brock fucking turner: the resurrection

Ohhhhhhh Brock.



Brocky Brock Brock Brock.

OK people, raise your hands if you would rather watch 2011's Hangover Part II on loop with your eyes propped open on stainless steel toothpicks than hear from this douchebro again.



I knew I wasn't the only one. Brock Fucking Turner's resurrection officially sucks more than a movie about which one critic pontificated, "Part II, technically, but what's the difference?"

If only we could give Brock Fucking Turner a 33% on Rotten Tomatoes, slap a $2.99 sticker on his face and make him live in a Wal-Mart bin until he gets picked up by a creepy guy with a rattail on the way to his cousin's bachelor party, and if only he could live out the rest of his life in rattail guy's cousin's living room on a sagging particleboard shelf where all the shitty sequels go to die slowly and alone, next to Speed 2: Cruise Control and Son of the Mask. If only he could just sit there and collect dust and never get ANY ACTION, not even 20 minutes' worth, because everyone fucking knows what a repulsive sack of crap he is and honestly rattail guy's cousin can't even believe rattail guy spent $3 on that garbage, Son of the Mask is way better.

You know what... no... I just... I can't tonight. I ALREADY FUCKING DID THIS GUY.

(deep breath)

I just... I want to write about puppies, okay? Let's just all think about puppies.

awwwwww
hey little guy!

See, isn't that better? I bet his whole body is as soft as eyelid skin.

I bet he's snoring a little bit.

I bet his name is Charlie. He looks so friendly and kind. I bet he'd never hurt you.

I bet he's as warm and heavy as the body of a college athlete lying on top of you--

FUCK

Sorry

OK wait

awwwwwww
look at him
he's flyyyyyyying

THAT IS SO CUTE! Look at that baby-faced little guy, with his sharp little collar on and sweet face. He looks so proud of himself, too. It's like he actually thinks that he's flying!

Hahaha! Look at his little paws swimming through the air! He's seriously doing like no work but he's totally like HEY EVERYONE LOOK AT ME DOING WORK! It's like he actually thinks that he's achieved flight without assistance from a powerful external force! It's like he just thinks he's FUCKING SPECIAL when in reality he's a regular fucking puppy who probably eats the cat food and shits yellow pudding in your shoes and then is like, wait, what? Why am I in the kennel? THE CAT FOOD WAS RIGHT THERE, if you didn't want me to eat it why did you let me exist in the same room with it? YOU KNOW WHAT I AM.

OK woah, I see what happened there.

PUPPIES.

PUPPIES, PUPPIES, PUPPIES, Katie.

Come on now.


oh so cute he's a swimmer
everyone let's give him a treat
he's such a good---

NOBODY GIVES A FUCK IF YOU CAN SWIM MISTER NUTTER BUTTER RATS ARE ALSO EXCELLENT SWIMMERS ACCORDING TO INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU ARE ABOVE THE LAW, MISTER NUTTER BUTTER.

poor little gu---

AND NOBODY GIVES A SINGLE DEER PELLET OF A SHIT IF YOU ARE SAD THAT YOU HAVE TO REGISTER AS A SEX OFFENDER AND THAT FUCKS UP YOUR LIFE FOREVER NOW.

Jesus H. Balls, BT reminds me of this person I used to know who signed a contract with a company saying that if they freelanced outside of the company they would be terminated. They freelanced. They got caught. They got fired. And the first thing out of this person's mouth was "It's not faaaaair."

Uh okay, yeah, maybe ON OPPOSITE DAY.

You literally read a contract saying, "This is the consequence of the thing," then you AGREED TO THE CONTRACT, and then you did the thing, then you got the consequence.

THAT IS THE DEFINITION OF FAIRNESS.

Brock Fucking Turner is an adult who needs to understand the difference between healthy consensual sex and fingering unconscious women behind a dumpster.

AND YES I have read the reports that the expression "behind the dumpster" is one of the keys of the appeal because his attorney argues that he didn't drag her behind a dumpster and saying that he did drag her behind a dumpster makes it sound like he's a dirty scumbag who needs to get thrown out with my sons' shitty diapers that I've left in a sweaty bag in the sun for 6 days. I have two things to say about that:

1) THE SETTING WAS NEVER THE PROBLEM, you whatabouting fuckstick... or perhaps I should stay "Brockstick." It's not like in court that day Emily Doe read aloud from her statement, "If only you had rented a room at the Four Seasons and rolled my unconscious body upstairs on a brass luggage cart with velvet trim and laid me gently on a duvet before violently penetrating my vagina with your fingers without my consent... I mean, hey, that would've been fine. But behind a dumpster? Ew, BT. Ew."

2) If that's the lynchpin of your appeal, Brockstick, that you did this thing NEXT to a dumpster rather than behind it, or perhaps even NEXT TO one of those open-air 3-sided garage things, like a dumpster-port, and there wasn't even a dumpster THERE... well, all I can say is I'm really happy that you have the lawyer you have, and I wish you the very fucking best you deserve. Which is to get thrown out with my sons' shitty diapers that I've left in a sweaty bag in the sun for 6 days.

We have a contract here called "laws" and it's a fucked-up contract and some people get much more lenient interpretations of that contract than other people do but that doesn't mean THOSE PUPPIES CAN FUCKING FLY. But as an adult you agree that if you finger unconscious women your consequence could very well be jail and registration as a sex offender, so don't you fucking dare come whining to me with your sad eyes about how shitty your life is gonna be. You did something shitty, so I guess the carpet matches your fucking life now.



Alright so this post isn't gonna be about puppies.

I'm just gonna finish up with this:


It used to be, and still fucking is, honestly, that all you had to do to get off on a sexual assault or rape charge was prove JUST ONE of these things (and honestly, not even prove. You could "say it while coughing" in the courtroom and you were golden):

1. the girl is a person of color
2. the girl has had sex before, with anyone
3. the girl has expressed interest in sex before, with anyone
4. the girl drank alcohol or took drugs, or has done so, at some point, any time really, past, present, or future
5. the girl revealed her ankles, wrists, or earlobes in a way that proved she wanted it
6. the boy who did it is white
7. the boy who did it has nice frumpy parents who had dreams for their little Chad
8. the boy who did it is "middling to fine" at one thing in this world other than rape
9. the boy who did it could someday be employable in some capacity, aka "The Potential Defense."





Wait, you're saying that this young lad
was the fourth-runner up in the 
2012 Pasadena hobbyhorse dressage tournament? 
My God
he's magnificent.
WHY RUIN TWO LIVES OVER A SILLY MISTAKE

If you're reading this (and you are, because you're here, and if you're not, then DOES THIS POST EVEN EXIST?) then I don't need to explain these realities to you. But chances are you know someone (old high school friends, second-cousins, or co-workers from three jobs ago who are still inexplicably all up on your FB) who is making some kind of excuse for this poor little boy who made one mistake and will pay for it for the rest of his life.

Me, I'm thinking about how much happier these fuckers would be if the girl would just pay for his mistake for the rest of her life instead.

I'm done paying for your comfort with my silent work. Emily Doe's done too. She's BEEN done.

So the next time you see someone post something about "one mistake" or leniency, and you're not fucking ready to offer mercy to a man who sexually assaulted an unconscious woman, lied about it, lied about it again, forced her to trial, blamed his actions on alcohol (I drank a shit ton in college and have never put my fingers in anyone's vagina, do I get some kind of like 3-month jail time credit on my account?), served 3 fucking months, got out, and launched an appeal because he didn't assault an unconscious woman exactly behind a dumpster, per se... well, I suggest you have Emily Doe's letter on standby.

Don't just post the link. Copy and paste her words into the conversation.

If Brock Fucking Turner reminds us too much of boys we liked in college to be punished for his own choices, then we have a responsibility to smack ourselves upside the head with a hobbyhorse, and remember that Emily Doe, whose name and face are not familiar to us, reminds us of all the girls we've loved our whole lives. Who have to grit their teeth to ask to be treated like humans, too.

Here's the link to her post.

And here are some of the quotes that I find most powerful:

On that morning, all that I was told was that I had been found behind a dumpster, potentially penetrated by a stranger, and that I should get retested for HIV because results don’t always show up immediately. But for now, I should go home and get back to my normal life. Imagine stepping back into the world with only that information. 


One day, I was at work, scrolling through the news on my phone, and came across an article. In it, I read and learned for the first time about how I was found unconscious, with my hair disheveled, long necklace wrapped around my neck, bra pulled out of my dress, dress pulled off over my shoulders and pulled up above my waist, that I was butt naked all the way down to my boots, legs spread apart, and had been penetrated by a foreign object by someone I did not recognize. This was how I learned what happened to me, sitting at my desk reading the news at work. I learned what happened to me the same time everyone else in the world learned what happened to me. That’s when the pine needles in my hair made sense, they didn’t fall from a tree. He had taken off my underwear, his fingers had been inside of me. I don’t even know this person. I still don’t know this person. When I read about me like this, I said, this can’t be me, this can’t be me.


I don’t remember, so how do I prove I didn’t like it.


To listen to your attorney attempt to paint a picture of me, the face of girls gone wild, as if somehow that would make it so that I had this coming for me. To listen to him say I sounded drunk on the phone because I’m silly and that’s my goofy way of speaking. To point out that in the voicemail, I said I would reward my boyfriend and we all know what I was thinking. I assure you my rewards program is non transferable, especially to any nameless man that approaches me.


You realize, having a drinking problem is different than drinking and then forcefully trying to have sex with someone? Show men how to respect women, not how to drink less.


You have dragged me through this hell with you, dipped me back into that night again and again. You knocked down both our towers, I collapsed at the same time you did. If you think I was spared, came out unscathed, that today I ride off into sunset, while you suffer the greatest blow, you are mistaken. Nobody wins. We have all been devastated, we have all been trying to find some meaning in all of this suffering. Your damage was concrete; stripped of titles, degrees, enrollment. My damage was internal, unseen, I carry it with me. You took away my worth, my privacy, my energy, my time, my safety, my intimacy, my confidence, my own voice, until today.


You should have never done this to me. Secondly, you should have never made me fight so long to tell you, you should have never done this to me. But here we are. The damage is done, no one can undo it. And now we both have a choice. We can let this destroy us, I can remain angry and hurt and you can be in denial, or we can face it head on, I accept the pain, you accept the punishment, and we move on.


The probation officer’s recommendation of a year or less in county jail is a soft time­out, a mockery of the seriousness of his assaults, an insult to me and all women. It gives the message that a stranger can be inside you without proper consent and he will receive less than what has been defined as the minimum sentence. 

Emily Doe, you magnificent Wonder Woman. I want to see your words fucking everywhere tomorrow.

I'm gonna keep chasing down this bullshit until Brock Fucking Turner has no lawyer and a telemarketing job that he does via VOIP from his parents' garage. I'm with you.

now that's a good fucking dog right there
just cuz you're big
don't mean you're welcome
now gtfoutta here
"not behind the dumpster"
bitch please

Didja like this post? 
Check out this one... 
it's funny and twisted 
and COMPLETELY DIFFERENT 
from the one you just read 
because #KeepItFresh.


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1 comment:

  1. Sharing your posts around and recommending your blog and book to my friends. I wish my reach was longer, but it's a start. You have shared, wonderfully, thank you.

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