Over the course of my life I’ve been pawed at, propositioned, manhandled, flashed, molested, drugged, threatened, and harassed. By hormonal clods, such as the newest Supreme Court nominee. I chose to ignore these episodes and move on, because I didn’t want to deal with the indignity of reporting them or confronting them or giving them the time of day.
The doddering geezers of the Republican Party, however, have changed my attitude toward sexual aggression. They dismiss it as inconsequential or plain delusional. To even consider the possibility of impropriety they demand airtight evidence of sexual assault, verification along the lines of notarized photographs and certified, time-stamped documentation. Proof far above and beyond any doubt — reasonable or otherwise.
All rightie, fair enough.
In that case, the very next asshat who makes a lewd comment, grabs me or my ass, ‘accidentally’ brushes a boob, or so much as leers in my direction will be walking funny the rest of his sad, dissipated life. The police can then examine his bruised, swollen testicles and enter them into evidence for the court proceedings I’ll cheerfully initiate.
I swear to God, I’ve had it, so keep your hands to yourself or I’ll go full feral on you. And don’t forget to thank your GOP Representatives for their assistance. Their absolute indifference has been an inspiration.
copyright © 2018 the whirly girl