by

Harvey Weinstein, Louis C K, and James Toback are creeps, but they did not become creeps because of what they did. They were already creeps. Creeps are born not made. At an early age, creeps make a girl’s skin crawl. A girl will recoil violently at a creep’s touch. Creepiness, to a large extent, is a matter of fate. It’s your body, buddy. It’s fat and sloppy and just unappetizing. Your hair just kind of lies there. You sweat, you smell and on top of that you are so tentative, so hesitant, that it’s creepy. Your movements are graceless and weak. And of course it’s also your face. Not really ugly, just blah or maybe a little worse. Just nothing to write home about, except that your leer is the definition of pathetic. With an involuntary recoil at your touch a girl annihilates you, creep! Since involuntary, her flinch expresses the cosmic truth about you. You know without doubt, after that, that you are anathema.

Creeps would simply sink into the ground if girls had their way. The girl’s revulsion probably wounds him to the quick since the poor creep, who already secretly knows he is a creep, must have been in love with her to dare to actually touch her. He had had the wild hope that he was not lower than whale shit. Tough luck, creep. Had Harvey Weinstein been, say, Brad Pitt, I doubt if we would be hearing about his bad behavior. Brad Pitt is, obviously, no creep. Brad Pitt is a dreamboat, an entirely different kettle of fish. In Thelma and Louise he is a dreamboat being an asshole, but remains a dreamboat nevertheless. Dreamboats can do just about anything, and in particular get away with abuse far worse than anything the three creeps did.

Brad Pitt, since he is a dreamboat, would never have wanted what Harvey Weinstein wanted. Harvey wanted a massage, the very thing girls must have found most repulsive, for touching creeps is like, well, just plain icky. But girls always want to massage dreamboats and most dreamboats are, frankly, sick of it. Dreamboats are playful, funny, and cunning. Just like Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise, they have plans of their own. They know just what to say while opening zippers. Girls’ spread their legs at one flicker of a dreamboat’s eyelash even if, or because, he is an asshole who will take their money and leave them flat. They are glad for the experience.

Harvey Weinstein’s demands were a validation of his creepiness. He knew full well that the women would feel permanently soiled after giving a repulsive massage to a creep who had lured them into a business meeting he attended in his bathrobe or birthday suit. To do this is to wallow in creepiness. “Let creeps be dreamboats,” Harvey Weinstein dreamed, like Milton’s Lucifer. His desire was to repel, to make sex out of repulsiveness which was, after all, what he knew was his essence. It is strange that he did this to actresses that he expected to star in his movies. One must imagine he thought it would not affect their performances at all. But this is not surprising, for creeps are the least sensitive of men when it comes to girl’s feelings. How could they be otherwise, since all they ever saw of girls’ feelings was disgust at their very existence? What they know of what girl’s think they cannot afford to know.

Why made Harvey Weinstein’s wives different from his whores? He was married twice, both times to women of means. His first wife, Eve Chilton, was a blueblood whose family dates back to colonial times. His second, Georgina Chapman entered into a lucrative business arrangement with him. She was already very successful and famous. Were these marriages chemistry or something else? Ms Chapman said he could be charming. Perhaps so.

The notion that this is all due to a “male culture” is clearly unfounded. There is no male culture of creepiness. No culture can make or unmake a creep. The poison of creepiness is personal and there at birth in embryo. The annihilating snub activates it. No need for a psychological wound beyond knowing you are disgusting to girls. In a flash you realize that your life is null and void. That wound is permanent. Women’s openly shown disgust at a creep’s touch will wound a man at least as deeply as Weinstein’s forced massage and straddled jack-off wounded a woman. Even if forced, she has at least said no. Her purity is soiled, his is utterly worthless even if intact. After the fatal snub the creep’s soul curdles, and the infection settles in. He is a slob traveling through space on a barren rock for no reason. For such revulsion is a judgment on one’s deepest value as a member of the species.

The “me, too” complaints against these men are complaints against creepiness itself. For creepiness alone accounts for their behavior. Now, no one wants to be a creep, I can assure you. But creeps are born. What are you going to do about it? Kill all creeps at birth? Write laws against them? Force them to slink into the shadows and die? Bottom line:creeps are.