I’ve always considered myself out on the fringe, cutting edge, pushing the envelope. Life is more interesting that way. But this time I pushed things too far.
A few months ago I jumped feet first into a new music project. Bunny Yō is a Q-pop star, unlike any I’ve ever worked with before, unlike anything out there these days. I won’t try to describe her. Just go to the website and try to figure it out for yourselves.
It has not been going smoothly at all. I love the music. I especially love the attitude, because it’s so weird and irreverent. But apparently no one else gets it, at least so far. Bunny’s first single, Orphan Sex Club, has been banned on TikTok. Most of the song’s YouTube videos have been age restricted, which is ridiculous. There’s nothing obscene about any of it. The censors fail to appreciate that it’s a joke. Orphan Sex Club? Come on! Get a sense of humor!
But that was just for starters.
Let me explain something. Bunny is in no position to do any of the technical stuff, none of the promotion, nothing but what she does. So yours truly has been handling everything. I put together the website, designed all the Bunny Yō accessories — t-shirts, truckers caps, coffee mugs — building everything around the Bunny Yō persona, lyrics, music, imagery, doing my best to capture and be faithful to her vision.
Well . . . this t-shirt was where the real trouble began.
Apparently, it caught the attention of some woke bloke and his indignation and gut rage spread through the woke community like monkeypox. They looked at the entire Bunny Yō project and for some reason thought I was making fun of them.
Let me tell you something. As J. K. Rowling will attest, you don’t want to mess with these people. There’s no reasoning with them. They’re like a mob of rabid witch hunters!
Anyway, here I am. In a jail cell of my own creation, waiting for the verdict.
Things don’t look good. My attorney (pictured on the right) apparently studied law at an auto mechanics trade school in Moldova. She raised no objections when a motion was entered — and approved by the court — to skip the trial and just let the jury decide on my guilt or innocence. I still don’t know what I am charged with. No matter who I ask, they just roll their eyes and sneer at me like I’m a big festering sore on the butt of humanity.
It gets worse.
How is that possible, you ask?
Here’s my jury.
Don’t mess with woke!
I’ve always considered myself out on the fringe, cutting edge, pushing the envelope. Life is more interesting that way. But this time I pushed things too far.
A few months ago I jumped feet first into a new music project. Bunny Yō is a Q-pop star, unlike any I’ve ever worked with before, unlike anything out there these days. I won’t try to describe her. Just go to the website and try to figure it out for yourselves.
It has not been going smoothly at all. I love the music. I especially love the attitude, because it’s so weird and irreverent. But apparently no one else gets it, at least so far. Bunny’s first single, Orphan Sex Club, has been banned on TikTok. Most of the song’s YouTube videos have been age restricted, which is ridiculous. There’s nothing obscene about any of it. The censors fail to appreciate that it’s a joke. Orphan Sex Club? Come on! Get a sense of humor!
But that was just for starters.
Let me explain something. Bunny is in no position to do any of the technical stuff, none of the promotion, nothing but what she does. So yours truly has been handling everything. I put together the website, designed all the Bunny Yō accessories — t-shirts, truckers caps, coffee mugs — building everything around the Bunny Yō persona, lyrics, music, imagery, doing my best to capture and be faithful to her vision.
Well . . . this t-shirt was where the real trouble began.
Apparently, it caught the attention of some woke bloke and his indignation and gut rage spread through the woke community like monkeypox. They looked at the entire Bunny Yō project and for some reason thought I was making fun of them.
Let me tell you something. As J. K. Rowling will attest, you don’t want to mess with these people. There’s no reasoning with them. They’re like a mob of rabid witch hunters!
Anyway, here I am. In a jail cell of my own creation, waiting for the verdict.
Things don’t look good. My attorney (pictured on the right) apparently studied law at an auto mechanics trade school in Moldova. She raised no objections when a motion was entered — and approved by the court — to skip the trial and just let the jury decide on my guilt or innocence. I still don’t know what I am charged with. No matter who I ask, they just roll their eyes and sneer at me like I’m a big festering sore on the butt of humanity.
It gets worse.
How is that possible, you ask?
Here’s my jury.