Take your slut walk and shove it

Up for it?

I’ll be the first to admit that I have put myself in situations where I could have been sexually assaulted. In fact one particular incident still makes me shiver, when I think how close I came to not just being raped, but being killed. I was young and reckless.  It wasn’t the only time. My late maternal grand mother always said “God looks after fools and baby’s” … I believe I fall under the category of fools.

Limiting myself to 140 characters on twitter isn’t conducive to a heated debate, so I thought I’d bring it over to my blog. First I’d like to say how sorry I am to the woman I was exchanging tweets with who has been  raped. I would say “rape victim”, but it seems once you are labeled that, you always remain a victim and I don’t agree you should be.  It’s the same reason I don’t buy into the Alcoholics Anonymous creed of you always remaining an alcoholic, even after 20 years sobriety.

I posted a tweet in response to a quote from Liz Jones Mail Online piece about yesterdays Slut Walk protest in Central London, where a young lady on the walk  stated : “Women have to know that whatever they are wearing, no matter how much they have had to drink, it’s not their fault they were raped.”

I disagreed and said women should be accountable for their behaviour. I don’t drive when I’m drunk, I don’t leave a lighted candle near something inflammable – the same way I don’t allow myself to get three sheets to the wind, at a bar or a party.  Besides, I’m a little long in the tooth to be tottering down the high street, with hair askew and make up smudged. The response to me posting that on twitter was to bring up the analogy of a mugger, which I find ludicrous, as the rapists and mugger do what they do for different reasons.  Unless of course the mugger takes advantage of his situation.

Huh?

The gals protesting yesterday say they should be allowed to behave and dress how they want, without it being taken as an invitation to harass or rape. I agree and wish I lived in an ideal world, but we don’t.  There are consequences.

Let’s face it deviants are what they are, and no amount of girlies in fish net tights calling themselves sluts and chanting through London with placards will change that.  We can protest about the laws, the way rapes are handled by the police we can lobby for more rape crisis centres, but we can not change or control some primitive behaviours of the male species, especially those with intent on evil deeds by dressing provocatively and calling ourselves sluts.

Slut Walk like a lot of other popular online campaigns, is nothing but a social trend, borne from social media. It happens all the time, everyone jumps on the band wagon, a lot of times regurgitating someone elses tired old rhetoric.  It’s a lot like going to Live Aid – all about the party not about starving children in Africa. But hey, it sounds good, it’s fashionable, it’s trending on Twitter and we are up for it, so let’s call ourselves sluts and have a big time down town!

People, I guess what we are seeing is a different kind of feminism. A misguide type. Fourth wave feminism?

Why should anyone take them seriously?

How to prevent rape - carry pepper spray or a gun.

Instead of re-enforcing a culture of victimization in women how about doing something substantial to defend yourself.  I carry pepper spray on the rare occasion I’m alone on public transport on my own, late at night. rare because I feel safer driving at nights.  Unfortunately the laws in this country are geared to make you a victim by out lawing the right to defend yourself and I refuse to be one.  So I carrying pepper spay. Fuck the law, I don’t want to be a victim.

When I lived abroad I owned a gun, which I only ever used once – coincidentally when a man I invited to my home tried to attack and rob me…At the time I ran and owned a very successful Escort Agency, which meant at any given time I had thousands of dollars in my home – cash.

Running the sort of business I did, I was always careful about who came to my home but let my guard down this time.  Cut a long story short, I shot him in his thigh (was aiming for his shoulder – oops)

He survived and with the help of a very dear friend was able to get him out of my house. Cleaning up the blood  and calming myself down is another story.

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