These … clowns. Literal clowns. Some dude, draped in cheap polyester sequins and a wig that reeks of desperation, sits there. He’s playing pretend with kids. He’s wearing a caricature of womanhood like a skin suit, and he’s doing it in front of a child.
“Do I look scary?” he asks, his voice straining to be gentle, to be inviting, to be a lure. And the child, in his honest, wide-eyed confusion, identifies the dissonance and immediately says “I know you’re a boy.”
The predatory instinct is the only thing that’s real here. It’s a gr**ming ritual performed in the open, dressed up as “creative expression” or “performance art.” It is a sick, inverted liturgy. They aren’t trying to entertain anyone, except demons. But they are trying to break the cognitive baseline of the next generation.
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I’ve learned something this past week. Not something that I didn’t already know. I mean, I knew this intellectually—but I actually experienced it. I saw it firsthand. And it’s that even lost people can recognize when God is being mocked. And even lost people—to a...
