Let’s Get Real People – Judge says rape is ok as long as you’re from a good family…

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce to you the winner of the ‘You’ve got to be efn kidding me trophy.’ I give you, the not so Honorable Judge James Troiano of Monmouth County Superior Court from the great state of New Hampshire.

In 2017, a 16 year old boy was accused of raping an intoxicated 16 year old girl at a party. If that wasn’t enough to have his penis whacked off with a dull knife, this Eagle Scout filmed the entire thing and circulated it across social media. At one point, even texting his buddies: “when your first time having sex was rape.” Clearly demonstrating a “sophisticated and predatory” action.

The prosecution, like any one with half a brain would agree, petitioned for this sub human to be waived in juvenile court and tried as an adult.

Alas, it was not to be… In steps our infamous judge and denied the motion. Sighting, (you’re going to think I’m lying) “the boy’s actions were not necessarily rape. Because ‘traditional’ rape cases involve ‘two or more, generally males involved either at gun point or weapon, clearly manhandling a person.”

This bean bag without stuffing went on to say that the boy should not be tried as an adult because, (I shit you not) he comes from a good family who put him into an excellent school and he was headed to a good college.

This wacko continued pulling turds out his ass with, “the girl and her family should have been told that bringing charges against the boy could have a ‘devastating effect’ on his life.

WTF you shit for brains.

I guarantee, if this boy was from a poor inner city family whose mother and father both worked two jobs just to keep food on the table, his ass would already be locked up for the rest of his life. God knows what would happen if the kid would have been African American or Hispanic.

I can only assume that this punk ass kid was going to attend the same college that good ole Troiano graduated from. Maybe his parents were members of the same country club. So I just have one question for the court. If someday you’re at the golf course and pass out from a few too many martinis and the caddy decides to stick his nine iron up your 18th hole. Is it ok? According to you, as long as he gets good grades in school and is alone while he has you bent over the golf cart.

My God, what more proof do we need? This is just another example that ‘rich white privilege’ is still running rampant across America. As long as we have old white haired men running our government, nothing will ever change.

Just my two cents worth…

Saturday Short Stories — Jason…

Janice has withdrawn into herself again. She’s setting there on our yard sale couch staring into a TV that isn’t even on. With the old quilt, that our grandmother made, wrapped tight around her; though it’s eighty degrees in our trailer. Her face is sunken and her skin hangs lose from fragile bones. Like all the emotions have been sucked away from her and left her deflated.

I sit down next to her and she leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. We set for an eternity in our silence just staring at the floating specs of dust in the sunshine. It’s like we’re frozen inside a snow globe.

“I hate Fridays,” she says to me. I smile because I know she’s trying to push away the ugliness that is shrouding her.

“I know Jan.” I tell her, because really I do.

It was three years ago on a Friday that I found you huddled in the woods, just off the path that we used as a shortcut from school. We took that path everyday together…except that Friday. That Friday, I wasn’t there for you because that Friday I tried out for that fucking school play. I found you there, shaking so hard I was afraid your bones would shatter. Your head was in your hands and the tears burning the scuff marks on your cheeks. I heard you whispering between your sobs, “No, no, please no.”

You were only twelve years old and collapsed into a pile of flesh and bones. Left discarded in the woods like some wounded animal. I found you there, with your clothes covered in your own blood. Your innocents ripped from your soul. You wrapped your fists tight into my sweater as I picked you up. Your eyes squeezed shut because you never wanted to look at anything again. There would be no beauty left for you in this world. I carried your trembling body in my arms. Your convulsions were so heavy that you vomited onto my cloths; your tears so large they washed it away again. Your short wisps of breath floated into the night sky along with all your dreams. All I could do was tell you that it was going to be okay…but I knew it never would.

While you searched for some answer, you cried, “Oh God, why, why?”

I don’t think God will ever give us those answers my dear sister, but I will always hate him for taking your childhood away.