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She chases them for fewer than two steps. Her internal organs are like tiny sausage nuggets scattered ungenerously through a deep dish pizza. They plead for the surrounding cheeses and sauces to move, but pizza laws cannot be overcome by the weak will of a beaten soul. Her driver's license lists her weight as "Scale not calibrated for commercial vehicles" and her race as "Katamari Damacy achievement." But we are not here for fat jokes alone.

The intruders get away with armfuls of her girls' panties, and she does nothing about it. If she had any concern for their safety, she would at least look around to make sure there are no more rapists left in the house. If she did, she might notice any of the huge beeping periscopes now protruding from every ceiling directly above conspicuous piles of sawdust and insulation.

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This useless monster doesn't call any authorities. No police, no Greek Council, nobody. She knows the identity of the suspects, and anyone could simply follow AV cables to their exact location. Then, as if she couldn't be more of a failure, all the men who did this show up at the same charity event as her sorority the very next day. They're cheerfully selling the candid pornographic photos of the girls which she let them take. And yet this is not her rock bottom.

The Pi Beta Pis set up a kissing booth at the charity, and the house mom supervises as hundreds of men lick the inside of these recently molested girls' mouths for money. One might consider this, more than anything, the very thing it was her job to prevent. While she sits there pointlessly, in the greasy center of miles of clogged arteries, up walks the leader of the gang who invaded her home to smugly demand a kiss from Betty, the sorority president.

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Imagine you're this woman. You're presented with this opportunity to get revenge on the man who ruined your life. You could confront him, attack him, or reveal his crimes to the community. Instead you stand there, basting your muumuu with the closest approximation of sweat your body can make out of 40 pies. Now imagine that in your moment of greatest cowardice, you are shoved in front of the remorseless scum and someone tells him, "Kiss THIS, nerd." That's right, you are his punishment. Kissing you is what the worst man you'll ever meet deserves.