"I can't even tell if something's r*pe or not, but I'm able to be trusted with voting."

Every day from the second I wake up to when my butt hits the bed at night, I hold my farts in. Not to be polite, or adhere to social standards, but instead so I have a full magazine of butt juice loaded to release at moments notice. If it were me sitting there, I would have released the most blood curling, chair cracking, butt ripping, underwear staining, wet, church house creeper while staring her straight in the eyes. Then, while I see the horror on her face and never break eye contact, I would take a deep inhale through my nose to taste the satisfaction of victory as both of her lungs collapse.

The juxtaposed image and context are eerie as heck. I guess we're meant to see this and think, "Survivors have no lives after assault," but I can attest to that not being the full truth. We really need better social support for women when they're first healing.