Open Letter to a Potential Date Rapist

Most “Missed Connections” living on Craigslist are populated by star-crossed city dwellers who couldn’t muster the courage to ask someone out. What follows is the polar opposite. And scary, at that. If true, this open letter to an unnamed “Scumbag” is all sorts of messed up. It would appear an East Villager was Roofied at Lit Lounge the other night…

Scumbag,

When I woke up in my apartment this morning and had no idea how I got home, my first thought was: wow, I am hilariously terrible at drinking. Then I remembered that I’m not, and that not only did I not drink anywhere near enough to feel the way that I did, but I had absolutely no idea how I got home. Almost 24 hours later, I still haven’t really gotten out of bed — thanks for putting something in my drink you absolute piece of shit.

My only comfort is that my door was chained when I woke up, so I know that I was alone and that your shitty plan didn’t work out. I guess it probably went awry somewhere right around the part of the night when you told me that you were going to go “do coke with your friends in the bathroom” and I said “gross” and turned away from you. I saw you watching me later on, right around the time I would imagine the drug started to kick in, because that’s about the last thing I remember. You were talking to another girl, did you bring enough for both of us? (If you’re that girl, feel free to email me.)

You weren’t wrong, by the way; you definitely would have needed to drug me HEAVILY if you wanted to fuck me; too bad it didn’t work out for your bullshit New Jersey 70s psych rock ass. Yes I’m pretty, but I’m also really fucking smart, funny, and have a big, pulsing heart. I am good, and you are gross. I guess you know that about yourself, though, or you wouldn’t have slipped me fucking horse tranquilizers.

Something is DEEPLY FUCKING WRONG WITH YOU if you KNOW that in order to fuck someone, you need to render them unconscious. You should probably fucking work on that. Consent is, actually, the BEST part about having sex with someone — it’s a real trip when two people mutually decide that they want to roll around naked together, you should try it sometime.

If I ever see you again I am going to rip your fucking heart out of your chest, Mortal Kombat style, and hang it from a telephone wire in the East Village next to some fucking sneakers.

Also, FUCK the East Village.