“Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.”

-William Shakespeare

Last week’s column, “Brittney Cooper’s Very Personal “Political” Problems,” examined the theory and practice of Prof. Crunk’s sociopolitical worldview where it mattered the most – in her own personal life. Your correspondent has offered damning evidence, written by the good professor’s own hand, as to how and why Black Feminism has utterly failed to deliver the goods that matter, to Black women generally and most importantly, to her in particular:

A conventionally attractive (which includes meaning highly educated and high-earning) Black man as a mate. Or failing that, as a phallus-on-demand sex partner.

By her own admission, she has discussed how her morbid obesity has greatly hindered her mating prospects. It has been years since she has publicly acknowledged this fact. And yet, as recently as this month, Cooper continues to tow a line of (un)reason that has proven itself not to assist her meet the very life goals she has written so longingly about now, again, for years.

Reader response to my article was quite vociferous – as to be expected. Among the critiques, was the idea that instead of my recounting the ways in which Cooper has proven herself a massive (pardon the pun) failure in the mating realm, my writing talents would have been better served by examining the politics of one Ms. Brittney Cooper, and kept the personal stuff out of it.

But, as I noted in the lead-off quotation of my previous column, for feminists, the personal IS political. They were the ones to coin that phrase, and Black feminists, ever the good lap dogs of their Miss Anne betters, have aped this notion as well. Cooper has made it a point of using her personal testimony as evidence for the veracity of Black feminist ideology and beliefs.

It is therefore quite logical to examine her own words and the life she has chosen to live based on them, in the light of the Black feminist philosophy she and her Sistas espouse, and assess them in terms of their impact – or in this case, the decided lack thereof.

Thanks to one of my newer readers, who wishes to remain nameless, and who knows the “luminaries” of the Black feminist world quite well, he/she has supplied me with even more information that tallies the losses of Prof. Cooper’s love life – even more to the point, the following links will highlight just how early and often Black feminists can and will engage in out-and-out hypocrisy, when it suits their warped ideology to do so – and then justify it under the rubric of “privilege” that Black men enmasse supposedly have.

In short: we shall proceed, and continue, to rock the mic.

Long(er) time readers of yours truly will recall a post of mine called “The Inability To Seek Consent” – it was a response to Ms. Feminista Jones, who is as thick as thieves, ahem, with Ms. Brittney Cooper by the way, for the former choosing to air a private email correspondence, and attempting to use it as prima facia evidence for how and why Black women in particular were somehow being (sexually) harassed everywhere they go. In case you missed it, here’s what I said, in summation:

“I’m gonna cop to everything that Jones has said about me—guilty as charged! People who know me well would definitely agree that not only can I be quite persistent, but I can also be quite persuasive. After all, how do you think I got the interviews I’ve gotten thus far? But there is one little problem with Jones’s argument … She never obtained my CONSENT(!) to air our email exchange. Please note that in the previous email exchanges-turned-de facto interviews I had with Evan Marc Katz and Lindsey of Cards Against Harassment, I was keen to obtain their consent to bring our offlist conversation to the J4G audience publicly. I’ve also been careful to obtain the consent of others in terms of their thoughts and words expressed either offlist or elsewhere online; Dr. Edward Rhymes, for example, can attest to this fact. Why is this important? Well, because consistency, that’s why. Imagine what Jones and her flying monkeys followers would have said if the shoe was on the other foot—and I had taken it upon myself to air an offlist email exchange of her and me, releasing it to my readers without her foreknowledge or consent—I can hear the “comparisons” to rape and the like right now. Of course, when it comes to social justice warriors like Jones, little trifles like the rule of law or even common decency don’t apply, especially when it comes to working-class, blue-collar brothas like yours truly—which does indeed bring us back round-robin to the point about “street harassment.” … For Black women like Jones, Black men like me have no rights toward consent that they are bound to respect. She is emblematic of those people—like Amanda Marcotte, of Duke LAX infamy, for example—who have no qualms in the least running roughshod over the civil liberties of others or just plain ole dissing them in the name of some “higher goal”—which is, of course, their own twisted utopian delusions of grandeur. … The irony of all this is that if she had only asked me, I would have readily and enthusiastically—heh—consented to our exchange being aired because I have nothing to hide and consider myself to always be on the Jumbotron—I don’t say anything online that I am not prepared to cosign or defend. Not only that, but this exchange being aired to the general public serves in itself as a kind of “debate,” in which both sides of the issue can be aired, and the public reading along can then decide for themselves. As Lindsey’s parting shots in our recent exchange aptly shows, it’s not the menz that are the problem here; it’s the ladies themselves.”

I also said, in the same post, that it was my judgment, based on the then-available evidence (and that which I have been able to obtain since), that Ms. Jones was an A1, rank, out-and-out, in-your-face, stompdown disingenuous, manipulative hypocrite of the first order – and that I would make it my business to be on her like stink on doo-doo from here on out.

Like her ace boon coon, Cooper also holds the view that Black men have no rights toward bodily autonomy, or the right to say “no,” that she or any other hugely (pardon the pun) unattractive Black woman is bound to respect – something that I have written about at length, previoulsy. Don’t take my word for it, see for yourself:

“TrueStory: chalk it up to #VenusRetrograde but last month saw exes coming out the woodworks. I had a chance to have dinner and clear the air with one that I really liked. After a lovely dinner and good conversation (not to mention an extended drought), I asked if he’d like to accompany me back to my room. Surprise of surprises: he declined. Exasperated (and horny) I asked “Why?” Lo and behold, he flipped the gender script and told me some version of: “I’m happy to have you back in my life. I don’t want to move too prematurely because we are rebuilding our relationship.” Riiiiight. What I wanted to know is what our “relationship” had to do with the sex that I needed to have right then and there. For that there were no answers.”

Au contraire, grande dame – for the answers are not in our stars, but in ourselves. As we’ve pointed out the last time around, and as you’ve noted yourself on at least one occasion, it’s your prodigious ability to break the scale that keeps you from getting your back blown out.

I mean, seriously – go to Brittney Cooper’s Facebook page, and checkout the pics for yourself. Honestly, it reminded me of that scene from Star Wars: Return of the Jedi – you know what I’m talking about. Princess Leia is being held captive by notorious gangster Jabba the Hutt; at one point, he licks his lips with his tongue…note Leia’s response.

That’s how yours truly felt. Real rap.

And if I were a betting man, I’d wager a princely sum that this is exactly what all those dudes who say “let’s just be friends” to Cooper felt, too, when gazing upon her. This is the harsh, brutal truth – but, as I noted in my previous essay, women in general, and apparently Black feminists in particular, have a preternatural ability to make their Rationalization Hamsters achieve transwarp speed:

“What should we do when men flip the script and tell us no? For instance in this recent piece at Essence.com, the male author had the nerve to be “concerned” that a woman might reject the possibility of a relationship with an otherwise compatible mate if his sex game was found lacking. Now that women are prioritizing sexual pleasure, men are changing the rules. They are recognizing that sexual performance can decline with age just like beauty. But frankly, strictly speaking from my own experience, I think that men say no as a way to regain power. I have a strong personality, I’m outspoken, and smart. Whatever the fuck Steve Harvey says, I know some brothers have found it intimidating. Denying sex becomes an easy way for men to let you know who’s boss. Of late, I’ve had more than a few homegirls tell me about the negative reactions that they have gotten from men they were casually involved with, when they tried to prioritize sex in the interaction. Apparently, even when these brothers weren’t all that interested in a relationship, they took it as a serious blow to the ego, to find out that sisters just wanted to engage them for their bodies and sexual talents. And in the classic fashion of those with privilege, they played the victim, changed the rules, and refused to give the thing they had the power to give. In this case, sex.”

Note the doubling-down on the harpiness, even when it has consistently (this post was written in the dog days of summer 2012!) shown THAT IT DOES NOT WORK.

That Black feminism is a powerful drug.

In a followup post written a scant week later, Cooper tries to back peddle on her blatant rapeyness, overblown sense of entitlement and flagrant IDGAFness about the importance of gaining consent from Black men, THAT WAS POINTED OUT BY HER OWN FELLOW TRAVELERS:

“Last week, I wrote a post called Asking for Sex: What to Do When the Guy Says No. My interest in writing the post was to explore the contingencies and challenges of asserting sexual desire as a straight Black woman. What I know now is that there is much truth to that saying about hell and good intentions. Because I respect our community of readers, I want to both take some responsibility for the lack of clarity in the post and also actively (and perhaps aggressively) respond to many of the claims (and attacks) made on and about me in light of it … The primary criticism of my story has been about the issue of consent. My choice to question my ex’s decision read to many of you as a failure to respect the classic feminist anti-rape mantra “no means no.” Thus, one blogger whom I respect referred to my story as “rapey and presumptuous.” Moreover, some of you felt that my suspicion about his intentions and my read of his responses as a kind of patriarchal power play amounted to a bad and un-rigorous invocation of feminism. Many of our male readers felt compelled to let me know that “men are human beings with feelings, and not mindless sex fiends.” Finally, many of you felt that the post wreaked [sic] of entitlement to sex and/or partnership.”

Uh, yeeeeaaaaa? In fact, let’s check in with another happy social justice warrior, one Dr. Nerdlove, to see what he has to say about Nice Guys(TM) and the dreaded Friend Zone, just for point of comparison, sh*ts and giggles, shall we?

“So while I’m sure the whining felt good to get off his chest at the time, it’s also a great big insight into just what’s going through a Nice Guy’s head. Here’s a hint: it’s “ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME MEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEMEME”. In ira veritas, after all. The entire rant says exactly two things: 1) How dare you like someone who is not me? 2) You owe me for all the time and effort I put into you. There isn’t a word about her needs, her desires or feelings except as how they relate to the Nice Guy. The insinuation that she must have had feelings for him but refused to acknowledge them, the unfairness of not being attracted to him just because he doesn’t look anything like the people you’re usually attracted to. This is the person who was supposed to be her friend – except this was evidently a friendship where “emotional intimacy” is supposed to be reciprocated with access to her body. Entitlement issues, much? How much do you want to wager that this “Nice Guy” neglected to mention that particular aspect of his friendship to his “friend”? It’s ironic that the Nice Guy complains about having been “used” by the object of his crush, considering that he all but admits that he was using her trust and affection for him as a means to try to fuck her. But again: it’s not about her. It’s about him and his complete abdication of responsibility for the situation he’s found himself in. It isn’t his fault that he’s bitter and resentful, it’s her. It’s all her fault that he’s now forced – forced, I tell you! – to be an asshole against his will and to unleash his cynicism2 on the faces of the young, more attractive3 women he’s now compelled to seek out. Of course, when a Nice Guy dumps a screed like this online, he’s doing so knowing that there will be other Nice Guys out there eager to pat him on the back and commiserate about how evil women are and how much it sucks that Nice Guys like them can’t get a break. After all, the Internet loves a Nice-Guy-done-been-wronged story; witness the ongoing love for the patron saint of Nice Guys. The more Nice Guys bitch and moan on the Internet to their fellow travelers, the more it validates their ongoing persecution complex that they’re the victims in this equation. There’s nothing like an Internet circle-jerk of sadness to reinforce the idea that somehow it’s unfair for women to stubbornly refuse to reward being a friend by giving up the pussy.”

Now, here’s the good professor, dishing on being put into a friend zone all her own:

“Recently, I had a five-hour ice-cream date with an intelligent, ambitious, chocolate cutie, with friendly eyes and a great smile. Yep, I said five hours. He’s a great conversationalist, wonderful at asking questions, and pretty interesting himself. He showed genuine interest in my career, my research, and my recent career-related travels. He respects my intelligence, told me so in not so many words. Awesome, right? This is what feminists have been fighting for. Yes. But these days me and my well-educated hetero feminist friends have two categories of male-female relationships, if we have them at all. There are those of us with intellectual affairs and those of us with just, um, affairs. Never the twain shall meet. I am in the first category, and let me tell you that the grass is looking much, much greener on the other side. What, pray tell, is an intellectual affair? I’ve had so many of them, that I might as well have a Ph.D. in that, too. Intellectual affairs revolve around the episodic mind f*ck and they have all the potential to leave you feeling just as emotionally drained as an ill-thought sexual liaison. In an intellectual affair, your mind, rather than your body, is your biggest asset. That’s all the person wants you for—the amazing insight you have, the way you make them think differently, the advice you give. Ugh. Your body, however, get the short end of the stick.”

Prof. Crunk, meet Dr. Nerdlove.

As I said, compare, and contrast. The EXACT same things that feminists, Black and White alike, have been banging on with regard to men, for YEARS, is being mouthed by this Black feminist icon-in-her-own-mind. The EXACT same thing. Oh, but, what had happened was, that all of those Nice Guy(TM) things are baaaad, because it’s men doing it; when (Black) women do it, it’s a sign of their sexual agency and power.

Gotta love that postmodernism!

Oh, by the way: not to put too fine a point on it, but ladies, seriously – if YOU, have to ask a guy out; and if YOU, have to ask a guy back to your boudoir, the reasons why, and why homeboy has given you the LJBF treatment, just might have something to do with your reflection in the mirror, and/or your being the poster child for the latest edition of the DSM. In other words, you’re seriously cray.

In many cases, it’s both.

By now, I should like to think you’ve gotten the point: that Cooper, and Jones, and the whole lot of Black feminists, are hypocritical to the core, totally willing and able to trample all over the very ideas and concepts they claim to hold near and dear – when it comes to their interests, desires or needs – and the rights of others – in this case, Black men – be damned. It’s all right there, in black and white.

By their own hands, ahem…and actions.

I’m gonna wind this up, by quoting again Prof. Cooper, from a post she wrote some years(!) back called “Dating While Feminist: Anatomy Of An Intellectual Affair,” where again, a brief sliver of hope slices through the three-foot thick wall of cognitive dissonance:

“So yes, just for today, I blame feminism for the particularly sucky state of my love life. If you ride or die for feminism, you will inevitably find yourself in a kind of dating quicksand, knowing that you’re sinking, but absolutely unable to do anything about it.”

Wrong again, Prof. Crunk – you CAN do something about being in the d*ckless desert…

…it starts, by backing away from the table.

We’re done here.