As I wrote recently, having a ‘trans’ child is so 2025. The must-have fashion accessory for the ideologically fashion-conscious ‘progressive’ middle-class woman in 2026 is a murdered child. Preferably several of them. Just remember to play the ‘mental health’ card. Because, if there’s one thing feminists apparently want us to know, it’s that women are so unstable that they’re less in control of themselves than the children they murder for kicks.
Perhaps the current rash of female child-killers is just a case of post-Clancy frequency bias: the “Baader-Meinhof effect”. Perhaps women have been killing their kids in droves all along and everyone just turned a polite blind eye. No one more so than the so-called ‘femicide’ researchers who hyper-focus on every example of the increasingly rarer phenomenon of women being murdered, while studiously ignoring the far-more common murders of men.
Or is there something much more sinister going on? A particularly nasty outbreak of the copy-cat phenomenon? We’ve already borne grim witness to the case of Corie Walsh, supposedly “very invested” in the Clancy case – to the extent, allegedly, of hanging her own toddler from the rafters.
Whether these other cases have any similarities is of purely academic interest, compared to the sheer revulsion any decent parent would feel at reading the following stories.
Take the curious case of Jessica Vlasac down in Florida. One might assume that a 42-year-old woman, having navigated four decades on this spinning rock, would possess at least a rudimentary grasp of maternal duty. Not so. When her three-month-old infant was found unresponsive and cold, she didn’t reach for the now-ubiquitous ‘post-partum depression’ excuse, the Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card du jour for the modern murderess mother. Instead, she blamed it on a ‘co-sleeping accident’.
Vlasac told deputies that she had “accidentally fallen asleep with the baby in bed and that she did not remember anything else,” the sheriff’s office said. She told them that when she woke up, the baby was lying face down, was not moving and was cold to the touch.
The only problem with that little fable is that the coroner couldn’t help but note the baby’s obvious head injuries, including a distinct injury inflicted by a large, square object.
Medical Examiner Dr Stephen Nelson identified three separate impact injuries to the baby’s head on the top of his forehead. Dr. Nelson also identified a 1.7 cm-by-1 cm L-shaped injury to the baby’s forehead, which he said appeared to be consistent “with being caused by a square-like object.”
Such as, oh, Ms Vlasac’s large diamond ring.
When confronted with the evidence, her mask of ‘grieving mother’ slipped further, revealing a woman who, according to investigators, had spent her evening documenting her own depravity via text message before attempting to scrub the digital record clean. One wonders if she found her own behaviour ‘unusually normal’ when the sirens finally wailed, or if that was merely another performance for the ‘Same, Lindsay’ feminist peanut gallery.
Then, we have the tragic tableau of Jennifer Prudencio up in Massachusetts. Here, the ‘mother of the year’ opted for a night on the tiles, leaving her three-year-old son – suffering from haemophilia and actively vomiting blood – in the ‘capable’ hands of his seven- and eight-year-old siblings. Because, of course, nothing screams ‘responsible guardian’ like outsourcing your child’s end-of-life care to a primary school student.
In the middle of the night, Prudencio’s eight-year-old son texted her saying he was worried about Yael, sending her a video of the boy, [Assistant Suffolk County Prosecutor Audrey Mark] said. Prudencio said she would be home soon, prosecutors said. “Despite that,” Mark said, “she chose to stay out all night.”
It is truly a testament to the moral vacuum we currently inhabit that a woman can acknowledge her child is in terminal distress via a video sent by another terrified child and yet prioritise getting shitfaced on the town over the basic survival of her own flesh and blood. When she finally deigned to return home, she found the result of her negligence: a dead boy and a life sentence of four to six years. This, given the generous credit for time served, is less time than her child endured on Earth.
One is struck by the common threads binding these sordid tales. We are witness to a culture where the ‘self’ is the only deity, and the offspring are merely accessories to be discarded when they become inconvenient or demand too much of one’s leisure time. There is no shame left, only the performative sorrow that follows once the authorities arrive. We have traded the sanctity of the family for the freedom to be wretched.
Are these isolated incidents, or are we simply documenting the rapid decay of a society that has forgotten how to nurture? If the modern woman’s definition of ‘empowerment’ includes the right to ignore a dying child or to treat an infant as a punching bag, then we have reached a zenith of moral bankruptcy.
