Speak Up.

Speak up. Fucking shout. Humiliate the filthy, worthless pig.

It’s a fact. Women scurry past street harassers in a wild frenzy of weak-kneed panic and chicken-hearted rage and passively accept a crude arrangement of whistles and catcalls from living, breathing waste of human tissue all over the globe. Many women foolishly refuse to “stoop to their level” because our doomed society has fucking programmed women to believe that accepting this moronic behavior is the safe and righteous thing to do.

Harassment happens all over the map, at any time of day. It wreaks hot and heavy havoc in the lives of city residents and increasingly spills over from the inner city into suburban middle-class areas. Lack of police and judicial system accountability makes the reality of the correlation between living an inner-city life, verbal harassment and physical violence a largely pressing and virtually unchallenged concern. Boys recklessly shouting obscenities at innocent bystanders is one of the most ancient forms of psychological techniques used to express personal discontent against someone not listening or fulfilling an insecure individual’s expectations. If faint-hearted women continue to keep their mouth shut and take the non-confrontational elementary route that the harasser expects women to take, the dismissal excuses the behavior and the good for nothing piece of shit has no reason to quit.

You are not a sleazy and valueless prostitute. You are a woman who has every bloody right to walk down the street in any attire you wish to wear without desperately clutching your pepper spray. Quit praying to Barney, Rupaul and Jesus Christ that today will be the day that street urchins and trashy trolls won’t hoot and holler at you and take control of your life.

Refuse to walk past in silence, loudly embarrass the harasser and watch the jackass squirm and shake in his fucking boots. You are not a target every time you leave the house in those sexy short shorts that complement your figure and make you look like a million fucking bucks. Yes, it is important to keep in mind that there may be a weapon involved, but timidly keeping your distance and buying a burka to wear every time you need to run to the store for tampons or paper fucking plates only sets an example of another woman lacking spine and planting a satisfied grin on a wretched imbeciles face. Give him “some of dat” and flip the puny and sexually underfed asshole the bird while he relentlessly chatters and shouts to the masses how juicy your ass looks in those jeans.

Women do not walk down the street to entertain sophomoric baby penises of grown men and the plethora of insecurities that come along with the lack of masculinity and necessity of power in a self-conscious man. I am not on tonight, my hips do lie and this is far from fucking perfection. Let the ground crack and shake at your arrival, ladies. I make lip-lickin’ street harassers feel like gum on the bottom of my shoes. Call me every name in the book, prick; I will serve you an ice-cold old-fashioned can of verbal whoop-ass. Stop suppressing your anger, clear your throat and raise your fucking voice. Don’t moan and groan to your partner about how street harassment is affecting your day-to-day living; leave the city, take action, or hold your ground and fight your own fucking battles.

Shout-out to the many sophisticated and honorable gentlemen out there. I respect you and find your old-fashioned charm aesthetically pleasing. Seriously. You do not conform and stray away from the snarky and abusive monsters in this world. I see you. But, this is a hit below the fucking belt to every raunchy, cowardly and barbarously trashy street harasser and sexually aggressive chow-hound. Listen to me loud and clearly when I assuredly state that I do not need to lighten up. My name is not baby and by no means am I entitled to have a conversation with you. You need to exercise basic human decency, mind your own fucking business or stay in your pin, you atrocious, worthless swine.

Ladies, put an end to this bullshit public treatment from asinine strangers in your life. Introduce the motherfucker to a state of confusion and potential profound ambivalence by putting your foot down for once and for all.

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Don’t reward the bad boy.

Go hard in the paint.

Teach him an almighty lesson and go on with your bad self.

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