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Anthem for the White Woman


Helloween is here, my friends. Short, short skirts and low cut tops and bare arms. All when it’s about the right temperature to make my nipples hard enough to cut glass. I’d rather be warm, but I guarantee that every party will be full of women dressed as sluts because that’s what’s really scary, these days.

Sexual assault raises substantially around this holiday. Arsonists pop out of the woodwork and set things on fire. Satan worshippers steal black cats and filet them alive. Dogs will be stabbed. Animals will be effortlessly slaughtered by drunk drivers. Forty percent of human fatalities on Halloween night will be due to driving under the influence. Thefts increase substantially because it’s encouraged to wear a mask. And every unsuspecting whore is standing in a Johnny Brock’s or Spirit of Halloween store, torn between being a slutty Harley Quinn, a sex goddess, and Little Red Riding Hood. Perhaps Red’s boyfriend will wear a wolf mask and they will dance together to The Monster Mash.

Every single woman wearing one of these costumes that barely covers their love muffin is screaming they’ve got a borderline personality. They’re suicidal. They need help. But what do white men hear? Rape me. I don’t see brown men raping nobody. I don’t see black men raping womenfolk because they’re too afraid of the police shooting them for even driving their car too fast down main street. So who could be the problem? Tik Tok, the clock is running out fast.

Tonight’s the night it begins: death, murder, theft, rape, arson. For the next five days, people are going to show their true colors. Every human being is on a scale between Satan and God, to put it in dumb people terms y’all can understand without overthinking it or mistaking my intention. It’s a scale, this whole GOOD vs. EVIL thing. Humanity has a thin veneer of pretending to be good covering up a whole slew of mental problems which equate to doing evil.

If you aren’t focusing on healing yourself and your minds, you are evil. Period, the end. God told me that himself, actually. That’s why you’re all going to Hell. There’s time to turn this ship around, though. You can stop spending $250 a month of that ounce of skunk weed and see a fucking therapist. You can put down the needle and see a woman in a church. Put down the bottle and phone a fucking friend. A lot of people want to help, but just as many want to turn it around on you and blame you for being miserable to begin with. You’re both the perpetrator of the crime and the victim of the crime, it’s just a matter of who you’re hurting and when.

I am a rape survivor. That is an immutable fact. I used to dress just like every other woman, vying for the attention of some horn-ball rapist man. Now I know better. I am worth more alone than in the vise-like grip of a man like that. There are many of them. So many. And, unfortunately, we forgive them more easily and quickly the prettier they are. They need to be held accountable.

They come in many shapes and sizes, too. It’s not like they all look like a suave movie star. It’s not like they all have the smooth moves and the right words to ply your panties off. Some of them fumble at it, but we simply forgive them, somehow. “Be the bigger person.” That echoes in my head. It’s not like telling people what’s wrong with them does a fat lot of good. [Tim Minchin’s Storm]

This society is set up to perpetually rape each other. “Just do it.” A rapist’s anthem, sadly. Stop thinking about what you’re doing, just do it. I know it’s supposed to be a motivational slogan for athletes and ordinary folks who wish they were athletes. It’s still subconsciously batted around by an evil lynx in the back of everyone’s head. “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask for permission.” I know you’ve heard that one, too. Don’t you think men hear all the same motivational things? Some imp inside the human spirit and soul puts a monkey wrench in everything, misappropriating these motivational slogans and ideas to convince themselves — to justify — doing bad things.

Unfortunately, we are all responsible for them continuing to get away with it and escalating.

Consider this:

A child tells a white lie to avoid getting in trouble. The parent does not bother to tell the child that lying is wrong even though it’s impossible for the dog to get onto the roof on his own. We allow them to recklessly endanger this animal’s life unless we admonish the child and force them to feel the consequence in some fashion. In ancient days, this meant an ass whooping and being sent to your room for at least three days straight, grounded with the warning that “your ass is grass if I ever catch you doing that again!” [Nowadays that’s child abuse, apparently, so we don’t do it.]

That child grows up, thinking their little white lies are okay. But they don’t stay white, they get darker and darker as the child becomes more experienced with more mindsets, more people. They start seeing they can get away with reckless endangerment, so they speed to and fro in their little car. If they’re sons of rich people, they get some stupid new sports car they’re just going to wreck in a fit of rage or ignorance [or drunk driving] while other people barely afford the food and soap they need to survive.

Lie after lie builds up on this person’s record. Their soul gets dirtier and dirtier. [Soul: the collective psyche and potentially emotional body of an individual.] They get into the habit of blurring reality all around them, causing strife in everyone they meet. Usually, they are a handsome young cad with their collars popped to make sure they look something like Dracula… I mean… to make sure they look cool. Hip. Many men look the other way because his smile is dazzling and he’s getting away with what they want to do. They want to get away with it, too, so if they turn away to let him do it, they have a chance. A chance to take what they want without asking. A chance to rape society, if not women.

Because lies like company, the kid starts doing drugs. He can’t live with himself because he’s lying to himself: he’s not a good person or even worth the air he’s breathing because he’s a shameless rapist. [Women don’t tend to do this, even if they’re rich — they just stay vapid instead of using their brain like a real muscle. Even if they get into the bad habit of lying, they typically escalate via sheer manipulation rather than traversing physical boundaries. Cheating is still rape, however.]

Because everyone lets this brat get away with murder, he escalates and escalates until one day he’s driving drunk and he kills someone. Vehicular manslaughter is all he’s charged with because they didn’t even check to see about his sobriety. [Too real, bro? Keep reading.]

He’s just doing what daddy does. If you want to point fingers at the fault, however, I’d lay it with mommy. She’s supposed to be the one teaching her son some fucking manners and telling him what is and isn’t acceptable in society. She’s supposed to tell her husband that, too, because she is more nuanced. She is more sensitive to the people all around her and can pick up on social cues better than they can. It’s part of woman nature, which is the fundamental difference between a man and a woman in truth.

Instead, mommy has a martini in one hand, just watching. She echoes admonishment she knows she should give, but she never follows it up with actions to truly indicate that her rapist son’s actions are not okay. She gave up years ago when it came to the senior version of her boy and it shows. Boy, does it show.

Meanwhile, women all around this vacuum, this lying black hole of a person with a pretty face, fall victim by being sucked in by Dracula’s charm. They can’t resist a liar because a liar knows what a woman wants to hear. He’s broken enough hearts to find all the right words and now he’s an expert at it. He’d done it so many times before, he knows nothing else. So, when a relationship goes any differently than the Hell he creates with his lies and shallow bull shit, he doesn’t know what to do. He abuses you, uses you [for sex], and loses you.

If you didn’t consent to a non-serious relationship, ladies, he raped you.

Did you want it to be casual? No. Did your short skirt say otherwise in the back of his rapist mind? Yes. You can’t have it both ways. You cannot attract these lecherous assholes to you like a magnet and then scream and complain that you fell for his lying bull shit just because you took him to bed without getting to know him. You want it to be all the liar’s fault, but it’s also your fault for not vetting him. You should have taken your time. Sometimes, it takes years to really get to know a person well. Do you really think two weekends together tells you who he really is deep down inside? Or can he just sustain lies long enough to hold you in thrall? Can you learn the heart and soul of a person in less than 100 hours?

I don’t want to “shame” you for falling for the lies. That man is the one who lied; it is his fault he lied, and his character will show through the veneer in time to all those who are around him. Don’t bother wasting your breath telling everyone how he hoodwinked you, though. In my experience, they don’t fucking care. You’re just another whiny bitch who can’t pinpoint what really went wrong; you keep talking about minute details without ever getting to the point.

So let me arm you. This is your mantra, this is what you say…

That man raped me.

And then you walk the fuck away because you just mic dropped.

They won’t believe you even still. That will tell you the truth about all your “friends.” Get a therapist, tell them your woes. Ask them how to progress, ask them for ideas to heal your mind, to mend your soul. See a reiki master or healer. See a fucking “psychic.” Get a conversation with someone who cares about people. Get better friends.

You might find someone truly sympathetic in the churches, I don’t know. I think I’ll spontaneously combust if I set foot in a church, so I avoid them. [She who has been to plenty of weddings, of course… ;)] You might find someone online with a rape survivor support group or mental health support group. Call a crisis hotline, even. They’re [barely] paid to care, if they’re paid at all.

You can bet your britches those men are going to therapy and wasting the time of therapists everywhere, talking about their side as if they never transgressed against you. They paint the picture that you’re the problem. Good therapists see right through that but not every therapist is good.

If you want to press charges, find yourself a therapist that’s got the ear of a judge in the court room. She/They will help you. It’s almost always going to be a female therapist, that’s going to help you, by the way. [Sorry, dudes.] Men have a different perspective and usually a vastly different communication style. That is all.

Don’t let the hyped up Dracula suck the life out of you this weekend. Put some leggings on underneath that va-va-voom costume. You’re gorgeous and a head-turner without all that flesh on display for visual feasting by predatory assholes. You don’t need Dracula to take you home and fornicate with you, fucking only your body and leaving the rest of you out of the equation, hurting and bruised and directionless because you don’t know you’ve been raped until much, much later.

With the love of The Universe[tm], we wish you all the best.

Happy Halloween.

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