Steven Weissman

We were all at a late-night dance party full of intoxicated people, like my dear but very drunk friend. I myself had a few to drink that night or I would've been more aware of you, the predator in the room. Sure, she was friendly and pretty and nice, but she was also wasted—otherwise you'd never have a chance with a woman like her. But you decided to think that she wanted you. And somehow you were able to get her past her friends and away from the party and down to your car—where you raped her. Perhaps that is how you like your women, so drunk off their asses that they can't say no or otherwise reject you. Yes, my friend was drunk, but she wasn't looking to be raped. Not only did you take advantage of her and have sex with her, but you roughed her up, too—she's covered in bruises. Yes, I am upset that she got that drunk and wasn't more careful, and I am upset with myself for not being more aware and protecting her from you. But I know what you look like and I know where to look for you. So when you hear the steps of an angry sisterhood at your back, know that we are coming for you—to make sure that you understand what consent really means. Consider this your warning, asshole, because after we are done with you, you'll be more than just rancid.