Ammo Grrrll an important message and a hashtag of her own: #COUNTMEOUT! She writes:

I think the #MeToo “Movement” is the most dangerous movement since the KKK, which it resembles with its mob mentality. And, I speak with total moral authority because I am a woman, whose every squeak and whine is, therefore, “credible.” I can credibly accuse any male from my kindergarten, high school, college, or long-ago workplaces, of the most lurid crimes, with no corroboration or even dates of occurrence. They will be pronounced guilty by man-hating leftist women and their wussified, terrified, man-shaped consorts who are so generally-repulsive that their only chance at getting laid is to pretend to be “feminist.”

Even after Tawana Brawley, and Mattress Girl, the Duke LaCrosse team accusers, and the fraternity gang rape that never happened, after every poop swastika and banana peel in a tree, all men and most women feel they HAVE to give an obligatory genuflection to “but, of course, the #MeToo movement is an important and wonderful thing.” No. It is not.

It is a deadly cocktail of Professional Victimhood, Neo-Victorianism, the hysteria of the Salem Witch Trials and the certainty of being found guilty of the Stalinist Show Trials. No man is safe, no matter how many decades go by, from being accused of sexual crimes. It is the weaponization of the fantasies or distorted accounts of minor, unprovable, or consensual sexual incidents redefined later by unhinged women. Which is akin to giving razor blades to female rhesus monkeys who are on an experimental program of PCP and estrogen.

I think Al Franken is an obnoxious wanker, but I don’t think any of his high crimes against #MeTooism rose to even the lowest level of sexual harassment, let alone assault. His hand drifted toward some nice bottoms during photo opportunities? Oh, puh-leeze! How were the photo seekers harmed by this in any way? Were they mute or paralyzed? Either tell him to move his hand, grab HIS fat ass, walk away in disgust, slap his face or get your damn picture made and move on. The real mystery is why you would want a picture with him.

So perhaps you are saying, “Oh, AG has clearly never been harassed. She doesn’t know the horror, the decades of therapy necessary to recover.” Ah, but, except for the therapy part, you would be wrong.

I wrote a column about my experience with a pedophile. I was nine years old. Unlike Ford, I remember the year, the month, the location, and the utter terror of its occurring in a boat with his threatening to throw me overboard if I told. Guess what? I told. Within the hour. I was believed and made to feel safe. The man was later convicted of molesting his grandchildren.

Moving right along, I have had two episodes with flashers, once while jogging around a lake in St. Paul. As cops will tell you, it is tough for women to provide accurate descriptions of a flasher. The shock of it all, combined with the focal point of one’s vision, precludes facial recognition. In the jogging incident, as I ran past, I screamed some bad words and the guy came out of the bushes and kept yelling, “I’m sorry; I’m sorry” as I ran away as fast as I could. I suppose there’s even a remote chance that he had had some kind of gastrointestinal emergency that required him to be naked from the waist down.

The closest I’ve come to real disaster was hitchhiking. Yeah, I know. Almost as stupid as getting blind drunk at a “party.” We didn’t have a car; we lived in Minnesota and I had to get from the campus to our apartment in 30 below zero weather. Oh, I had some “rules” – never get in a car with more than one guy; never get in the back seat of a two-door — and on this occasion, I violated both. Did I mention it was 30 below zero? With wind?

The two college boys who stopped claimed to be going exactly where I needed to go. After a couple of blocks, the driver suggested that we should all go to his place for beer instead. Uh-oh. And I said, “Sorry, fellas, I’m married.” “We don’t care.” “Guys, the reason I don’t have the car tonight is because my husband has it for training at the Police Academy.” They screeched to the curb and threw me out. I never hitchhiked again.

The great Dave Barry (paraphrasing now) has a piece of material about the different perceptions of husbands and wives to household cleanliness. He says that when a woman asks her husband to clean the bathroom because it is “filthy,” the man will go in, look around, maybe swish out the sink and be done with it. It looks fine to him. That is because his “STANDARD” for what constitutes a “filthy” bathroom is a gas station men’s room.

I have a pretty high threshold for what constitutes rape as well. A friend whose job required her to go to clients’ homes to meet with them was kidnapped at knifepoint by a bogus client, tied naked to a tree in a secluded area, raped repeatedly, and eaten alive by mosquitoes. She managed to escape when her assailant went to get food. She ran to the nearest road and flagged down a startled male motorist who gave her his own shirt and took her to the hospital. I think that would qualify for what Whoopi termed “rape, rape.” When the monster returned and discovered her gone, he killed himself, and is currently having brunch with Arafat and his less attractive and more anti-Semitic twin, Helen Thomas.

So forgive me if I am not impressed with an adult college woman too hammered to remember anything until six days of coaching 30 years after the unlikely incident. Or one who – if it happened at all and definitely not by Kavanaugh — was groped outside her clothes as a drunk teen by another drunk teen. That would be an example of NOT a rape. Is there a woman alive who never fended off a boy’s grope? Then I feel sorry for you! I was a happy, willing participant in many a makeout session and didn’t use or need alcohol to pretend it wasn’t consensual. I only dated boys who, when I said, “THIS far, no further,” respected that. Plus they knew my Dad.

The truly sickening thing – well, after the end of Statutes of Limitation, Presumption of Innocence, picky little things like Evidence – is that these lunatics don’t really care a fig about women if they are assaulted by Democrats. In the case of Judge Kavanaugh, all the hysterics care about is stopping a man who might not support their right to kill unborn babies. That’s it. All the rest is embarrassing psychodrama, character assassination, and a kind of mass psychosis that could lead a “comedian” to recommend public castration without trial. Nice. (See KKK above, Jimbo, you disgusting putz, they already thought of that.)

In the midterms any man of any color, and any woman with a husband, brother, father or son who does not vote Republican is a damn fool. Men: Somewhere in America there lurks a menopausal neurotic in therapy who remembers you took her to the drive-in in 1982. Or, you didn’t, and she’s still mad. Hope you kept an accurate calendar.