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Louis CK will not Joke in Peace until he Castrates Himself

It is a privilege to be alive today, to be witness to the most contentious debate ever to rage inside the hallow grounds of the internet. Not since woman started wearing pants has there been a subject that so divided the citizens of the world, united the passions of freedom seekers and appalled the purveyors of moral rectitude. Environmental policy, immigration reform, and finding the cure for cancer must wait. The issue that has captured the minds of men, woman, and online trolls alike, is whether, Louis CK, a man addicted to masturbation, is allowed to tell jokes.

This is not a subject for the faint of heart or the weak in comedic acumen. Only fierce tweeters, and blue check marks- those well-bred members of our world who can savagely cut through a strangers character in a few sentences or post an aesthetically pleasing selfie- apply for this jury duty.  Louis CK’s career is a question fit only for the unbiased scruples of the online community, like draconian Lords overseeing their unwieldy vassals, their demands are heard if not always obeyed by those they seek to control. This is why after Louis CK confessed to his crimes, and public outrage over his abuses exiled him, nothing so shocked the left corners of the internet more than his pendulous return back to performing stand up. The disgraced King of comedy is alive and plotting his come back, as his detractors, while frustrated, are more inspired than ever to prevent his ascendency back to the throne. But like all degenerate malefactors, Louis CK has one thing on is side, the sedating powers of time.

Over a year has passed since the news of his wickedness broke, and already the tide of public opinion has fractured. Some call Louis CK a sex offender, others have anointed him the voice of a porn generation. Most, however, have moved on, believing he has suffered enough, or more likely, are bored of talking about him, their apathy dissolved into tolerance. But as the clock ticks, and the stink of his malfeasance wafts away from our consciousness; still one formidable portion of society continues to clamp an unforgiving grip on his comeback. Persistent in their obstinacy against him, their anger coagulating into venomous blogs, armed with smartphones and liberal arts educations, feminists wrangle against Louis CK’s soft open back into societies good graces like a shark biting down harder each time its victim tries to swim. With every move he makes towards redemption, woman and men on the left side of progress find new, original ways of cross-examining his deviancy and condemning him to a life of indignity. To them, no tweet is too merciless, no blog too irate, to keep this defector of common decency away from spreading joy through laughter, as if every new joke he tells assaults the consent they never gave him to continue living his life.

And yet, he proceeds to go on stage. The severity and insidiousness of all of Louis’s compulsions one can never fully understand, but evidently, his drive to create, that maddening pull an artist has to express himself is one desire he has yet to fully conquer. Unable, or unwilling to quiet his throbbing mast of new jokes, he brazenly takes the microphone, all the while knowing that his return will not go unchallenged. To his adversaries, it isn’t enough that Louis lost millions of dollars, his legendary prestige and probably a lot of sleep. These are vain punishments doled out by a world not yet equipped for the type of recriminations that they have in mind for sexist predators of his ilk. No. Monetary losses and ego wounds are a pithy sentence, a light slap on the wrist; the online choir of progressives demands a more despotic edict to befall their once beloved court jester. Louis CK must atone for his sins. He must suffer the mental, physical and spiritual pains that were inflicted not just on his victims, but on all woman, past, present, and future generations of vaginas, who in perpetuity suffer from the psychic wounds, the physical torments, and the unrealistic beauty standards levied down by an unyielding, depraved, super annoying patriarchy.

Exile is an untenable solution to Louis CK. The flaw in democracy is the freedom it allows him to practice his art without the permission of the internet gatekeepers. There is only one way his detractors will leave him be, release him to his own fate as an aging comedian, let him perform his material without fear of ensuing blogs, tweets and podcast gossip. Louis CK must castrate himself. He must remove his own penis voluntarily, but with the added bonus that he’ll be able to write an irreverent bit about it afterward.  If Louis does this simple task of dismembering his own genitalia, the outrage mob will recognize his emancipated shlong as a sacrifice for his sins and the sins of his fathers, and the sins of his father's fathers. In the eyes of true democrats, when Louis CK suicides his prick, then, and only then, will justice be served, and his enemies can rest their case against him.

I can hear the laments of men who love their mothers, wives, and daughters now! This is an archaic verdict fit for medieval times! True. But, we are not so far away from the dark ages. Historians know that less than a hundred years ago people were hung in public squares, in front of crowds of all classes of people. Public executions weren’t disturbing, lurid events, on the contrary, contemporaries viewed hangings as entertainment, a thrilling show with an incredible closing bit. Live action deaths ended, not because they fell out of public favor, but because state governments chose to remove them; because people enjoyed watching them too much. Since time memorial, humans have foamed at the mouth to watch the destruction of our own, it is naive to think that merely because certain sadistic practices have fallen out of fashion, that the human instinct behind them has also ceased. Arguably, the repression of our dark aphrodisiacs has made humans thirsty for an updated outlet for our blood lust.

The public square of death has relocated. From the safety of our screens, behind the bright white glow of our computers, we watch people burn every day on our new scaffold of torment, the internet. From obscure high school acquaintances to public figures on all platforms, modern man, woman and child satiate our desire to watch others suffer through the systematic takedown of people online. Even if we don’t personally throw logs on the fire in the comment threads, we still marvel at the destruction of someone who made a costly mistake and has to pay for it, exposed in front of us all. Public executions didn’t go away. We just invented new, smart torture.

The yearning for justice combined with our ancient love of sadism forms a dangerous alchemy inside the souls of man, woman, and they. There are no heinous public murders anymore, the internet is our Collesium. To the cloud we gather and sit back and laugh while a person is torn limb for limb, over and over again, no time limit on the torment, it goes as long as the guilty party breathes, and then, sometimes, even still more after they have long expired.

Louis CK is just the latest culpable gladiator thrown into the ring, he is still fighting off attacks, as we all watch and have our own quiet and not so quiet reactions to the depravity. But he can escape the grip of the online executioners if he takes his sentence into his own hands. Louis CK alone can convince the masses to throw in the white towel, but he must make himself a lamb, chop off his wang, slice off his roger, rip off his one eyed-monster, and hold it up to us, preferably on a live stream, or an unfiltered Instagram photo, so we can authentic the evidence. Then, even the most evangelical man-hating anarchist could not continue to chastise a man who in one foul action gave himself a lifetime of shame, murdering his own penis for the greater good of society. Louis CK, TEAR DOWN THAT DICK. If, and only if you become a eunuch, will the internet permit you to tell your jokes in peace.

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