This has been a bad week for the Feminist-Rape-Media Complex.

The Rolling Stone story of a vicious gang rape at the University of Virginia, which is now looking like the manipulation and betrayal of an emotionally fragile young woman by a grasping and amoral journalist, has melted down into a seething, effervescing puddle of molten #FAIL which will, if there is actually justice in the world, consume several careers.

The second incident may lack the dynamic storyline of the UVA case but could turn out to be more signficant in the long run. Many of you have heard of Lena Dunham. She is the chunky, lumpy, promiscuous chick who has parlayed being chunky, lumpy, and promiscuous into a career. She burst upon the national political stage in 2012 with her vapid ad encouraging her equally vapid fan base to vote for Obama because it was a lot like date rape deeply unsatisfying sex. Recently she released a “memoir,” not that someone of her age or accomplishments has much “mem” to “oir” about, called Not That Kind Of Girl. It has drawn attention for a couple of reasons. First, Dunham outs herself as a someone how behaved as a predatory pedophile with her younger sister:

One day, as I sat in our driveway in Long Island playing with blocks and buckets, my curiosity got the best of me. Grace was sitting up, babbling and smiling, and I leaned down between her legs and carefully spread open her vagina. She didn’t resist, and when I saw what was inside I shrieked. “My mother came running. “Mama, Mama! Grace has something in there!”

My mother didn’t bother asking why I had opened Grace’s vagina. This was within the spectrum of things that I did. She just got on her knees and looked for herself. It quickly became apparent that Grace had stuffed six or seven pebbles in there. My mother removed them patiently while Grace cackled, thrilled that her prank had been such a success.

As she grew, I took to bribing her for her time and affection: one dollar in quarters if I could do her makeup like a “motorcycle chick.” Three pieces of candy if I could kiss her on the lips for five seconds. Whatever she wanted to watch on TV if she would just “relax on me.” Basically, anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl I was trying.

The second incident in the “memoir” that caught everyone’s eye was here description of a particular sexual encounter, one of the many empty and unsatisfying such instances that litter Dunham’s memory, via John Nolte and Breitbart/Big Hollywood:

Dunham writes that she was 19-years-old at the time and met Barry through mutual friends. She met up with him one winter evening at a party. Dunham admits to drinking alcohol and taking drugs that night, including cocaine. She also admits that she took Barry back to her on-campus apartment even though, without her consent, Barry had just jammed his fingers into her vagina: “Barry leads me to the parking lot. I tell him to look away. I pull down my tights to pee, and he jams a few of his fingers inside me, like he’s trying to plug me up. I’m not sure whether I can’t stop it or I don’t want to.”

After ignoring a warning from a friend, Dunham tells us she still took Barry back to her place and then explicitly details a dark sexual encounter. Twice during intercourse she discovers that he has removed his condom without telling her. The second time she throws Barry out and, the next morning, she “diligently enter[s] the encounter into the Word document… titled “Intimacy Database.” Barry. Number four. We f***ed. 69’d. It was terribly aggressive. Only once. No one came.”

Dunham writes in the following paragraph: “When I was young, I read an article about a ten-year-old girl who was raped by a stranger on a dark road… And I never forgot this story, but I didn’t remember until many days after Barry f***ed me. F***ed me so hard that the next morning I had to sit in a hot bath to soothe myself. Then I remembered.”

Dunham then recounts that, after telling friends and co-workers about the night, she is told in no uncertain terms that Barry raped her. Dunham also claims Barry hurt her to a point where she later found it necessary to visit a doctor. We also learn about Barry’s very troubling history of violence against other women…

She provides enough details that it can be matched to one man.

On top of the name Barry, which Dunham does not identify as a pseudonym (more on the importance of this below), Dunham drops close to a dozen specific clues about the identity of the man she alleges raped her as a 19-year-old student. Some of the details are personality traits like his being a “poor loser” at poker. Other details are quite specific. For instance, Dunham informs us her rapist sported a flamboyant mustache, worked at the campus library, and even names the radio talk show he hosted.

To be sure we get the point, on three occasions Dunham tells her readers that her attacker is a Republican or a conservative, and a prominent one at that — no less than the “campus’s resident conservative.”

That man has become discomfited enough with being called not only a rapist but a rapist that would have sex with Lena Dunham that he has initiated legal action. And Dunham’s publisher has taken the two steps a publisher always takes when they know their author is telling the truth. They are reimbursing “Barry” for his legal fees:

Lena Dunham‘s publisher has responded to a story on conservative blog Breitbart News which questioned the validity of rape allegations in the actress’ memoir, as well as her silence since coming forward with the sexual assault claims. The detailed report on Breitbart also called into question Dunham possibly misidentifying the man who she calls “Barry” in the book.

“As indicated on the copyright page of ‘Not That Kind of Girl’ by Lena Dunham, some names and identifying details in the book have been changed.  The name ‘Barry’ referenced in the book is a pseudonym,” the publisher told TheWrap exclusively. “Random House, on our own behalf and on behalf of our author, regrets the confusion that has led attorney Aaron Minc to post on GoFundMe on behalf of his client, whose first name is Barry.”

“We are offering to pay the fees Mr. Minc has billed his client to date,” the company continued. “Our offer will allow Mr. Minc and his client to donate all of the crowd-funding raised to not-for-profit organizations assisting survivors of rape and sexual assault.”

and they have agreed to revise future editions (God forbid) of Dunham’s odious book:

Penguin Random House is going to alter future versions of Lena Dunham‘s memoir “Not That Kind of Girl” to reflect that the man accused of sexually assaulting the “Girls” star at Oberlin College is not actually named Barry, and that the assigned moniker is simply a pseudonym.

“We have put the change in process,” Random House told TheWrap exclusively. “The digital edition of ‘Not That Kind of Girl’ will reflect that ‘Barry’ is a pseudonym. Future printings of the physical book will also have that change.”

When Reagan Secretary of Labor Raymond Donovan was acquitted of corruption charges he famously asked, “Where do I go to get my reputation back?” Barry from Oberlin and the men of Phi Kappa Psi fraternity will never be able to expunge the blot of this erroneous. The men of the Duke lacrosse team will find that the allegations associated with their name will haunt them perhaps for the rest of their lives. The politically driven culture in modern feminism has created an environment where any scurrilous allegation against a man, no matter the cost the man may incur to life, liberty, property, or future employability, is justified because: patriarchy.

I hope Barry is Sicilian (or at least of good Appalachian stock) and understands vendetta and blood feud. I hope his lawyer is vicious and unrelenting. Maybe if Dunham has to forfeit the advance to her book and return to her life of degradation for free to pay the damage award we will begin to right the boat of justice.