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

 

 

 

 

 

Autism: Best Excuse Ever

I love being autistic! It’s really the perfect excuse for everything!

–Whew! Sorry about all the farts. It’s this new anxiety medication I’m taking because I’m autistic.

–Whoops! Didn’t mean to grab your pussy like that. I guess autism made me misunderstand President Trump when I listened to that recording of him saying ‘grab’em by the pussy!’

–Your honor, the defendant is autistic, and thus cannot be held accountable for the collapse of civilization that ensued when every autistic person on the planet believed his bullshit about autism being the best excuse ever.

Now, we autistic people are just terrible at figuring out what everybody else is thinking, but I’m going to go way, way, way out on a limb here and randomly guess that you are just furious at me for calling bullshit on the idea that autistic people really have two kinds of problems: those that are “really” caused by autism, and those that are caused by a lack of that special kind of abuse that you seem so good at providing.

Well, I call bullshit! Come on, folks. Who do you think your kidding with that? Clearly you’re just envious, right? Or — whoops! — did  the autistic guy misread that?

Oh, come on, just admit it! Really, who wouldn’t want the perfect excuse for absolutely every possible situation in which a good excuse is sorely needed? Certainly not just those of us who constantly need one to survive, right? I mean, doesn’t everyone get to use the ramps and automatic doors that have been installed for folks in wheelchairs? Why should only autistic people be liberated from the burdens of personal responsibility?

Look, face it, you’re just envious because I get to do whatever I feel like doing and if anybody complains — BOOM! — out comes the “A” card, my personal licence-to-weird. Yup, you are positively ready to puke because I get to indulge all of my whims and desires, like getting fired from yet another job; or forgetting to give my daughter her seizure medication because I’m fucked up in the head because I got fired from yet another job; or botching up the new job I finally found because, yup, I’m still fucked up in the head because I got fired from yet another job!

Ahhhhh, this is living. Yes, autism — best excuse ever.

 

 

America’s First Mentally-Ill President

I doubt I’m the first to observe this, but it just occurred to me that in the same way that Obama was our first black President, Donald Trump is our first mentally-ill President.

Now, I do realize this coin has two sides. Heads: he’s completely unhinged and armed with nuclear bombs. Tails: now even we crazies can aspire to political careers!

Yeah, yeah, I know. The guy makes my skin crawl, but the silver lining to that cloud is that the moment Trump entered the Oval Office, he completely abolished this bizarre and pathologically confused pseudo-distinction between so-called “appropriate” and “inappropriate” behavior of which neuro-typicals are so proud, and which keeps so many of us with psychiatric disabilities unemployed, lonely and off in the shadows where we won’t offend anybody.

Thank you, Mr. Trump. You disgust me, but you’ve made the world a lot safer for your crazy-brethren, provided you don’t kill everybody with your nuclear bombs.

 

 

 

 

I Was Gang-Raped by MetLife Employees: Another Open Letter to the People of Earth

Dear Earthling,

I think you should know that I was gang-raped by roughly a dozen employees of the so-called Metropolitan Life Insurance Company, a.k.a. MetLife, my former employer.

I’m guessing you’ll find it super important that I’m using the term gang-rape here in a purely figurative sense. I too would have thought as much, back before I got gang-raped, and especially before I spent months obsessing about the ordeal and trying to figure out what to do about it. But I have recently reached the other side of all that insanity, and I’m happy to announce that when considered from this new perspective, the real differences between literal and figurative gang-rape are simply not such a big deal.

Please don’t misunderstand me here. Of course an old-school gang-rape in the literal sense could be and even most often is worse — even much, much worse. But I can easily imagine cases in which the rapists might take extreme precautions against physical injury, disease, and pregnancy (perhaps by using gloved and lubricated fingers to gently rape a man’s anus) , which would in no sense change the fundamental nature of the crime, nor mitigate the ensuing psychological consequences. To my view, such a physically gentle, injury- , disease- and pregnancy-free crime would be no less a gang-rape than, say, the infamous football-team-beneath-the-bleachers variety.

In my own case, the perpetrators indeed took extreme measures to prevent physical injury, disease, and pregnancy — but I really couldn’t care less about any of that. These individuals nevertheless gang-raped me, in my opinion (for now, at least, and until I encounter the sort of evidence that might change my mind). Much of what I have written in this blog documents my sincere and enthusiastic attempts to find some other way to describe the experience[1], but after months of trying, I have utterly failed to find any other way to put it that doesn’t cause a serious misunderstanding between me and anyone I might wish to tell: you, for example.

Please know that I am fully prepared to endure and respond effectively to any skepticism or objections you or anyone else may have with respect to what I’m claiming here. Especially if you are one of the perpetrators, or a MetLife employee or officer, or a member of the company’s governing board, or a stockholder, or really anybody at all with a stake big or small in denying what these MetLife employees did to me, I am ready for all of you. So please, don’t be shy about expressing yourself or sharing your thoughts and concerns with me.

Finally, as a rule, no matter who we are, no matter what problems we have or ordeals we endure, somewhere out there someone else has it worse — much worse. I am quite certain, for example, that you in particular, whoever you are, at some point in your life, were quite possibly really gang-raped in a way that by comparison makes my own ordeal look like a nice back massage.

If you are such a gang-rape survivor, or indeed anybody else who has had a rougher go of things than I have in Life, and this due to any reason at all; please know that any advantages afforded me by my obviously much lower martyr-status — for example, those resources (financial or otherwise) that I have come to control by virtue of the fact that I am a college-educated white man of middle-class upbringing living in a world that was mostly designed by and expressly built for guys like me (or at least, the ones who aren’t autistic) — I wish to assure you that I am wholeheartedly committed to applying those advantages to the task of making the world safer for you and for everyone that matters to you.

If you have any suggestions for how best to do that, I would love to know about them.

Thanks for reading this.

Sincerely,

The Walrus


[1] For an example of such an attempt and general overview of the events in question, see An Open Letter to A Certain EEOC Deputy District Director.

The U.S. Constitution is displayed with a brown gavel on it

Civil Rights Don’t Get ‘Violated’; They Get Raped

violate_definition_490x300

“Rape” is one common dictionary definition for the word “violate”. Image Credit: Merriam-Webster online dictionary.

I have learned a great deal from my numerous misadventures with “Batman” and his “Justice League Gang” . Perhaps the most important thing I’ve learned is that this linguistic convention of using a word like violated to describe what happens when someone “breaks” or “disobeys” a Civil Rights Law is ethically dubious — possibly cruel.

Civil Rights don’t get “violated”; they get raped.

In my opinion, to describe a Civil Rights crime with any sort of neutral, or objective, or “politically correct” word like violation is to risk minimizing or invalidating the trauma suffered by the victim.

Even if that victim was not really sexually assaulted, an act of Civil Rights rape can be psychologically traumatic, which for the victim is also a kind of rape — psychological rape. And I’m really not sure this is some sort of figurative interpretation of rape. Consider that rape is commonly held to be about power, not sex, suggesting that a lack of sexually related physical contact need not necessarily disqualify a given event as an example of rape. Also, however important may be the actual physical trauma of sexual assault, in the long run it is the psychological trauma that matters most. Bodies heal much more quickly than minds. Long after the stitches are removed, the STD’s are treated, and any unwanted fetus is aborted, the mind is probably still oozing pus.

The next time you catch yourself or someone else talking about a given Civil Rights “violation”, I invite you to consider that what actually happened was a Civil Rights rape.

 

Autistic until Proven Guilty: More Good Reasons to Blame Autism for Everything

In addition to the Six Good Reasons to Blame Autism for All Your Problems that I posted a few days ago, we might add a seventh, which is that doing so is a natural, consistent, and thoroughly reasonable adaptation to the domain of personal ethics of certain cornerstone legal principles enshrined in the U.S. Justice System and even in the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

In particular, it is essentially an adaptation of the well-known Presumption of Innocence principle that requires guilt to be proven instead of innocence, but it is also an adaptation of the principle that a witness cannot be compelled to give testimony that is self-incriminating.

With respect to the current context, I think it’s imperative to recognize that quite to the contrary of pop-culture exhortations to “trust your gut”, feelings in general are often terrible representations of reality. What could be more common than irrational anxiety or fear, especially for autistic people? As another example, anger can make us feel powerful, even as it renders us inflexible, impulsive, and blind to relevant information (i.e. contextually stupid). And of course, who hasn’t fallen madly in love with someone who can only reciprocate with boredom?

In particular, pro-social feelings like guilt, shame, regret, remorse, and embarrassment are notoriously misleading. Human beings on either end of a given accusation — both accuser and accused — are vulnerable to what might aptly be referred to as delusions of culpability. Of course, delusions of innocence are also possible, and so clearly we should not pretend to be sociopaths, who themselves have a dangerously misleading lack of such pro-social emotions. Feelings aren’t always wrong either, and should never be denied or ignored.

But I think especially when we feel guilty or ashamed, for example, we absolutely should demand that our feelings be confirmed by the facts. Even a quick study of history and current events shows that it is very easy to manipulate someone into feeling guilty or ashamed for all kinds of ridiculous pseudo-crimes — homosexuality, masturbation, witchcraft, being black, Jewish, etc. Once our feelings of shame or guilt have passed the test of being grounded in fact, I think then and only then should we agree to accept appropriate personal responsibility for the events, actions, or consequences in question. I think a firm commitment to “autism made me do it!”, at least initially, is an excellent way to ensure such an outcome.

Yup. Autistic until proven guilty. That’s my new credo — for now at least, and until I encounter the sort of evidence that could change my mind.

And if you think you may have some of that kind of evidence, or any other thoughts on the above, please let me know in a comment below!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No Middle Ground: An Open Letter to the People of Earth

Dear Earthling,

I have a serious problem. To begin with, I sincerely believe that my Civil Rights have been violated, and it really seems to me like you don’t give a shit. That’s a big part of the problem, but there’s more. See, when the dozen or so perpetrators who broke the Civil Rights laws in question committed this crime, they simultaneously stole your own luxury to not give a shit about it.

I know, I know. Bummer right? Here you were thinking that it’s not your problem that these assholes fucked me over in the way that they did, and now I’m telling you “er, sorry, amigo, but these assholes fucked you over too, by stealing your luxury to not give a shit.”

Yup, I know, it really sucks. I really wish it were some other way, but it’s not.

I’ll try to explain: see, what I’m calling “my Civil Rights” are not actually “my” Civil Rights. It’s not like they belong to me, or like I have Civil Rights that are somehow different from yours. In reality, my Civil Rights are also your Civil Rights. Ironically, they are also the Civil Rights of the perpetrators themselves — these people actually violated their own Civil Rights! As a result of this basic principle, when they broke the laws they broke, the perps inadvertently drew a line in the sand, and like it or not, now we all have to choose a side — the side of Civil Rights in general, or the other side, which is pretty much the side of Tyranny and Oppression. Like it or not, one way or another, you must choose. Of course, you don’t have to choose the Civil Rights side, but you must choose a side to stand on.

Forget about the middle ground. There’s no middle ground. These fools have stolen it.

Good luck!

PS: If it seems like I’m being ridiculous here, or blowing things out of proportion, etc. then to the extent you are correct, then (in my opinion) it’s probably because I’m autistic. As a rule, the bigger the mistake I make, I think the more likely it’s due to my being autistic (again, in my opinion).