[…] while the bill is all but a done deal, that didn’t stop New York City’s other nocturnal pros (bartenders, waitresses, et al) from protesting en masse — and en little else. A crowd of scantily dressed ladies met at City Hall this morning according to the New York Post, to prove that sexy clothes are de rigueur in any number of careers. And they make a very valid point.
Of course, the debate is more complex than what meets the eye. At first blush, it’s tough to see what the big issue here is: A cop pulls over a cabbie on suspicion of sex trafficking, the woman in the backseat says, “hi, yep, not a prostitute!” and everything’s tea and crumpets. Beyond that, it’s not as though this is introducing any new regulations — it’s merely imposing harsher penalties for an existing crime.
But let’s backtrack for a second. At what point is it okay for a cop to pull a cab over because he thinks the passenger inside might be a prostitute? Is it an issue of fishnet stockings versus tights? Strapless versus v-neck? This could easily spiral into an exercise in morality imposing (if it hasn’t already) — as opposed to, you know, actual police work. And while it would seem easy enough to prove you’re not actually a sex worker (right?) the new penalty is harsh enough that I’d imagine a lot of cab drivers wouldn’t be willing to take the risk.
I’m not saying it’s not important to stop sex trafficking. But this penalty feels unfair; and it is.
Here’s my advice to outraged feministsts: stop voting for a political philosophy that is at its very ideological core necessarily tyrannical. As progressivism is. Because though it will promise to call you tomorrow, once its had its way with you, its really only yours until something more convenient comes along.
At which point you can cry and cry, then write an angry poem about the selfish prick.
— None of which really helps women looking for cabs who will now be unable to grab one thanks to the overreaching of the kind of nannystate pols favored by establishment feminists.
(h/t darthlevin)
This is horribly unfair to strippers.
I don’t think nannyfag bloomberg even knows what sex trafficking is
it doesn’t mean a hooker takes a cab, dumbfuck
best stick to getting the vapors over chockit bars
Heaven forfend some sweet college going hooker gets it into her heart to bury a warclub in the middle of Mikey’s brow by means of her honeypot. Watch out Mikey.
Please correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t there a document in the U.S. that requires a PROBABLE CAUSE OF AN ACTUAL CRIME for a police stop? You know, like an amendment or something?
Because, that would be so cool.
Amendments need to live. Why do you want to let some old chicken scratch penned by patriarchal slave holders prevent an end to sex trafficking, Gulermo? You’re just another infantryman in the war on women.
Pig.
Heh, I swear I just ran into this portrait of Judith a second ago, via an Althouse post.
I guess this is why they need to take those slut walks.
Can’t catch a cab.
“You’re just another infantryman in the war on women.” Is that anything like the He-man Woman Haters Club? Do we get shirts. The guys should get shirts, I think. And a secret handshake would be cool, as well.
Habeus corpus?
She’ll say she does, and knows how to use it too.
War on Hot Women?
Heaven forfend some sweet college going hooker gets it into her heart to bury a warclub in the middle of Mikey’s brow by means of her honeypot.
I’m not up on my Urban Dictionary slang, but somehow I’m pretty sure that’s the filthiest thing I’ve ever read on this site!
Jeff said I am a pig,. Well, at least I’ve got that going for me.
Maybe it’s because I’m not around hotels all that much, but since hookers took to the internet and abandoned their usual outposts, I don’t notice any at all. I kind of miss the tranny hookers in the Meatpacking District though. A dark, stanky, isolated neighborhood. Cows hanging from meat hooks. Ladyboys prospecting for business. It was New York at it’s finest, I tell ya.
I would say prostitution is a victimless crime, but that’s not entirely true. Love is the victim. What I find odd though, is that we live in a society where in essentially all other ways we’ve divorced sex from loving, committed relationships. So your average college student has adopted the Stephen Stills philosophy (…love the one you’re with), and hooks up with the person who happens to be standing next to them at the appropriate time, and high school students go to rainbow parties (Mom: “what are you kids doing down there, you better not be kissing.” Daughter: “we’re not, mom.”)
It strikes me as quaint that we as a society not only condone, but practically mandate casual sex, but draw the line when money gets exchanged.
Money. Cash money. Under the table, non-taxed money.
Johnny’s Bar is near the meatpacking district it doesn’t have tranny hookers but it’s a congenial down to earth place to escape to on a cold night
Uggh, ‘feets, your comment. That’s a ‘I really didn’t need to know all that much about you’ moment.
It strikes me as quaint that we as a society not only condone, but practically mandate casual sex, but draw the line when money gets exchanged.
‘sides, those hoo-arrs own the means of production and that’s only a good thing when the ‘workers’ (in the form of their duly elected Ruling Class) own the production.
Can’t just have individuals running around, all willy-nilly, producing ‘n’ shit. It might not comport with the Five Year Plan.
Never been to Johnny’s Bar. That’s always been kind of a let’s just assume it’s a gay bar if we don’t know the place neighborhood.
Jeff, you can ask the local Westminster police department .
nope it’s not a gay one I think you would like it
it’s one of those places if you drop a nice tip on the first round they’ll pour you tasty drinks to where you can pretty easily get drunker than you were aiming to
really love this place especially and so far it’s never been hipster hipster when I’ve gone
I thought rainbow parties were one of those things invented by the tabloid media to scare moms-n-dads.
Jeff should put up a skirts-n-hookers post at least once a day. Just for the entertaining google ads in the sidebar.
That looks like a bar we would like, hf. It’s a pool table short of being perfect, actually.
At which point you can cry and cry, then write an angry poem about the selfish prick.
“Mike lie-hies…when he cri-hies…”
But you forgot the last part–going back to him repeatedly despite the fact he treats her like shit. Because that’s what strong independent women do.
That’ll never be me, that’ll never be me, that’ll never ever ever ever ever be me, noooo…
The guys should get shirts, I think.
They guys ALWAYS get shirts.
And they slice like a…
don’t you ever think it!
HA! That was the funniest parody of Bloombergian NYC I think I have ever…what? No way!?
I swear that the political class in NYC is going to keep going until they are literally dragged out and tarred and feathered (remember kids, buy SquidCo brand tar).