Now, I could go the easy route and start wasting keystrokes on the vapidness of CNN’s coverage and the awfulness of pitying the victimizers while saying damn little about the victim.
But since everybody and “Gawker” has staked out this territory, I’m gonna try to be the Shepard here and use this opportunity to pass on some free advice to the young men of America.
Guys, let me give you a scenario.
You’re at a party. And this girl shows up rocking a midriff baring shirt and tight shorts. And because she’s a cheerleader and feels compelled to keep herself in top shape because society demands an unrealistic standard of beauty, she’s looking totally fine.
As the evening progresses, she proceeds to get drunk because someone broke open his dad’s liqueur cabinet and scored two bottles of imported russian vodka, (The good stuff, not the stuff that been cut with turpentine by penny pinching Russian Mobsters.) and a bottle of Jack.
And because she’s a teenager who wants desperately to receive validation from her peer group, she ingests way more alcohol then someone of her age and body mass can tolerate, and she passes out.
And you see her passed on the floor, legs splayed and everything.
And you start to get feelings…down there.
You’re horny, you’re confused and you have no idea what to do. You have this thing between your legs screaming at your brain and you want to make it stop!
The solution is quite simple.
You go home and jerk off.
Seriously, you say goodbye to your friends, run the three blocks back to your house, go to your room and work that monster until it stops screaming at you.
And if you’re house is too far away? Hell, just use your friends bathroom. Lock the door, grab some of his mom’s conditioner and slam one out. You’re a teen ager, it ain’t going to take that long. (Protip: Use toilet paper. Don’t be a dick and use the good towels.)
And the nice thing is that while you’re whacking one out, you can be totally thinking about that passed out cheerleader. Or her equally hot friend who was trying to revive her with mouth to mouth resuscitation. Hell, when you’re whacking off, everything is on the table. You can even butt fuck a dead antelope at your dad’s Easter barbecue while screaming “I TOLD YOU I WAS VEGAN!!!”
Everything is permissible in the Coney Island of your mind.
Hell, you can even get your friends to join in. “Hey guys. Let’s put her in Tom’s bed and while she’s sleeping it off, have a big old circle jerk about her. No pictures because that would be a violation of her privacy but we can think the living crap out of her!”
Honestly, this could be a bonding moment for all of you.
And she wakes up the next morning and the worst thing that she has to deal with is a nasty hangover and a grounding from her parents.
No one goes to jail. No one has to have years of therapy and sexual relationships tainted by misplaced feelings of shame. And hey, all that vomiting got her two pounds closer to her target weight.
So hey, everybody wins.
So, guys. Just remember these important rules. No means no. Unconsciousness means no.
And the hand never says no!