My systyrs, we live in a rape-culture!
Rape is a cultural norm. Even though it’s considered socially deviant behavior and is outlawed in every state and is regarded as one of the most heinous crimes, it’s still a social norm.
And although it would be truly aberrant for a screaming woman to be attacked in full view on a public street in the middle of the day while random passers-by take turns brutalizing her as the police refuse to intervene, we feminists believe that this is exactly what happens all the time. And the fact that you don’t see that happening outside your window right this second only proves that it’s too commonplace to even notice.
The rape culture is all around us, my systyrs. Always implicitly hanging over our heads. And we feminists are hated merely because we question it. Some bastards out there even accuse feminists of believing that all sex is rape. Lies!
No, we don’t think that “all sex is rape”. We just believe that heterosexual sex is inherently coercive of women. And we believe that any ambiguous sexual misunderstanding is de facto rape. And we believe that a woman’s ‘yes’ can actually mean ‘no’ if she changes her mind several weeks after the fact. So the stupid “all sex is rape” canard has not even a grain of truth.
It’d be more accurate to say that we believe acts of rape to far outnumber acts of consensual sex, with the latter being truly rare because most females are brainwashed into stupidity by patriarchy so they cannot give reasonable consent.
Look: sex is only rape whenever a heterosexual man is in the room. Okay? Simple.
But now I must to get to the heart of this entry. As I have testified in the past, no cock is big or hard enough to create a pleasing friction within the hallowed, haddock-scented hallway between my legs. And yet I am deathly afraid that an act of penetration by such a terror-inducing organ will one day maim me beyond repair and rob my hot juicy cunt of its pristine magnificence.
Just the other night I was drunkenly staggering down a darkened alley in a crime-ridden, crack-dealing part of town while wearing a “FCUK ME!” t-shirt because it is my right to avoid common sense while expecting my absolute safety to be guaranteed at all times.
Suddenly, I heard a noise. I whirled-around and… there was no one. Nothing happened.
But… something could have happened!
I had been POTENTIALLY raped!
And the following realizations came quickly: every second in which I am not raped is a second in which I was potentially raped by the world’s 3 billion potential rapists.
And I did the math: since there are over 86,000 seconds in a day, I am potentially raped a minimum of 256 trillion times per day! Ever since then, I have started to keep track.
Some bastards out there will say “Amynda, you’re talking nonsense.” But that refuses to acknowledge the latest findings of feminist philosophy: there is no fundamental difference between being raped and not being raped. Here is why:
“Not being raped” means to define one’s situation as having an absence of rape. Or to put it more accurately, it is to live in a state of non-rape. Non-rape is defined by the default state of being raped, so the state of rape controls the boundaries of the state of non-rape. Rape is a form of control and the definition of non-rape is controlled by rape. Therefore, being raped is not fundamentally different from not being raped. (I got an A on that paper, can you tell?)
Because we live in a universe of unlimited possible outcomes, the billions of rapes that didn’t happen to me a minute ago were exactly as damaging as the trillions more which haven’t happened yet but could potentially happen. Potentially.
And once you have been potentially raped in a ridiculously enormous number of instances like I have been, the scars remain invisible. And for you to suggest that I might’ve asked for what I didn’t get is blaming the potential victim who didn’t get something against her will which she didn’t ask for.
And it potentially happened again just now!
Every time I blink my eyes is yet another occasion on which I could have been raped. An occasion which was fundamentally no different than any other occasion in which I was not actually raped but could have been. And no one noticed, as if this were ‘normal’.
Even more frightening are the statistics which I can pull-out of my butt: 1 out of every 1 womyn will be potentially raped tens of billion of times every second of her life. That’s a 100% rate! And this holds true regardless of race, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, eye color and shoe size. Age is not a factor either: potential rape can potentially happen at any instant between birth and cremation.
The worst part of being potentially raped is that my potential rapists, all 3 billion of them, walk around without punishment, free to potentially rape me again and again. And again and again and again. And again.
They know that they can potentially get-away with potentially raping me and no one will ever try to stop them from doing something that they’re not doing but might conceivably do. And our potential rape-culture calls me unreasonable for objecting to the fact that all potentially guilty men are not being punished for what they have not actually done but might do some day.
Yes, I put the blame where it belongs: squarely on men’s shoulders. Because of their failure to make potential rape into a non-existent thing, it means that all men are potentially complicit in potential rape. Except for the gay ones (and I don’t fully trust them either because the potential still remains.)
And what, society is going to blame me, a slut, for being a potential rape victim? Play the old game of blaming the potential victim who potentially brought it on herself? Oh yeah, how typical. Gee, I sure wouldn’t want something small and trivial like trillions of potential rapes which aren’t actually happening to me this very second to interrupt your important business. Maybe I’ll spread my legs to make it easier for all of you to potentially rape me another 3 billion times sirs?
Well this slut refuses to remain silent about the impossibly huge numbers of fictional things that have not happened to her!
Potential rape can take more insidious forms as well.
Whenever my ears could be penetrated by a masculine voice, it is potential aural-rape.
Whenever my eyes could be assaulted by visions of ugly men with too much hair on their backs, it is potential visual-rape.
Whenever carbon dioxide molecules exhaled by a phallocrat could brutally force their way into my delicate lungs, it is potential respiratory-rape.
Whenever I might catch a glimpse of a uterus-enslaving man on tv, it is potential tele-rape.
Whenever I could get an unwanted E-mail from some penis-owning manpig, it is potential E-rape.
The list goes on and on, compounding the trillions upon trillions of tragic things that never happened to me but might have happened in my most fevered nightmares. Not only does this amplify the scale of the crimes, it deepens the pool of sisterhood because we are all potential victims, my systyrs. Every last one of us.
But I consider myself to be lucky: I am a potential survivor of the many googolplexes of tragic things that might get inflicted upon me as I sit here alone in this locked room.
My systyrs, the astronomical amount of stuff which didn’t happen to us a second ago must not be allowed to happen to us ever again.