Kinda Senseless

My Dearest Rapists,

I’m sorry I didn’t say yes. It’s my fault for not holding my liquor on our date so I could give my at-least-buzzed consent, as I most definitely would have. I mean, I was dressed like an all-access pass. I’m glad I at least looked “dead” enough for you to bone. Neo-necrophilia is so hot.

A picture’s worth a thousand words, and I cannot use enough of those to express my regret that your photos didn’t come out better, or that I let you take them at all. I should’ve known they’d only cause you pain and embarrassment. There are some things you just shouldn’t take pictures of- like my ravaged, catatonic body.

I should have waited to reject you once your brains finished developing. They hadn’t finished weeding out synapses that keep your “No means no!” flowers from growing in your adolescent garden of understanding. I should only let adults rape me. It’s difficult being 16 and having a silly concept like “consent“ betray you. Believe me, I’ve been there.

But, as CNN reported, this isn’t about me.

When I wake up screaming at 4 a.m. from night terrors or recoil at the touch of a man, it will be from the guilt I feel for not stopping you from assaulting me like everyone taught me. It is the woman’s responsibility to keep guys from ramming into her cave of sin. Some argue you should learn to not shove your man shafts into every pussy within reach. But you’re male athletes. You’re mascots for the All-American Dream. You deserve our vaginas. Besides, restraining your urges is unnatural. I mean, does a farmer ask a field before he plows it?

And let me apologize to your future, which I destroyed by letting you get caught. My victimizing has ruined your plans to roofie incoming freshmen at the college you can no longer attend. No one will report your harassment to HR because they’ll never hire you after seeing the black mark I left on your background check. It’s in your Y chromosomes to have careers and I’ve stripped you of that. I took away your hopes of a bright future without asking. I forced my rights on to you while you were drunk off testosterone. I raped you of your potential. I didn’t think it was rape at the time. I thought it was justice. I am shocked and ashamed of my actions. Had I known that enforcing my rights violated your plans, I would have put a stop to it.

And as if I couldn’t emasculate you enough, I made you feel things. It was never my intention to hurt you by calling you names like “guilty” or “criminal” regardless of whether they’re “accurate.”

I’m sorry to put you through this. Next time, I’ll make sure my meat wallet is marinated in love and ready for you. And I’ll take it like a lady.

Forever yours,

The ‘Victim’

Looking for a way to get your foot behind the foot that’s getting in the door? Can you work adjacent to pressure? Do you have the skills to collaborate independently within a team?

Then this internship is for you! We’re looking for someone with a strong desire to put anything on their resume who’s willing to trade a sense of hope for experience.

You’re Dispensable Inc. is a company. We’ve been innovating innovation within our industry for years. Join us to break ground, break bread, break your neck, and break your spirits as we break into the future!

Responsibilities include:

• Providing support to the administrative support
• Being a key point of contact to no one
• Greet clients post-greeting
• Lift heavy phones for the Part-Time Admin. Asst. to answer
• Prep rooms mentally for the PTAA to then physically prep
• Press ‘send’ after our PTAA writes a tweet that our Marketing Dept. dictated to the PTAA

Qualifications:

• Will-do-anything attitude
• Should have knowledge
• Professional existence a MUST
• Strong written, verbal, non-verbal and innuendo skills
• Detail oriental
• Someone who takes pride in their work
• Sense of humor a PLUS (or a minus depending on what you think is funny)
• Social media expertise and MS Office skills (or birth certificate proving born after 1986)
• MUST be acquiring $100,000 of debt with a Bachelor’s Degree as the receipt

$$ Compensation $$:
For credit.

PLEASE no phone calls.
Serious candidates only.

Seriously, someone tell me. I went with “Bees?” #cantsmell #cardsagainsthumanity

This PETA ad shows a chick walking home after her boyfriend put her in the hospital because he went vegan, which gave him the energy to bang her to pieces.

There’s a few things wrong with this story:

1. Many things can follow sex: snuggles, gatorade, a power bar, sleep, high fives, more sex… Hospitalization should never be one.
2. He didn’t pick her up from the hospital.
3. On her walk back, she buys him groceries. She’s fueling her abuser and running his errands like a fucking intern (pun intended).
4. They’re gonna have sex while she’s still in a neck brace. He’s going to paralyze her. THEN WHO’S GOING TO GET HIS VEGAN GROCERIES?
5. BWVAKTBOOM is a god-awful acronym for Rihanna Syndrome.
6. PETA cares more about treating animals like humans than treating women like humans.

(Source: BuzzFeed)

Sorry I’m late. My fifth #sense is working again. @jonozalay

(Source: fuckiminmy20s)

If someone had told me that being an adult would be this expensive, I would’ve never grown up. After paying parking tickets, rent, and bills I realized just how inexpensive free childhood was, and I want it back. After pitching myself to every Craigslist post and employment agency, I’m ready to jump out the window and hitch a ride to the second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.

Looking back at Peter Pan, I no longer see a charming tale of kids not wanting to grow up. I see a bunch of minors beating the system and I want in!

Hook’s even worse. Robin Williams is an adult, way more so than I am. He has kids, a career, a mortgage, and a dog- not a pet that 20-something’s get and barely take care of to prove they’re adults- but a dog so well trained it doubles as a nanny. Way to save on a sitter, Pan. Then Peter escapes grown-up-hood to make out with mermaids and partakes in the best food battle in existence.

So there’s Pan, living every hippie’s dream: living off nature, dancing around clouds, and pissing off The Man. I never thought I’d relate to Hook, but here I am, fearing time will eat me alive. And since I have no way of getting it back, I get pissed at kids who have a Never-Never Land.

The closest I had to this was sleep away camp. Every year I’d go back to the pile of dirt, swimming pond, and makeshift cabins and have a blast. The same group of kids would reunite as if zero time had passed. Now I’m begging a landlord to let me live somewhere half the size of the plywood shacks I inhabited those summers.

Becoming a counselor would only ruin my nostalgia because it’d be book ended by my big girl reality. Sure, I’d be teaching classes like Imagination Time- that was a real thing at my camp- but when I got home I’d realize that the grand I made that summer won’t get me past Halloween. It’s like when Robin William’s kids show up in Hook, he realizes he can’t be King Man-Child forever. He has to be King Man-Man.

I should model myself after his compromise: Pan accepts his adulthood but doesn’t let his ability to play die. This is a tough balance to strike. Play too hard and you become that 30-something camp counselor adolescents worship because you’ve had sex (in your parent’s basement)! Too much work, and you’re a Mormon who loses the Presidential election. What’s more adult than a big family, suits, and disappointment?

It’s a process. Right now, I’m at a point where, instead of balancing, I’m blending work and play. I’m making a career out of my Imagination Time while paying the bills at my jobby-jobs where I do goofy dances and make funnies. Hopefully that and some happy thoughts get me somewhere.

If not, I’ll just chuck my clock collection at the neighborhood kids.