An Open Letter to a Man Who Raped Me: Frederick “Fritz” T. Smith of Seyfarth Shaw, LLP, a.k.a. ‘Batman’

Hi Fritz (a.k.a “Batman“),

Yup, it’s come to this. I am now publicly accusing you of organizing and participating in the gang-rape I endured last year at the hands of you and your foolish little posse of grown-up “cool kids”, whom I have referred to variously on this blog as the “Inappropriate Behavior Police” or the “Justice League Gang“. You (all) have taken some pains to hide your identities from me, but I’m pretty sure we’re talking about folks with first names like Marty, Geoff, Bob, Cliff, and so forth, and a few women as well.

You know who they are, I’m sure; and I know you all raped me.

Yeah, yeah “figuratively speaking”, but I really don’t give a fuck if every human being on your planet thinks that that is a distinction that actually matters here. The distinction doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter to me at all that you guys raped me “so to speak”, or that you all behaved as perfect ladies and gentlemen as you raped me, so as not to cause any detectable physical injury. I really don’t care about that. Nor do I even care that I may be suffering from some sort of a “rape delusion” — where in “reality” you guys did absolutely nothing wrong whatsoever, and I just completely imagined the whole thing.

I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that.

I’m autistic, dipshit, and if I’ve helped you all learn anything useful about autism, you’ve learned that I’m not actually living on your planet. No. I live on mine — my own little world, see. And on my planet, really the most important opinion on that planet, is just my own.

Now, I’m not suggesting that nobody else’s opinions ever matter to me — of course they do. I’m not totally disconnected from your world. I’m aware of it. I believe it to be real. I know it has a tremendous influence on me. I’m also quite confused about how it works and especially why it doesn’t just completely collapse in on itself; but when push comes to shove as it has clearly done so here, in my world the final arbiter of all disputes is just me. In my world, I am judge, jury, and executioner.

Now, if you just shit yourself a little bit there, I sincerely apologize. Please know that you and the others are absolutely not in any kind of physical danger from me, whatsoever. I can assure you that whatever my resemblances to Adam Lanza may be as an autistic person, I am absolutely nothing like that monster. I abhor violence, guns, really all of that insanity. I don’t even play violent video games. On my planet, there is no death-penalty, not even for a monster like Lanza. And that does not lessen his status as a monster, in my view. Although I do have deep sympathy for the Adam he was before he became a monstrosity — for the child he was, the boy he was, the teenager he was, and even the very, very troubled young man he was, right up until he killed his first victim; but once he did that, he was lost to all of us. At that moment poor, deeply troubled Adam mutated into Adam the monster, and any sympathy resources offered to such a monster would have to be stolen from its victims, which makes no sense whatsoever, as I see it (for now, and until I encounter the sort of evidence that could change my mind).

But you are not even a monster, are you? None of you are, of course. You committed a crime, yes (in my opinion), but let’s face it, it was almost certainly a kind of accident, am I right? See, I get it, really I do. You are all good people. You thought you were acting in the best interests of the company and the safety of most of its employees. Not my safety, clearly. Fuck, you gang-raped me (and because of their dependence on me, you indirectly gang-raped my family — my kids!). But yes, everybody else was somehow worth protecting, and you erroneously believed that I was somehow a danger to them, just as you erroneously believed that firing me would somehow protect them. Believe me, Fritz, had I actually been an Adam Lanza sort of safety hazard, a lot of folks would be dead, and the survivors would be suffering from broken hearts and PTSD now. It is shamefully easy to buy a gun, and the security at MetLife sucks for that sort of thing, although I hear it’s great at receiving lunch deliveries.

Because you aren’t really monsters, I’m guessing you’d like to know how to make things right between us. If that is really what you are thinking, then congratulations, because you are definitely thinking in the right direction. If you are not yet thinking about how to make things right between us, then I strongly encourage you to do so, because I’m fucking relentless, Fritz, and I’m just getting warmed up here. Understand this, asshole: I will not stop until we have made our peace with each other.

And here’s how to do it: It’s pretty simple, really. I need to know that you folks understand that raping me was a huge, fucking mistake. I need to know beyond a reasonable doubt that you understand what you did to me, and that you are so sorry about having done so, that you will never, ever even think of doing anything like that again — not to me, of course, but more importantly, not to anybody else, ever.

I need to know this deep in my bones, Fritz. You (all) must be willing to go to any lengths to convince me. You must be willing to shut down the whole fucking company, if you have to, if that’s what it takes to satisfy my need to know that you will never, ever rape another human being — not figuratively, not literally, not in any sense.

Best of luck to all of you!

Sincerely,

The Walrus

 

 

 

 

 

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