Kesha’s plight of late has reiterated a point that has long been an unfortunate reality for women, whether in the media or not: “men” do not want you to talk. It’s fine every once and awhile to say something endearingly daft à la Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot, but when you start getting a little too “expressive” or saying anything real, they get fucking terrified, which results in them silencing you by either 1) insisting you’re not of sound mind or 2) ignoring you entirely.

A visual instance of silencing the woman

The decision on a female judge’s part to grant Kesha’s Svengali-esque producer, Dr. Luke (the sleaziest of all sleaze in stage names) favor by forcing Kesha to uphold her contract with Sony to fulfill the obligation of six more albums is a clear-cut instance of no one giving a fuck about a woman’s emotions, in spite of Kesha’s overt despondency quite possibly preventing her from ever being to create anything that will even remotely resemble the glitter-infused pop of her past two albums. Whether the judge in question felt the need to prove she was being unbiased/had a dick of her own in the case is irrelevant, because, ultimately, it comes down to the patriarchy at large continuing to insist that a woman who tells rather than shows (her tits) is just a girl crying wolf and should be silenced accordingly. Well, you know what, you don’t want to see my tits, ’cause they’re fucking weird. And unless you happened to be at Boobie Trap in March of 2015 when I was drunkenly lifted up from the floor, you never will. Asshole.