I was going to give it some time before I wrote something serious about sexual assault and rape culture again, because I know it’s tough for us all to deal with, but jesus fucking Christ. Trump. Fucking Trump. He makes it too fucking easy. So. In light of the recent Trump video, the commentary resulting, the trolls, and more personally, with the outpouring of support for me and women in general recently after I posted last week’s blog post and photo–it was incredible, very humbling and your words make me feel like I have some sort of permission to keep on talking. Because remember, if you don’t talk, you don’t inspire change, and we all have no chance in this big, bad world of fucking weird we’re facing.
So. Obviously, I’m pissed again. I’m pissed because I woke up to watching Trump and Billy Bush talk about how ok it is to grab pussy and kiss people without permission, especially if you’re a magnet, which I assure you, Donald Trump is not a fucking magnet of sexuality that anyone wants to attach to, willingly (doubtful) and most certainly not unwillingly. He’s nothing more than that creepy friend of your other weird family member who says he’s your “Uncle” and then grabs your ass on the way through the Thanksgiving buffet and winks and thinks he’s cute, which he’s not, he’s vile, and he should be put down.
Seriously, though, that’s Trump, really. Nothing more, nothing less. Look at the backlash he’s facing. His own people can’t stand behind him now, and I’m insanely confused about his puppet wife and seemingly braindead daughters. TRUMP EX WIVES WHERE ARE YOU? LADIES, UNITE! NOW IS YOUR TIME! GET YOURS! MARLAAAAAAAA, PLEEEEASE!
Seriously. He’s the scum of the earth, a man who feels that women are objects to be touched, used, violated and used recreationally for entertainment, harassment and sport. He does not need us, want us, care about us, value us, and most certainly, does not consider us his fucking equal. I mean, seriously, the man’s apology was that of a child who bit someone: So I’m sorry if what I did was bad, maybe I was bad, or so I’m told, am I bad? if you think I’m bad, but I was bad a decade ago, and I’m not bad now, and I love women, really, I do, look at all my women, I’m a man of women, look, I’m sorry I said some things about women, but Hillary is a woman and she is a bad woman and Benghazi and cheating husband and weakness via pneumonia and bad, bad women. Women are bad. But I love women, nothing like a woman, I say. AND I SAY, nothing like someone in the wrong who deflects like a mother fucker because well, they’re again, the fucking scum of the earth.
Remember when Obama was in this position, getting ready for his second debate? Do you want me to remind you what the opposing party was ripping him for? His sometimes obsession with ripping a menthol butt in privacy in his spare time. A menthol cigarette. The end of the fucking earth, really, mixing tobacco and menthol and putting it in the mouth of an educated, thoughtful, inspirational, FUCKING RATIONAL AND NOT VILE family man. I mean, how could he, how could he want tobacco of the minty nature? I mean, if we were to go to war, can you fucking imagine if before pressing the red button he sat down thoughtfully, considered his options brought to him by an entire cabinet of educated people, sat back and took the time to say, hey, wait, I need to think about something, and then lit a cigarette so he could get a bit of the calm before he was forced to make the decision to engage with any other country we maybe don’t quite understand, can you just imagine if he sat down on a bench and smoked a cigarette? I can’t. I cannot. I cannot imagine how wrong of a man that made him, considering I will smoke anything in arms reach if my blood pressure rises two points above sedated just so I don’t fucking RUIN SOMEONE.
And now, we have this assbag, who essentially hates anything a real woman stands for, and WE ARE ACTUALLY ENTERTAINING HIS APOLOGY?
WHO THE FUCK HAVE WE BECOME? I’m sorry, I don’t care, anyone who still stands with him after noon today in any time zone in the world, is a fucking TWAT. A self destructive, insensitive, masochistic, vile, scum bag. I’m never, ever going to change my mind on this. And spare me the, Isn’t it great we all get to live in a country where differences of opinion are welcome and I can love Trump and you can love common sense and decency and reason but we can be friends and all get along?
No. No we can’t. No, I can’t. You support Trump from today until the end of the election and I honestly, swear to God, I can’t have anything to do with you. Nothing. I can’t. I don’t need your bullshit, I don’t want my children to know you, I’m embarrassed for you, and consider this our breakup. Again, I’m not even supporting Hillary. I’m only supportive of not being a low life, discriminatory, judgmental, elitist supporting, democracy jeopardizing, country ruining, immoral, sexist, deceitful, boldface FEAR INCITING, troll; someone the Founding Fathers, the revolutionaries from all sides of the aisle in this country, the real people who strove to make this country great, those people, the ones who deserve to have used the tag line, MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN, those people would never support this man or what he stands for.
Now back to my original rant, because dear god, I am more a candidate for blood pressure medicine tonight than I ever was when the Sox were in the playoffs in 2004.
First, Trump, you small and lowly coward, HOW FUCKING DARE YOU. HOW FUCKING DARE YOU give us an apology so bullshit, with your stupid sprayed orange duck face. How dare you sit in front of a camera and try to hide behind your, I’d just grab a pussy and then they’d like it, bullshit? Grab a pussy? You’d just grab a pussy? Because you’re famous? That’s a pussy grabbing thing? Pussies be grabbed if you’re famous, disregarding the fact that you legit look like a squinty eyed, low life trust fund bitch, hanging outside Smith Point Georgetown, eye brows unkept like a bunch of mother fucking garden weeds, hair thinned and combed over like you’re too poor to get plugs or a good fucking grown man hair cut, duck face worse than any 13 year old on Insta, orange substance bleeding from your face onto your tacky suits. And by the way, tacking an American flag to your shirt doesn’t make you classy or more American, it just means someone on your team was smart enough to try to pin you with something respectable that might distract middle America watching from your smug and despicable face, so they could all the next day be like, Did ya see that bitch didn’t wear tha goddamned American flag? That bitch doesn’t even like the flag, I like flags, did you see his flag? That means he’s a real American. FLAGS MOTHERFUCKER. AMERICAN FLAG PINS! FUCK YEA! WHERE IS WALMART I BET THEY HAVE A PIN FLAG FOR ME.
Fuck off. No flag pin makes you any more American than jamming hot dogs and keg beer down your throat while you alternate between holding a microphone you swear doesn’t work on purpose and a swinging around a mother fucking sparkler in the other. Dick.
Today is a sad day for women, when we actually have to listen to the other candidate for President talk about how ok it is to grab our pussies with no permission, to kiss us if you’re magnetic, because I mean, we’ll probably want it right after we get sexually assaulted.
Which brings me really back to the point I wanted to make.
I wrote last week about two men who tried to rape me. Two men who saw me walk past them while they were drunk on a Saturday night, and I bet they thought, look at her, that girl paying no attention to us in her frumpy mom wear, that one, I bet she wants her pussy grabbed.
Because I’m sure my jeans and hoodie wearing, lack of eye contact, straight walking path to my house shouted, COME ONE, COME ALL, I’VE GOT A VAGINA AND I WANT MY PUSSY GRABBED.
Because you know what? Those two men behaved no better than Trump detailed. When I walked past them, I ignored their sidewalk beer drinking social. I kept my head down in my hoodie, my purse close to me, my eyes focused on the pavement, just wanting to go home and go to bed.
But something about me, something from the hair pulled tight in a bun inside my baggy sweatshirt, something in the way I wore those jeans that just fit my body, something about my 7 year old sneakers or my studious glasses I wear to just fucking see, something must have just screamed, THIS BITCH WANTS TO BE FUCKED.
I mean, because that’s what happened. I passed them and didn’t acknowledge them. I kept walking when they got up to walk fast behind me. I kept trying to walk as they yanked my purse back. I tried to run when they shoved me to the ground on my face, one pushing me down until my glasses smashed and my face burst with blood. I tried to scream as one put his foot hard on my back and stomped, while the other covered my mouth. Something about the way I kicked and screamed and tried to bite and wriggle out from under two grown men who outweighed me by 200 pounds and who thought it was hysterical that I couldn’t fight my way out, these awful men I’ve never met in my life, with the morals of fucking lowlifes, it seriously must have come across as, SHE IS HERE FOR THE TAKING, GRAB HER PUSSY.
Because they tried. They both tried to rip my pants off, one holding me down and the other pulling, and then taking turns. I laid there stunned, and then helpless, and then lucky for me, fucking angry, angry because I am more fight than I am flight and NO ONE is going to ruin me without a fucking fight. So then, like the Dick Wolf fan I am, I channeled every last episode of Law and Order I ever watched in the last two decades and went fucking Olivia Benson batshit. I screamed, I kicked, I bit and then a light came on. A light came on and they shoved my face in the ground and kicked me and ran. And I got up, and ran into the darkness towards my house faster than I’ve ever run in my life. I ran so fast that when I made it to my stairs, my hands were shaking so badly in trying to get my keys, and my sobs were so hard and uncontrollable that I tripped and I fell on my face again, into my stairs, and I just laid there because it was ok, because I was home.
I crawled into bed that night alone on the couch, because I didn’t want my husband or family to see me, and I didn’t know what to do. And I slept alone until they found me, and then I relived it again the next day, and the next ten days I called out of work, and the rest of the days, every day I have to hear about this type of bullshit about why it’s ok for women to be treated poorly by a man, any man, but in this case, a man so dangerous, and in such a position of power, that I refuse to shut up until 9 November when this fucking nightmare is hopefully fucking over.
Tell me we’re friends, that you care about me, care about any woman who has ever been violated, hurt, abused, harassed, treated poorly in ANY FUCKING WAY, then look at this picture again, because I AM NOT ASHAMED, and tell me to my face why you support Trump. Tell me he will protect, and fight, and be the champion for our women.
And for anyone who thinks my personal story has nothing to do with Donald Trump, presidential candidate of the United States of America, you are fucking wrong. He is rape culture. He is what makes it ok. He is what will ruin us.
Don’t be someone who lets him perpetuate the demise of our women. If nothing else, respect your women, at any cost, this November.