Shakespeare’s Sister has just alerted me to a quintessential tale of 21st century American misogyny: that of a 17-year-old gang-rape victim (now 19) who, instead of seeing the testicles of her three attackers chewed off by a frothing pack of delirious pit bulls in the town square, has in fact been prosecuted for and found guilty of filing a false police report.
As I understand it, the judge, a graduate of Dicksmoke State Law School, decided that the victim’s drunken, doped-up thief of a mother, who testified for the defense that her daughter didn’t "act traumatized" after the rape, was a credible witness. So they threw the book at that slut of a lying teenage ho, and the pitiable, falsely accused boys-who-will-be-boys sauntered off to tea and crumpets at the Dorchester.
If our beloved sex-addicted patriarchy did not regularly inject itself with life-giving shots of yippee-rape, it might astonish us that a judge would consider that a victim’s drunken mother–a woman of such discerning tastes that she
apparently keeps intimate company with a convicted child molester–is
competent to assess the weather, let alone the psychological state of
her raped daughter.
It might further astonish us that, in order to see justice, women are now apparently required to follow rules of
trauma decorum following a rape. But as usual, we don’t know what the rules are! The old white dudes change’em all the goddam time! Maybe we could cover our asses by presenting a crowd-pleasing set of
hysterical-chick behaviors consistent with those enacted by stock characters on "Law & Order: SVU"? Such as huddling for 3 days in the corner of the bathtub with the shower running, rubbing holes in our skin with a loofah, muttering Bible verses?
But I digress.
What I was saying is that we are not astonished by the criminal act of this fucktarded judge. It’s no secret that our culture is one that trembles with joy whenever there’s a fallen woman to be publicly humiliated on accounta she has haplessly found herself pronged by the business end of red-blooded American manhood. And we are so accustomed to and exhausted by criminal acts of both public officials and the moralizing godbag teeming throng who cheers them on that when we read about this shit in blogs, it’s all we can do to lift our exhausted fingers to type the exhausted comment "*sigh*."
But let us not forget that in this case the judge–corrupted, as are all white dudes in positions of authority, by the noxious, viscous emanations of Ol’ Peeno*–has applied the same time-honored, patriarchy-endorsed orthodoxy deemed so peachy in those savage 3rd world outposts of barbarism where splayfooted tribal elders set rape victims on fire and give all her family’s goats to the rapists. This case differs only in degree.
*Ol’ Peeno, The National Penis, throbs under glass in the Museum of American Patriarchy (located at the tip of the Washington Monument in D.C.) and erupts, to the delight of pornsick visitors from across our great land, into the stagnant national miasma its gaseous smegs of oppression every hour on the hour.