Always believe the victim. That’s a principle I live by when it comes to the victims of stolen intellectual property, reverse racism, and, most importantly, false accusations of sexual misconduct.
But let me ask those blindly believing accusers of sexual misconduct just one simple question: If they’re really telling the truth, why haven’t they outed me yet?
This is an issue near and dear to my heart, especially in light of the recent frenzy we’ve seen in Hollywood of publicly outing “serial abusers” for “sexual harassment” and “assault” on an “unbelievable scale.”
If these accusers are so attached to the truth, then how do you explain me, a serial harasser, who has never been accused of harassment?
It’s not that I don’t believe harassment is happening, believe me, I’m sure it does. But from where I’m standing it’s clear as day that the accusations flying around are not rooted in the truth. I’ve used every position of power I’ve found myself in, no matter how trivial, to make unwanted sexual advances on women in my life and you mean to tell me that meant nothing to them?!
Related: Read the 8th Amendment: I Have a Legal Right to Own a Dick, and No Feminist Is Taking That Away
Believe me, I have put in the work.
Tireless hours of sexual profanities shouted on the street, nonconsensual physical touch, and obsessive, borderline stalker behavior, and I’m not even an honorable mention? How can you share a moment of intimacy like making eye contact with me through your bedroom window while you change and not even think to mention me in this hotbed of public calls for accountability?
I’m calling bullshit.
I won’t believe a single accusation until I too have been publicly called out and denounced for my inappropriate behavior. Until then, if any women reading this are interested in seeing what I call a real hot bed, regardless of your interest, I will try to show you.
Let the world know about your very specific taste in comedy with a shirt from The Hard Times: