Editorial : The Dogs Of The Human Race

[Author’s note : The following commentary is highly divisive. I have donned my Kevlar body armor, and flame resistant racing gear, because I expect to hear about this post. I expect extensive bashing, especially by men. But, I choose to end my silence on the insanity I see around me every day. Given this is my personal blog, I can find no reason I should not voice my opinion. If you can’t deal with that, you’re welcome to leave.]

I saw another article on the news feed today. About another female. This time a 17-year-old girl. A child. She has yet to graduate from High School. She has no idea what life is, she’s only at the start of her journey.

She got kicked out of her senior prom. Yeah. Thrown out. Not because she misbehaved. Not because she did anything wrong. Not because she said anything she shouldn’t have. Not because she slipped in a bottle of booze. The truth is she followed all the rules. She even followed them better than other girls did.

She got kicked out because a bunch of old men couldn’t control their hormones. They found her appearance attractive. They found themselves having fantasies about screwing her. Getting her naked. And doing what they wanted.

That’s why they threw her out of her senior prom. They threw her out because she was pretty.

This teaches her the wrong thing. It teaches her men have all the control. It teaches her she’s a second class citizen. It teaches her she going to get trampled underfoot by men, and in truth, other women, if she’s pretty, and noticeably more pretty than those around her.

I spoke with my Doctor about this today. Because this angered me. I told my doc I’d happily line the men with no self-control up, and run over them with a big damn truck. I told my doc they were grown men, behaving identically to 13-year-old boys, just reaching puberty. I told him what I thought. What I honestly thought we should do about this type of problem.

Instead of destroying the girl’s senior prom, send the lecherous men home with notes to their significant others documenting the need for them to grow up.

If men and women insist on supporting the idiotic notion that women cause rape by women dressing evocatively, then perhaps it’s time to treat men like we treat other animal life forms. Perhaps we should take men with no self-control, and put them in cages, so they can’t commit the crime of rape. So they can’t commit acts of sexual harassment, and sexual abuse.

It’s what we do with dogs. Cats. Birds. Chickens. Ducks. Cattle. And countless other animals. We give them the self-control they refuse to develop.

Want to blame a woman for your action of raping her? OK. Let’s feed you this chemical cocktail every day, forever, that fixes that problem in your biochemistry. Or perhaps we should have you neutered. It would certainly cure the stupidity problem you insist isn’t yours.

I told my doctor it was true. Men were acting like 13-year-old boys. Look at how many  treatments for the biological reality of low testosterone you watch from the safety of your family room sofa. Got low testosterone? We can fix that! Take this pill! Use this topical ointment! Re-balance your testosterone! So you can have that same lust for sex you had when you were 18!

Stop saying it’s her fault you raped her! It’s your fault. Be a man, and live with the consequences of your decisions and actions.

You have no idea how frustrated, angry, terrified and depressed dealing with the reality I see around me every minute of every day makes me. No idea at all.

Mark.

[Note : Comments are on moderation. I expect to remove most of them.]

Advertisement

Alecia Nominated Me For The Versatile Blogger Award

Well. This is something different. Alecia has nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. Thank you, Alecia. Of course, I accept this. So, now it’s my turn to follow the rules of the award.

You can learn about Alecia here – http://aleciawrites.com/about/ And you can read her blog here – http://aleciawrites.com/

Now, here are seven little details about me.

1. I am, and have been, married for 28 years, and hope she and I figure out how to stay happily married for the rest of our time on this Earth.

2. Both our children have moved out of the house, leaving us with the three cats.

3. I don’t read a lot. It’s not that I don’t want to read, or that I can’t read. For me, reading takes a lot of time. And I never seem to have enough time to read very much.

4. Don’t ask me what  want to be when I grow up. I haven’t figured that out yet.

5. I refuse to own a smart phone. For lots of reasons. They break. Lots. Their charging ports wear out too often. You can’t get one without having to buy a monthly data plan. Do you know how much it costs to fix one if it breaks? Geeze.

6. Pizza! Wendy’s Large Vanilla Frosty! White Chocolate! Peanut Butter with Agave Honey stirred in.

7. Don’t be surprised if you ever meet me, if I don’t say much. I mean. I do live on the Autism Spectrum. And talking is rather stressful sometimes.

Lastly, I’m supposed to nominate fifteen (15) bloggers for the award. Here’s the list, in no particular order. Go read their blogs. They’re gifted people, in my view. I’m also certain some of them have already done this, so they won’t have to repeat it.

knowthesphere
Sydney Aaliyah Michelle
Tales of a Writer’s Life
The Tsuruoka Files
Michela Walters
Joanne Wadsworth
A Scrapbook for Jenny
A Little Bird Tweets
Myselfandela
Angela Goff
The Last Krystallos
Alex Brightsmith
Minstrels and Heroes
Ailsa Abraham
One Word At A Time

Mark.

#FinishThatThought : Throwing Out The Trash

My son watched as she was snatched away. It was the last thing he saw. The last thing he did. He felt the slugs from two handguns tear through his chest, leaving six-inch wide holes in his back, shredding his lungs, veins and arteries. He collapsed to his knees, his life bleeding away. His fall ending with him on his back.

His wife screamed. She reached for him, looked into his eyes and knew he would die. She never had the chance to cry. The men with the guns struck her face, knocking her out. One put his gun in his belt, and threw her over his shoulder. They walked off.

The police found her body the next morning. Her hands tied to a stake, hammered into the ground. Her feet staked out separately. She’d been raped. No one could say how many times. When they were through with her, they shot her in the head. Twice. They left her there, with a warning note.

“This is how we solve problems in our neighborhood.”

My son was white.

His wife was black.

I had hoped people had grown past their hatreds, prejudices and fears. As I watched my son die that night, and his wife suffer that inhuman assault, and brutal death, I knew.

People hadn’t changed.

In my anger, I crossed over. I left the land beyond the veil of life, and returned to the world of the living. I’d seen enough. The brutal nature of people always seemed so far away. Until I watched them murder my children. That act of violence changed everything for me.

I crossed over and hunted down the men that murdered my son, and his beautiful wife. I walked through the walls of the house of the first. Into his own bedroom, where he slept with his wife. When he rolled her face down on the bed, and raped her, I moved. I slipped my hand into his chest, and squeezed the life out of his heart.

I felt nothing as I did. It wasn’t murder. It wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t justice. It was simply throwing out the trash.

I found the second in his garage, with two of his buddies. From the flavor of the smoke in the air, I knew they weren’t smoking tobacco. From the beer cans scattered on the floor, I knew they were drunk. All of them.

I listened to the killer as he proudly proclaimed the neighborhood was purified, and safe once more, from the evils of the world. Like my son and his wife.

I reached into his brain, and ripped his brain stem loose from his spine. Another piece of trash thrown out.

Until the people of this world grow up, and change. Overcome their fears, hatreds, and prejudices, I will stay here. I will weed out the ones like the two that killed my son. One piece of trash at a time. One piece of trash at a time.

476 Words
@LurchMunster

---

I wrote this for week 4 of Alissa Leonard‘s Finish That Thought flash fiction challenge. It’s a fun challenge. Now, go read all the other entries in week 4.