When Peak White Privilege And Peak Rape Culture Create The Perfect Fuckshit Soufflé
If you are a person who…
1. cares at all about concepts like social justice, racism, gender equality, feminism, patriarchy, and privilege
2. carries a frustration with people who have either been unable or unwilling to possess a nuanced understanding for what any of these concepts mean
…convicted rapist Brock Turner, his father Dan, and Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Persky just provided a Fisher Price-meets-Trump University-level lesson plan for recognizing White privilege and rape culture. You will never find a plainer, less sophisticated, and easier to grasp example of these particular strains of pervasive shitty. Anyone who reads the details of this story and still comes away unconvinced these things exist is either trolling, a member of the Turner family, or “Simple Jack’s” replacement for the dumbest motherfucker that ever lived.
Of course, you can’t make a fuckshit soufflé without the proper ingredients. And this had them all. The foundation, of course, was the rape Brock Turner committed. He was found on top of an unconscious woman outside of a Kappa Alpha fraternity house. When discovered, he attempted to run away, but was apprehended by two students who happened to be passing by. It’s particularly telling that he tried to flee, as that act cuts through the argument of anyone (Turner and his father included) who claims to sincerely believe there’s nothing wrong with raping a woman unable to provide consent. He knew what he was doing was wrong; he just attempted to spin it into less of a wrong after he got caught.
Not satisfied that the souffle had enough seasoning, Turner prepared and read a statement that blamed “campus drinking culture” for his act; even having the audacity to center himself as the primary victim, as he claimed she was conscious the entire time. It was like he had a rape culture dartboard and attempted to hit every target.
Turner’s fuckshit, however, was demonstratively refuted in a statement read by the woman he victimized.
“I fully respected his right to a trial, but even after twelve jurors unanimously convicted him guilty of three felonies, all he has admitted to doing is ingesting alcohol. Someone who cannot take full accountability for his actions does not deserve a mitigating sentence. It is deeply offensive that he would try and dilute rape with a suggestion of promiscuity. By definition rape is the absence of promiscuity, rape is the absence of consent, and it perturbs me deeply that he can’t even see that distinction.”
Following Turner’s conviction, the prosecutors recommended six years. This is when Judge Persky took the souffle out of the oven, tasted it, and said “You know what this fuckshit souffle is missing? A dollop of White privilege. Actually forget a dollop. This needs a quart of that shit.” This resulted in a six-month sentence, with Persky’s rationale being that a “prison sentence would have a severe impact on him” and that “I think he will not be a danger to others.” Let’s forget for a moment that the point of putting rapists in prison is for it to have a severe impact on them. If you want to be moderately impacted by something, eat a Chipotle burrito, get on the elliptical, and feel it moderately impact your digestive system. Also let’s even forget that Turner still hasn’t taken any real blame or possessed any real remorse for his act. Perhaps he’s not dangerous to other men, but he’s definitely dangerous to women. He is a remorseless and privileged rapist who received an “eh” punishment for his crime. This is the very definition of dangerous motherfucker.
Instead, let’s focus on what Persky claimed to base his decision on: Turner’s age and lack of a criminal history. And then ask yourselves if there’s any doubt whatsoever that Turner wouldn’t have received the same deal if he possessed the same age and the same lack of a criminal history, but happened to look like Kimbo Slice (RIP).
Not to be outdone, Dan Turner (Brock’s father) smelled the fuckshit souffle baking, walked into the kitchen, opened the oven door, grabbed some oven mitts, pulled it out, placed it on the counter, stuck a serving spoon in it, tasted the still burning hot souffle, and thought “This meal is almost done. All it’s missing is another gallon or two of White privilege. And possibly gallon or two of rape culture too.”
The result: A ridiculously tone-deaf, bizarre, myopic, and just fucked-up-as-all-the-fucks letter where he claimed Turner’s bitch-ass sentence is a “steep price to pay for 20 minutes of action out of his 20 plus years of life.” Which ignores the fact that 20 minutes is a long ass time. Far more than enough time to rape and steal and mug and murder. You could murder 20 kittens in 20 minutes.
He also stated that Turner’s life is an anxiety-ridden, fearful, and depressing mess. Which is exactly what many actual rape victims experience after they’re raped by people like Brock Turner. And, if this epitome of shitty surreality wasn’t enough, he went on a tangent about the food this motherfucker loved to grill and how the results of all the raping he was doing wouldn’t allow him to enjoy grilling anymore. (Seriously. He actually said that out of his own actual mouth. Read that shit for yourself.)
A part of me felt somewhat sympathetic towards Dan Turner, because he’s just attempting to defend his boy. But then I thought about my own dad, who loves me as much as a father can love a son. And then I thought about what my dad would do if he heard that I was discovered raping a woman behind a dumpster; a devious, disgusting, lecherous, and deviant criminal act that ruined this woman’s life and ruined my academic and athletic career. And then, I thought about how after I regained consciousness from the coma he’d put me in, I’d likely overhear him telling the judge “yeah, he’s my son and I love him, but that nigga deserves a few years in prison to give him a consequence for this terrible act. But mostly to keep him away from me randomly kicking his bitch-ass ass for the next decade.” And then the shred of sympathy I considered possessing for Dan Turner withered away.
Almost complete, the fuckshit souffle needed one more thing: a few tablespoons of White privilege cake batter and vanilla frosting on top of it. This came in the form of a mugshot, or lack thereof. While Black people involved with some sort of legal and/or criminal issue — even Black people actually victimized by the police — regularly have their mugshots circulated, Brock Turner’s smiling and suited up yearbook photo was the prevailing image of him. Until yesterday, when the Santa Clara Sheriff’s Department finally released two mugshots of Turner; one from the night he was arrested, and one from his sentencing last week.
So there you have it. The easiest way to make the perfect fuckshit souffle; complete with numerous generous helpings of rape culture and White privilege. And if you still can not follow these simple-ass, social promotion-ass directions, I have some Trump University admissions applications for you to complete.