “innocence” peddlers must be on…illegal medication. What else explains their dogmatic determination to superimpose syrupy slogans over rugged reality?

If all those goody-goody gumdrops think their clampdowns’ll cease the corruption of their cherished cherubs, they’re doomed to disappointment. As as much as they wish to stamp out preteen-perversion, they’re just as determined to see said preteens get “a good education”; and where do they send their diminutive darlings to achieve this end?

If you said “school”, well, Sherlock, you ain’t getting no prize!

As I said, I remember my schooldays as anything but a playground of purity. Whilst not quite “red in tooth and claw”, things were much closer to that than to the cotton wool caricatures haunting the heads of the moralmaniacal. Fists got flung; epithets got exchanged; and Transformers got thieved; the latest 18-rated actioners regularly popped up in class convos;  and swearing saturated our speech (though I can count the number of times I blued the air on one hand—how times change!). More significantly, I remember talk of “willies”, “big boobs” and “fannies”; peers ogling topless tabloid temptresses; exhibitionism in the changing rooms; and, if memory serves me well, chatter by some  boys in my year about kiddy porn flicks (with one boy allegedly flown out to Belgium to be a star participant)…

…and all this before the advent of the turbulent teen years. Halcyon days!

Judging by the filthy-mouthed little fuckers in my area, and some of the stuff my twelve-year-old niece comes out with, the essentials ain’t changed, despite two decades of PC programming.

Thus, when saccharine shitheads  prattle on about “letting kids be kids”, or childhood “innocence”, I struggle in vain not to scoff.

Newsflash, you clueless wonders: kids show you what they know you want to see, a survival strategy they no doubt picked up by watching you lot in action. In a world of grown-up folk prepared to discipline and punish any young ‘un that “talks back”, “steps out of line”, or fails to “respect their elders”, wearing the mask becomes a child-friendly means of getting by. Throughout childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, I’ve encountered folk who flashed saintly smiles in the presence of authority figures, only to raise Hell, or revert to little shits, once the spotlights switched off. Hell, I’ve pulled that one myself from time to time!


But, hey, if it turns you on, pat yourself on the back for protecting preteen “purity”; just don’t sob too soundly if you find your dear daughter’s correct ‘n’ conservative clothing  Clintoned before she’s sat her last SATS exam.


The flimsy fabric of “innocence” only holds out for so long…


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