[CONTENT ADVISORY: Don’t believe the title. The title lies.]
I’m raping you because you’re pretty. It’s important you know that.
My sister isn’t pretty. She isn’t smart, either. And she sure as fuck isn’t lucky. She’s just a normal girl– but a couple guys grabbed her anyway, right up off the street. They violated her, and now she hasn’t left her room in six weeks, because she can’t get over it; can’t blame her, neither can I.
I’ve been over it a hundred times, trying to see what she could have done wrong, and there’s nothing. She couldn’t have seen it coming; it’s not like she’s sexy or whatever. No one wanted her; most boys don’t seem to know she’s alive. And she wasn’t some fucking tease, either; she was dressed like a decent young lady. There was just no reason to pick on her. The whole thing eats at me. It’s like, how do you take everything away from someone who has nothing but her smile? Why would you pick on the homely, lonely, kindly girl? Where’s the fucking pride?
I understand the urge to rape. I’m a man, so I know how good it feels to hunt something, take it down, and ride out the struggle until the meat is earned. But there’s got to be some decency to it, right? Some basic sense of fair play…. fucking sportsmanship, at least! There’s no need to prey on the least of women when the world is already full of stupid, spoiled, defective cunts who need to learn a lesson that only a man can teach.
That’s why you’re here. The scales need to be balanced, by a guy who knows what’s right. It’s not fair, that a gash like you gets to walk around whole. You with the beautiful hair and the glowing skin and that soft, pornographic little mouth; the fantastic fucking tits and the bald, delicious snatch. With your tacky, leased whoremobile and ridiculous designer bag, both of which you likely sucked out of some old man who was blind enough to confuse “fuckable” with “interesting”. With your assortment of minions and fake friends that you somehow hate and can’t live without, moving through life with no doors closed to you that won’t open along with your thighs. You, with your greedy, soulless eyes, always looking for the next thing to devour.
You don’t get to be that. You don’t get to live that life like you deserve it, like you matter; like you’re somehow better than my ugly, stupid little sister who never harmed a fly and now can’t even look up at me when I walk in the room. If she doesn’t get to feel right inside, then neither does a piece of trash like you. What another man took from my family, I’m taking back from yours; maybe someday, if someone still actually loves you, they’ll do for you what I’m doing for my sister.
I think it’s a pain that’s meant to be passed along.
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