“Codeine, codeine, you’re the nicest thing
I’ve seen, for a while, for a while.
Well you hold my hand as I step into the room,
And all these people will all be fading soon.”
-Codeine, Blue Sky and the Devil, Trampled by Turtles, 2005
After a refreshing day which involved immersing myself in pure, unmediated filth (listening to Eminem, Hollywood Undead, and My Darkest Days) for hours (oh dear God….”This girl’s like a Mac, she’s riding my laptop”? That line just killed a little but possibly very important piece of my soul.), I feel like writing a blog post. Now the problem with that is that I have no topic in mind, and at this point not much of a mind to hold topics.[Five-minute brain-dead gap]. So, I’m going to write about rape. Now, I have a feminist shirt I wear occasionally (kind of surprising they even make them in men’s sizes. After all, why would the inferior gender need to support the obviously superior one?) to elicit reactions, which vary from a compliment from the (possibly homosexual, must investigate) (yeah, I would have just said lesbian or dyke, but I wanted to slip in a Watchmen reference.) Starbucks barista, to middle fingers from people in rural areas of the Midwest. Huh. Anyhoo, this shirt (no fingers, not shit, shirt) occasionally leads to conversations, and the feminists I speak to are often less than pleased (I’m a misogynist perpetrator of the patriarchy?) to learn that I’m an equity feminist , which I consider rather ironic, considering the stated goal of feminism is to provide equality for all genders (as opposed to superiority for women). So, after that [mostly] unrelated tangent, here’s a few hydrofueled things to think on from my unenlightened misogynist worldview. One, I was recently in the bookstore and picked up a book about rape in the women’s studies section. It had this fun fact on the back: “Only 27% of rape victims know that they were raped.” Er, did I read that right? Just to make sure that I wasn’t completely off-target, I looked up some statistics, and the high-ball estimate for rapes with an unconscious victim (made unconscious by the perpetrator (y’know, Roofies)) was in the area of 40%, kind of a bit off from 73%. This, I guess means that the author of the book was literally saying that some women don’t know when they’re being raped, which honestly, in my opinon, doesn’t provide an overly impressive view of the overall intelligence of this population of women. Not that I’ve ever had anything remotely close happen, but I feel like as long as I were conscious, I would be aware of being raped. Second, the long, protracted, and just plain ugly argument over the “asking for it” clothes concept. Fragment. Fragment fragment fragment fragment fragment. Oh dear God, does anyone have Adderall? See, women always say that it’s not their fault because they wore slutty (for lack of a better word) clothes. Which is absolutely true, just like someone who walks down Grape Street with a large wad of hundreds in their hand isn’t technically responsible for it getting repurposed by a less fortunate denizen. However, women wearing revealing clothes are more attractive to rapists, and, believe it or not, men as a group don’t have any control over rapists and their actions, and therefore we can’t stop them for going after so-dressed women. Again, I’m not arguing for the rapists of women wearing revealing clothes to get reduced sentences. Castrate the bastards, they’re generally the scum of the earth. I’m simply saying that, if a woman doesn’t want to get raped, then maybe she shouldn’t wear those clothes. If however, she wants to risk rape, mental scarring, a long and painful trial process, and possible medical consequences just to exercise her freedom of expression, then she can go right damn ahead. Nothing’s stopping her.
TL;DR: I rant about rape , and give it a misleading title to draw attention to it. Don’t carry large amounts of cash on your person. Stay sober and all that jazz. Don’t drink antifreeze or state-of-matter plasma.
Hobbes 