"Monstrum horrendum, informe ingens."
In 1974, I first encountered one of the creatures E. Michael Jones writes about in Monsters From the Id. It appeared in the guise of one of my graduate-school classmates. She was a bright, pretty woman who seemed unusually self-possessed and accomplished for a 22-year-old. My impression changed, however, when I committed the faux pas of mentioning that my wife had recently become pregnant with our second child. Without a moment's hesitation, my colleague brightly inquired, "Are you considering abortion?" I was so astonished that I could not help laughing in her perky, well-scrubbed face. I do not believe she ever forgave my convulsive rudeness. Of course, had I been attentive to contemporary trends, her question would not have taken me by surprise. It had been a full year since Roe v. Wade, and the Robespierres of the feminist legal revolution had become tirelessly vigilant in its bloody cause.
Not coincidentally, this was the highwater mark of the left-liberal sexual agenda. Whenever sex was the topic (and when wasn't it?), the discussion was purely technical: positions, techniques, lubricants, and—of course—contraceptive measures, all talked about in the same tones you might use to analyze your golf game. Dalliance without consequences was the...