How To Get Away With Rape

Step 1: Live in a society where women don’t have the upper hand. Check

Guys just love to play dumb. Act as if there is only one type of rape– where the stranger jumps out of the bushes, attacks, threatens, and rapes a woman. Um, no.

Firstly, this is not about Kevin. Yes, Kevin did touch me in my sleep. No, he still doesn’t think what he did was wrong. His father is rich as fuck, you’d think that would be good enough reason as is to pursue charges and settle. Nope! I still have measly feelings for the asshole. The dick! Ugh fuck you Kevin!

This is about another asshole, Let’s call him Farsh. Someone I don’t know from Adam. Someone I should have never got involved with.

Remember that scene from Higher Learning where Kristen tells the guy to put on a condom? And he doesn’t want to, and he just fucks her anyway? Yeah, well that’s RAPE. Like it or not. Alas….some find it debatable. Tsk Tsk.

My nurse will confirm that sexual interaction can be consensual up until a point–and you can stop consent at any point in time. but for some fucked up reason the chief of police will have an investigator–who has a penis– hear your story and say, nah! That’s not really rape.

Newsflash. Men will lie for sex. No, scratch that–guys (not every guy with a penis is a man, not every guy past a certain age is a man either!)

So Guys will lie for sex. The average guy who does not want to put on a condom and is “nagged” by a woman to put one on may lie and say “oh just the tip . Let me just rub the tip against the clit.” AND THEN HE RAMS IT IN THERE!

So Houston’s “finest” can put himself in Farsh’s shoes. Or should I say, He can put his dick in Farsh’s condom–oh wait, there was no condom!–let’s go back to the g-rated shoes metaphor. This guy–let’s call him officer John–John doesn’t think it’s a big deal. “You can’t just press charges against someone because you’re mad at him or he lied to have sex with you.”

Farsh has probably done this before. He texts me “I didn’t want to have sex” “why did you make me fuck you without a condom!” “I’m freaking out, do you have an std?” (Right, because the perfect time to ask someone if they have an STD is AFTER fucking them raw ::I cannot roll my eyes far enough!::)

I didn’t erase these texts. Why should I. Let me share with you the sick and twisted mind of Farsh. Farsh did not hit me. Just because I have no bruises doesn’t mean nothing is wrong. (though if we were into BDSM play, it would be perfectly fine if he spanked me. There’s a DIFFERENCE between consensual BDSM and nonconsensual sex, but be careful! there lies the gray area –or should I say 50 shades of grey area–where no one believes you are capable of being raped  if you were ever into sub/dom play.)

So the investigating officer can read these texts and think I’M the one who wanted him to be condomless, Should I ever press charges, it will look as if I concocted the whole story. And why would anyone ever believe the black lady? hmm?

John looks up after reading the texts and stupidly asks me–but he’s saying you told him to do this.

*SIGH* Idiots. I’m working with IDIOTS!

SO YOU WANT TO GET AWAY WITH RAPE, eh? You might try the following taunting text. Detailing exactly what you did to the man/woman or the ‘rapee’ and turn it around to seem as if THEY themselves wanted you to do this. That way if they should ever stupidly go to the police (and why oh why would they be so stupid to trust bozos, I don’t know) but you might want to say this to cover your tracks.

“Why did you let me participate in that RAPE fantasy of yours?! Are you okay?”

If you hit them, you might text– “Why did you let me hit you?”

if you want it to seem as if SHE’S the stalker: “You are like a rapist. go away crazy lady!”

Feel free to add more if I’m missing something.

If you want her to look even worse–“why did you make me pay you a thousand dollars to keep you quiet?”

Jackpot! The police would rather look at a woman and charge her with solicitation and/or extortion than look at a guy “who seems more credible” and charge him with sexual assault.

Okay, from someone who likes to write a lot…You can’t make this shit up! Well technically you can, but truth is stranger than fiction. And it’s all about who can sweet talk the authorities better. I can never win at that, I don’t kiss anyone’s ass at all! I gives no fucks if you’re wearing a gun or a badge. I know this will end in a “he said, she said” fruitless battle, but I need him to know that what he did was wrong and I will not just shut up and take it….anymore.

Who knows, the chief of police will be on your side (and by you(r) I mean the rapist who got away).

If there is audio/visual footage of a verbal confrontation John will confiscate your phone (and by your, I mean the complainant–the nagging bitch) and dump it in a lab (for…evidence” :eye roll: The nosy NSA-loving freak is at it again!)

Great! God knows who is reading my argumentative texts with my ex (or not-so ex, since we weren’t officially exclusive or labeling whatever it was that we were) Kevin. They cannot by law look at those texts when it has nothing to do with the original matter at hand. But oh, everyone loves drama, so they will. the BASTARDS!

Goddamn it, I don’t make that much to just blow it on a fucking lawyer to get my phone back. Ugh. Lawyers.  Don’t know who to dislike more them or the cops. Have had negative experiences with both. 😦

Oh and there goes any more job opps when they run my name and see uh-oh, I’m trouble– I dared to file charges against someone for sexual assault–it’s on my record. That would be a BIG. FAT. NO!

Aha! So THIS is why people say  “DON’T talk to the POLICE.” “DON’T TRUST the police.” and  “FUCK the POLICE!”

Explanation

Oh look! a 4 month hiatus…I hated (note the past tense of the word hated) myself because I was (Note the past tense of the word was) a coward. I guess this means I’m a happy camper now right? Nope.  I just hate this godforsaken city. It’s barely even a city because there’s not much to do.  A lot of people ask me why I chose this city. But they don’t understand it was a choice of schooling, not the city. My first choice will always be the city. I’d rather go to a shitty university in a city than a good university in some podunk town. But that’s not the way it worked out now did it? Either way I’d still be introverted. Trapped introvert in a world full of careers that don’t favor introverts at all. Well, I’m not a coward anymore. I’m brave enough to say what’s on my mind to people in person. I even risk showing a lax in professionalism. Professional–it’s just an acting job. We all fucking hate each other, but we’re just too scared to admit it!

Jesus fucking Christ. Just the other day I posted a comment on a blog that wasn’t even mean. But of course oversensitive punks will take offense. Of course I’m not the only one allowed to be sensitive, but it wasn’t even mean at all, in fact it was quite pertinent and truthful. Who knew WordPress was for asskissers. Only asskissers can post a comment, apparently. and here I was TRYING to be nice these past few months. To the fat coward who blocked my comment…Get the fuck over yourself! She knows who she is and I won’t even tag her at all because I’m sure she will be reading this anyway. I see my stats have boosted for a reason. She’s probably creeped my page out 10 times this hour just to see what I would say.

Oh yeah! I’m back and will be talking about my 3 horrible trashy roommates later on. *Sigh*

are you serious?

I heard him say, “are you serious?” when he found out that the only available seats were to the left and right of me. I could tell in his voice that he was dying inside. He had to either find another seat on the opposite end of the classroom or sit next to me. Either way, he would have been separated from his lady friend. I could have just been the bigger, nicer person and opted to move down a seat to give them the opportunity to sit next to each other. (If that would have happened, he would have definitely chosen the seat farthest from me, of course.) However, I remembered something:  a. I got here first and I’m already settled, and b. I really don’t give a shit about their comfort. Excuse my french.

Kasey,  his ladyfriend gravitates to the seat to the right of me, where my purse gently lay. She asks, stupidly like everyone else, “is anyone sitting here?” I swear to god, one day I’m going to say,” yes, someone is sitting here. ” and if someone dares challenge me or tries to call me out on my lie, I’m going to say, “someone is sitting there! My imaginary friend is sitting there as we speak.” I know, I know that’s unprofessional, but I couldn’t care less.

So anyway, I say no, and I move my purse to the seat to the left of me. I don’t know why Adam hates me so much, but I don’t blame him…I hate myself more than anybody could ever dare try. It took everything  he had not to have to settle for my purse’s new seat. He asks, again stupidly, “Can I sit here? Is anyone sitting here?” as he inches his behind towards the seat regardless of my answer. Without saying anything or even looking him in the face/eye, I just move my purse to the dirty floor to signal a no and he sits down. He then has the nerve to ask me, “so, how was your birthday?”

REALLY? REALLY? ONE WEEK AFTER THE FACT! aaaaaaaagggggggggghhhhhhhhhh.

I wanted so badly to say FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU Adam! How dare you? Not even a happy birthday text from you.  LIKE YOU FUCKING CARE! YOU DON’T CARE, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP! But I’m a punk, and I say, “It was okay.” My only regret was that I looked him in the eye when I answered. I shouldn’t have given him humane treatment. Then again, I’m a coward.

What the fuck was I gonna say? I spent it alone biking to the old market, eating a Subway sandwich and blowing $200 shopping with my best friend–my conscience, who also lacks self respect and self control? No, that “how was your birthday?” was just like a “how are you doing?”– you never honestly answer. I bet he thought it was a nice way to break the ice and show me that he does read my emails and remember what I say. He may not answer or follow through on plans that he brought up his damn self, like “hanging out” this summer, but he must have really thought he was back on my good side by asking me that. NOT!

FUCK! Now I have to sit on the opposite side of the classroom just to avoid these bastards.

I felt a sense of schadenfreude when I “split them up,” so to speak. If they want to sit together, maybe next time they’ll come to class earlier. Assholes!

Thank you for

Thank You

Thank you for ignoring me and making me feel like a worthless piece of shit.

Thank you, for you’ve humbled me like none other, son of a bitch!

You make me want to  jump and take an everlasting fall

Or maybe settle for banging my head against a wall

Nah, screw that better yet, scrap both

It’s not these thoughts that I despise or loathe

I just have no excuse, no matter which one I choose

I know I’ll lose far more than I bemuse

I’m sorry for

I’m sorry for

Being a bore

I’m sorry that I’m

Running out of time

Your short memory span–

I’m not a fan

It hasn’t logged me in yet

Like chat roulette

You click next

No need to text

I pose no threat

No need to get  upset

Gosh I’m so cheesy

Like life, this isn’t easy

I’m going to go now

I don’t even know how

This shit started

But this is no place for the fainthearted

Who is This?

What the hell is up with texting someone you’ve clearly established a rapport with on their cellular phone only to find the dreaded “Who is this?” in a reply?

First off, WHO IN THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, ASSHOLE?!? Save my name to your phone dumbass!

For the umpteenth time how many times do I have to remind you? Are you that busy being a facebook whore making as many fake “friends” and posting unimportant crap to your wall that you can’t find the time to understand the point in saving a contact name of someone who wants to talk to you privately outside of a FAKEbook inbox?

It’s bad enough I’m texting, but sheesh thankfully I didn’t call. To have to leave a short message to someone who doesn’t even remember me has got to be one of the most embarassing things ever.  The only excuse for a “Who is This?” is a new number.

You know, when you get a new phone number of course you are going to be bombarded with texts and late night phone calls by those friends of the previous owner of the mobile number. It happens. One day it will all go away. If you have unlimited texting you could just send them a friendly reply that you are not who they think you are. If you don’t answer the phone they just might get the hint that either the phone number is changed or their “friend” is avoiding them.

No one wants the latter to be true. However, I can catch a hint when I get unreturned text message from someone who I know for sure has the same phone number as they did last year. The only problem is I don’t know why.  I’m afraid to ask why sometimes, but I do it anyway.   Do they have a short-term memory or what? All the more reason to save a contact name to their phone. And even when they finally do save a contact name in their phone and “forget” to respond it’s always some lame ass excuse like “sorry I totally forgot to reply, when I got your text I was at a WWE RAW match lol” about 2 weeks AFTER the fact! *sigh* I mean seriously? Seriously? James Russell Coulson and Adam Crabbe I fucking hate you. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Life fucking sucks when you have fake ass friends. I don’t know why I even try anymore.

I HATE WIGGERS!!!

I hate wiggers. I don’t even like that word because it gives off the impression that there’s only one way for a person to act. I am not promoting that, I’m just saying I hate it.

Wigger- a white person, especially  from suburbia, who “acts black”  gangster, thuggish, as if to be “hood.”

Think Robin Williams– especially when trying to pull off his “homeboy” act for the umpteenth time.

My gosh! I hate it whenever I see status updates on facebook of WHITE  AND ASIAN “friends” posting some crap like “aiite”  (all right) “fo sho” (for sure) “this is bomb” “that’s pimp, man” WTF?!

I saw a status from the most Christian, country-bumpkin white guy you could possibly find stating something in the vein of Wiz Kalifa’s “black and yellow ” hit.

He writes: “found my keys. turn to start. Yeah. uh-huh. you know how it is”

And then some other white girl replies right underneath him, “errything I do, I do it big!”

He didn’t even get the lyrics right, plus did we really need to know the thoughts going on in his head once he found his keys?
Unsurprisingly, he “liked” her reply.

I’m not saying Caucasians and Asians shouldn’t be fans of Hip-Hop music. Feel free to be fans all you want. But how weak are you to really want to mimic everything you hear? I  mean I’m a fan of rock music, but you don’t hear me saying “gnarly” or “rad” although alternative rock music artists don’t make up words or skew them into a particular second-hand slang as much as Ebonics, but still. I don’t even like hearing broken English, period. Regardless of race, it really boils my blood when people are “faking it.” You know better. Quit it. It’s not funny. It’s just…LAME. (Wait…is that a “rock” word?)

It’s like D.L Hughly said, “Everybody wants to be black, until the police shows up!”

the very definition of a wigger.

they call us W-I double G E-R. we are. much more. but still we choose to ignore. the obvious.