Kamala’s “Will Blunderfield Strategy”

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Will Blunderfield.

Admit it: our pumpkin spice-hurricane-election-World War III season is getting you down. You could use a good laugh. So, allow me to introduce you to Will Blunderfield, if you haven’t met him already.

Blunderfield is a 39-year-old gay Canadian (pardon me if that is redundant), a yoga teacher and certified expert in “sexual kung fu.” He will teach you that your testicles are batteries, which you can charge with energy. “What do your balls feel like right now? Breathe into that,” he advises.

He will teach you the power of semen retention, of drinking your own urine, of testicle slapping, and of channeling your sex energy up the spine, Kundalini-style, from the prostate to the mysterious pineal gland. It will make your penis bigger, he says. As will “milking it” with coconut oil.

But what is most remarkable about Blunderfield is all the perverted stuff he manages to convince ostensibly straight men to do with him. “Can you feel the reiki energy leaving my palm and going into your ball sack?” he asks a straight-appearing man while cupping his testicles.

This scene appears in a short profile of Blunderfield created by Channel 5 of YouTube – a segment which now has over 2.5 million views. If you think that the whole scenario is already unbearably awkward, I should mention that the guy whose testicles get cupped is one of two brothers who appear, fully naked, throughout the video.

Documentarian Andrew Callaghan, who keeps his clothes on, captures the entire “workshop.” The brothers are paying for sexual kung fu “coaching” from Blunderfield. (By the way, if you are still afraid of catching COVID-19, he offers Zoom coaching as well.) One of them, who implies that he is straight, says it took him “a few years” to trust Blunderfield. In other words, to trust that this wasn’t some kind of con by means of which a gay man gets to molest straight men under the guise of yoga instruction – though he doesn’t put it that way.

Such concerns were misguided from the get-go because, Blunderfield advises, “gay” and “straight” are just words “the Matrix” uses to divide us. He doesn’t believe in labels. By the way, here’s a trick Kamala could really use: whenever she’s asked a direct question about her positions – about fracking, perhaps, or transgender surgeries for prison inmates – she could simply say “I don’t believe in labels.” But I digress.

Blunderfield may not like to label himself, but others have not been at all hesitant to label him. “The word I was called most often in high school was ‘faggot,’” he says. Imagine my shock. “Faggot” is putting it mildly. If there really is such a thing as a “gay look” or “gay physiognomy,” Blunderfield’s got it in spades. He looks like the mutant vanguard of a new gay race – or like the runt of a litter of satyrs. Take your pick. He is gayer than gay.

He tells Callaghan, “I guess [my classmates] assumed I was gay because I was a singer.” Well . . . ummmmmmmmm . . . no. That probably wasn’t their first clue. But Blunderfield really is a singer. And while I cannot honestly say that he is a bad singer, listening to, and, especially, watching him sing is excruciating. He was eliminated as a finalist on Canadian Idol, when a judge deemed him “too dramatic.” He was even too gay for those people, in other words. Blunderfield has actually enjoyed some success as a singer, particularly in Japan. He is currently under contract, believe it or not, to Nettwerk Records/Sony Music.

Now, Blunderfield’s come-on, the way he gets straight men to participate in these shenanigans, is by saying that it will make them manlier – and straighter. He calls what he does with his male clients “same-sex erotic bonding.” In a voice gayer than Richard Spencer’s, Blunderfield tells us that the more same-sex erotic bonding he does, “the more pussy I want to eat.” Right.

An example of the sort of “bonding” men are paying him for is “mutual penis reflexology massage.” Blunderfield describes a typical session as follows: “So basically we massaged each other’s heart meridians to release self-hatred while cuddling and watching Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Strangely, in all the years I have been touching myself, it never occurred to me to do so while looking at Star Wars. Blunderfield is a pioneer.

To become manlier, he advises his clients to drink other men’s semen, claiming that his Celtic ancestors did this, as well as the Spartans. Apparently, this was how they acquired the mojo necessary to defeat the Persians at Thermopylae. And you want to be as tough and manly as a Spartan, don’t you? Blunderfield doesn’t mention the samurai. Surely they did it too. And about the Klingons, the less said the better.

Blunderfield, a former cocaine addict, says he stumbled upon sexual kung fu while searching for other ways to get high. Like most gurus, however, he does not seem to consistently practice what he preaches. After extolling the virtues of semen retention, Blunderfield is asked when he last ejaculated. “Last night,” he answers brightly. I think I would have lied and said it was during the first Bush administration.

And like all gurus Blunderfield is convinced that his queer little tao is the cure to the world’s problems. This advocate for manliness thinks there is “too much competition between men” (hint: competitiveness is about 95% of masculinity). And he opines that, “If the world’s leaders did this work together there would be a lot more peace and camaraderie.”

I’m sorry, but I just can’t see Trump and Xi Jinping cupping each other’s testicles and then enjoying a heart-to-heart hug, “with cocks touching,” as Blunderfield advises. I can’t see Emmanuel Macron and Justin Trudeau drinking each other’s semen. Wait. Never mind. I actually can see that.

Now what does this have to do with Kamala Harris? A lot, actually. Because, you see, her campaign has been pursuing a strategy uncannily like that of Will Blunderfield.

Two weeks ago, the Harris campaign released what has got to be the cringiest political ad ever. Perhaps you have seen it. The ad was the brainchild of Jacob Reed, who is one of Jimmy Kimmel’s writers. It features what purport to be five “real men” assuring us that they are “man enough” to vote for Kamala Harris.

It begins with each of the men insisting “I’m a man.” Methinks they doth protest too much, but let us continue. They are man enough to enjoy bourbon, they tell us. One, who seems obviously gay, barks that he is “man enough to cook my steak rare.”

“Man enough to deadlift 500 then braid the sh*t out of my daughter’s hair,” says another. No, seriously. It gets worse.

“I ain’t afraid of bears,” insists the gay man, who is dressed like a redneck (complete with farm windmill spinning behind him), but looks like he’s taking a break from appearing as an AIDS patient in Angels in America.

They all then proceed to insist that they are not afraid of women. An elderly biker with a luxurious, Andrew Weillish beard intones “They want to control their bodies, I say go for it!” Strangely, this old “biker” has no tattoos and is photographed with a motorcycle so new it gleams. “Have all the cats you want,” he adds.

At this point my testosterone plummeted so far I began lactating. “Is this real? Could this be parody?” I wondered on first viewing the ad. No, it is quite real – and an entire committee-load of people actually thought it was a good idea.

So, a woman wants to be President, huh? “Well,” says the gay redneck, “I hope she has the guts to look me right in the eye and accept my full-throated endorsement.”

“Because I’m man enough to support women,” says another rustic simulacrum, who looks like his clothes came fresh out of a Land’s End box.

It just keeps on getting worse. “I’m man enough to be emotional in front of my wife,” says a plump soyboy, dressed by Orvis. “I’m sick of so-called men domineering, belittling, and controlling women, just so they can feel more powerful.” Who are those men, exactly? Every married man I know is dominated, belittled, and controlled by his more powerful wife.

“I love women who decide not to have families,” says the token black. I love them too, because they tend to vote Democrat. It’s not a gene I want to see passed along.

It didn’t take too much work for folks on our side to dig up the identities of all these “men.” Unsurprisingly, all of them are actors. It’s obvious from their delivery that these are not “real people.”

One is not only an actor, but a far-left, pro-Antifa stand up comic. The black man is bisexual and has appeared in gay-for-pay porn. One of them is confirmed to be gay, but the one I thought seemed gay may not be.

Isn’t this always the way with men who vote Democrat? I remember when a friend of mine moved into the affluent Inman Park neighborhood of Atlanta. “This neighborhood is filled with gay dads!” she told me. No, I told her, they’re just Democrats.

This ad gives you a great deal of insight into how out of touch Democrat strategists are. Apparently, not one of them could perceive how condescending it is towards men – especially rednecks and bikers. None could perceive how inauthentic the dialogue is. Probably because none have ever met an authentic man. The ad’s saving grace is that it is laugh-out-loud funny – but that wasn’t the point.

The strategy is obvious, and it is straight out of the Will Blunderfield playbook. Vote for Kamala and prove you’re a real man!

What? Voting for Kamala seems unmanly to you? You say it feels like slipping into fishnet stockings and receiving a pegging from Hillary Clinton? That just proves you’re not a real man!

If you were a real man, you’d vote for Kamala. You’d also drink Will Blunderfield’s semen and let him massage the heart meridian chakra on your penis while cuddling and looking at Obi-Wan Kenobi. Why, such things not only aren’t unmanly, they’ll make you manlier!

No, I don’t think so.

Trump had a great line at the Al Smith Dinner when he said he wasn’t worried about “White Dudes for Harris” because “all their wives and their wives’ lovers are voting for me.” Yes, there’s something about a male Harris voter that screams “cuckold.”

Any man who falls for this strategy deserves to be sodomized by Will Blunderfield. In fact, he probably already has been.