Child Abuse and Necrophilia

One of our football players was in our office yesterday evening, and he asked if I was going to be around for a while. Since it was a bad day…

“Yes, unless I shoot myself in the head,” I replied

“Well, your body would still be here,” he responded.

“In which case, feel free to go through my pockets for loose change,” I said.

“Dibs!” Colleen called.

“Oh, I’ll be in your pants, but not looking for loose change,” the player chimed in.

This begat a discussion of necrophilia with my dead body, to which I informed him that it would be considered rape, because I’m too hetero to consent, even if I can’t object in death. He didn’t find that the case, and also didn’t think it was gay that he’d rape my corpse.

I’m sorry, but if you go for the butt when you can try using the bullet hole and hump my brain, then you’re gay. At least if you’re in a dude’s brain, you can say “hey, when else am I gonna get to try this? So not gay.”

Later, this twisted individual was talking about how many zombies he could beat up, or if I could kill a puppy. So I asked him how many five year olds he could take in a fight, pointing the website with a quiz to determine exactly how many.

Well, Colleen got all offended and mad at the two of us. And there’s two things wrong with that:

#1 – We’re not monsters. She didn’t grasp the concept. This isn’t my walking into a preschool and kicking ass in a toddler smackdown. This is survival. Like, if the teletubbies – or Evil Bert – brainwashed a bunch of five-year olds and created little blood-sucking ankle-biters and I was protecting myself. These are five-year old killing machines, Colleen.

#2 – Furthermore, I should be way more offended at her, than she should be with me over beating up five-year olds. Because she didn’t get all mad and offended when this big football player was saying he was going to rape my corpse… in her office.

How about sticking up for me, Colleen? Do you think I’d let someone rape you? Dead or Alive? Of course not. Because I’m a good person.

How about a little “I couldn’t let you do that!” retort to his threats of necrophilia, huh? And it would have been nice for some support before I was corpse. Something like “Don’t shoot yourself in the head, I’d miss you.” I mean, at least give me a “I’d have no one to say silly things to me, or make me coffee in the morning.”

Not feeling very appreciated, Colleen. Remember this when you’re yelling out for help as an evil horde of five-year olds comes to go Children of the Corn you.

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