“General Hospital” – Rising to the Occasion

Remember when a television series had enough…I don’t know…Nielsen Ratings and feminine hygiene sponsors, I guess…that it could gaslight an entire nation of otherwise intelligent women to believe that when a guy rapes you, it’s not actually rape if that guy turns out to be popular with all those women buying products for when they have that “not so fresh feeling”?

Yeah, that’s messed up.

Back in the 80s, soap operas – which had been around for a long time and were largely viewed by housewives hooked on Valium, cigarettes, and anything else that would numb them to the desperation of life in the suburbs – suddenly became very popular with younger women. Who knows why. It was, after all, the 80s.

So it was that “General Hospital” somehow, suddenly, became a smash hit, with soaring ratings and the cred to coax acting legends like Elizabeth Taylor (more on her later) to deign to grace the small screen – and on daytime, no less!

The height of GH’s popularity probably owed a lot to the “fairy tale romance” between Luke and Laura – shown below at their super fabulous wedding. Laura, played by Genie Francis, was a fixture on the show, having practically grown up on television and generally portrayed as a wide-eyed, innocent young woman.

By contrast, Luke, portrayed by Anthony Geary, was a slick, smooth talking con artist and sleazebag who took a shine to young, sweet Laura. Doesn’t seem likely that the two would get together, does it? Well, they did, but only after Luke violently raped Laura in his disco.

And then, in a way that is always just so disturbing and disappointing, fans (mostly female – argh)
decided that they liked Luke and Laura m, regardless of what brought them together, and then the narrative changed. Instead of “Luke Raped Laura! He’s a dick! Let’s arrest him and put him on trial like the butt-farting cat licker he is!!” we were told that the Sexual Assault sponsored by Summer’s Eve and Trojan-Enz with lubricant was not a REAL rape…you know, where the guy holds you down and fucks you? No! It was a “Getting to Know you Rape,” where the guy holds you down and fucks you…and then, after a sizable segment of a targeted market share indicates it wants more, the woman involved suddenly decides it’s in her economic interest to FALL IN LOVE.

God help us.

Luke and Laura fell in love, because we wanted them to, and that nasty little forcible penetration was forgotten.

I KNOW! I’M VOMITING, TOO!

How fucking stupid…and gullible…were women of the ‘80’s that they bought this shit?

Hello!

HE RAPED HER!!

THEY SHOWED IT ON TV!!!

But thanks to the magic of Daytime Drama and a male screenwriter…rape became…true love.

Which is how I always feel when some guy with a bad perm who owns a disco fucks me when I don’t want him to.

Being fucked by someone with a bad perm is yucky.

Especially WHEN YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO.

But I digress. After all, this was the same show wherein Elizabeth Taylor played an otherworldly villain who lived on an island where she could control the weather.

If only she’d been around when Donald Trump was President. Think of all the hurricanes and space lasers we could have avoided.

Also, GH killed off Laura, and then she came back from the dead.

I’m not making this up.

Maybe Laura should have just stayed dead, if that’s what she was coming back to.

As in, “Yeah, he raped me, then I died, but now I’m alive and I’m okay with the whole aggravated sexual assault thing.”

But even after death, she took him back. Because that’s what the (mostly male) writers of GH thought women wanted.

Sigh.

Women…women, please.

We may not all agree on everything.

And I’m okay being the turd in the punch bowl when I say this…

But for the love of well-performed cunnilingus, can we please, please, FOR FUCK’S SAKE AGREE…

RAPE IS RAPE IS RAPE.

You don’t get to give it a less-horrible name, for the sake of Nielsen ratings or ad sales.

You don’t get to pretend it’s a way for people to realize they actually “love” each other.

You don’t get to brainwash an enormous percentage of the female population that WOMEN DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY WANT UNTIL YOU FUCK THEM!!!

Unless they let you.

And they did.

So here we are, 40 years later – we fat, old, crepey, cellulitis-ridden, batwing-bearing, grey-haired, creaky-kneed, glasses-wearing, wrinkled, crow’s-feet-laden WOMEN WHO WON’T PUT UP WITH YOUR SHIT..

We are here to tell you, Delta Mu Phi brahs…

-if she says “no,” she isn’t consenting to sex.

-if she’s passed out drunk, she isn’t consenting to sex.

-IF YOU DRUGGED HER IN YOUR CRAPPY-ASS “DISCO,” SHE ISN’T CONSENTING TO SEX.

It’s sort of awful that we keep having to explain this to men.

We don’t enjoy it.

Men often call us “stupid bull-dyke lesbos!” when we do.

Or they say, “don’t worry, no one would ever want to rape YOU!”

Or they say, “it’s just a TV show!”

Which is true. But it’s also a message that got put into the minds of a lot of young women – and maybe even some young men – and so is it any wonder that campus rape has become a crisis of epidemic proportions? Sure, that’s a vast oversimplification – rape, and rape by entitled young men – is a condition 3,000 years or more in the making.

But when you tell a young woman that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all…

…that maybe the pond-scum-sucking ass pimple is actually your Prince Charming, you just haven’t gotten to know him!

…well, that’s a problem.

No, we don’t want your body, and no, we don’t think you’re sexy.

And even if we did, it doesn’t mean you get to rape us.

There are good guys out there. There are.

So maybe make a TV show about them. They’re not rapey. They respect women. They still look good in a pair of Levi’s.

Men, here’s what women want for Valentine’s Day:

We don’t want candy.

We don’t want flowers.

We don’t want lingerie that’s only going to get one of us hot hot hot (hint: no women ever wore a corset and garters and said, “this is just as comfy as yoga pants and my favorite sweater.”)

Just do this – please – and we promise to give you a blow job when we fucking feel like it (you’re welcome):

JUST STOP RAPING US.

That’s all we – including Laura – ever wanted.

Remember when a television series had enough…I don’t know…Nielsen Ratings and feminine hygiene sponsors, I guess…that it could gaslight an entire nation of otherwise intelligent women to believe that when a guy rapes you, it’s not actually rape if that guy turns out to be popular with all those women buying products for when they have that “not so fresh feeling”?

Yeah, that’s messed up.

Back in the 80s, soap operas – which had been around for a long time and were largely viewed by housewives hooked on Valium, cigarettes, and anything else that would numb them to the desperation of life in the suburbs – suddenly became very popular with younger women. Who knows why. It was, after all, the 80s.

So it was that “General Hospital” somehow, suddenly, became a smash hit, with soaring ratings and the cred to coax acting legends like Elizabeth Taylor (more on her later) to deign to grace the small screen – and on daytime, no less!

The height of GH’s popularity probably owed a lot to the “fairy tale romance” between Luke and Laura – shown below at their super fabulous wedding. Laura, played by Genie Francis, was a fixture on the show, having practically grown up on television and generally portrayed as a wide-eyed, innocent young woman.

By contrast, Luke, portrayed by Anthony Geary, was a slick, smooth talking con artist and sleazebag who took a shine to young, sweet Laura. Doesn’t seem likely that the two would get together, does it? Well, they did, but only after Luke violently raped Laura in his disco.

And then, in a way that is always just so disturbing and disappointing, fans (mostly female – argh)
decided that they liked Luke and Laura m, regardless of what brought them together, and then the narrative changed. Instead of “Luke Raped Laura! He’s a dick! Let’s arrest him and put him on trial like the butt-farting cat licker he is!!” we were told that the Sexual Assault sponsored by Summer’s Eve and Trojan-Enz with lubricant was not a REAL rape…you know, where the guy holds you down and fucks you? No! It was a “Getting to Know you Rape,” where the guy holds you down and fucks you…and then, after a sizable segment of a targeted market share indicates it wants more, the woman involved suddenly decides it’s in her economic interest to FALL IN LOVE.

God help us.

Luke and Laura fell in love, because we wanted them to, and that nasty little forcible penetration was forgotten.

I KNOW! I’M VOMITING, TOO!

How fucking stupid…and gullible…were women of the ‘80’s that they bought this shit?

Hello!

HE RAPED HER!!

THEY SHOWED IT ON TV!!!

But thanks to the magic of Daytime Drama and a male screenwriter…rape became…true love.

Which is how I always feel when some guy with a bad perm who owns a disco fucks me when I don’t want him to.

Being fucked by someone with a bad perm is yucky.

Especially WHEN YOU DON’T WANT HIM TO.

But I digress. After all, this was the same show wherein Elizabeth Taylor played an otherworldly villain who lived on an island where she could control the weather.

If only she’d been around when Donald Trump was President. Think of all the hurricanes and space lasers we could have avoided.

Also, GH killed off Laura, and then she came back from the dead.

I’m not making this up.

Maybe Laura should have just stayed dead, if that’s what she was coming back to.

As in, “Yeah, he raped me, then I died, but now I’m alive and I’m okay with the whole aggravated sexual assault thing.”

But even after death, she took him back. Because that’s what the (mostly male) writers of GH thought women wanted.

Sigh.

Women…women, please.

We may not all agree on everything.

And I’m okay being the turd in the punch bowl when I say this…

But for the love of well-performed cunnilingus, can we please, please, FOR FUCK’S SAKE AGREE…

RAPE IS RAPE IS RAPE.

You don’t get to give it a less-horrible name, for the sake of Nielsen ratings or ad sales.

You don’t get to pretend it’s a way for people to realize they actually “love” each other.

You don’t get to brainwash an enormous percentage of the female population that WOMEN DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY WANT UNTIL YOU FUCK THEM!!!

Unless they let you.

And they did.

So here we are, 40 years later – we fat, old, crepey, cellulitis-ridden, batwing-bearing, grey-haired, creaky-kneed, glasses-wearing, wrinkled, crow’s-feet-laden WOMEN WHO WON’T PUT UP WITH YOUR SHIT..

We are here to tell you, Delta Mu Phi brahs…

-if she says “no,” she isn’t consenting to sex.

-if she’s passed out drunk, she isn’t consenting to sex.

-IF YOU DRUGGED HER IN YOUR CRAPPY-ASS “DISCO,” SHE ISN’T CONSENTING TO SEX.

It’s sort of awful that we keep having to explain this to men.

We don’t enjoy it.

Men often call us “stupid bull-dyke lesbos!” when we do.

Or they say, “don’t worry, no one would ever want to rape YOU!”

Or they say, “it’s just a TV show!”

Which is true. But it’s also a message that got put into the minds of a lot of young women – and maybe even some young men – and so is it any wonder that campus rape has become a crisis of epidemic proportions? Sure, that’s a vast oversimplification – rape, and rape by entitled young men – is a condition 3,000 years or more in the making.

But when you tell a young woman that maybe it wasn’t so bad after all…

…that maybe the pond-scum-sucking ass pimple is actually your Prince Charming, you just haven’t gotten to know him!

…well, that’s a problem.

No, we don’t want your body, and no, we don’t think you’re sexy.

And even if we did, it doesn’t mean you get to rape us.

There are good guys out there. There are.

So maybe make a TV show about them. They’re not rapey. They respect women. They still look good in a pair of Levi’s.

Men, here’s what women want for Valentine’s Day:

We don’t want candy.

We don’t want flowers.

We don’t want lingerie that’s only going to get one of us hot hot hot (hint: no women ever wore a corset and garters and said, “this is just as comfy as yoga pants and my favorite sweater.”)

Just do this – please – and we promise to give you a blow job when we fucking feel like it (you’re welcome):

JUST STOP RAPING US.

That’s all we – including Laura – ever wanted.

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