Hypothetical situation: Rick Ross is hanging out at his favorite water hole. He strikes up a conversation with a guy. They hit it off pretty good and he invites the fella back to his crib to shoot pool, watch the game, whatever.
Ross, for the sake of argument, leaves his drink unattended in the living room. Then, next thing he knows, he wakes up in the morning, the guy is gone, and he has a sore behind with a suspicious fluid dripping there from. I unconditionally guarantee you he suddenly would have a different outlook and develop a new, improved attitude about date rape.
This new attitude would go well beyond his damage-control apology for recording “U.O.E.N.O. (“You Don’t Even Know It”). No one is the least bit fooled by his mealy-mouthed, artificially contrite turn-around. If he really was sorry, he’d’ve never said in the first place, “Put molly all in the champagne, she ain’t even know it/I took her home and enjoy that, she ain’t even know it.”
Molly refers to doping her drink with a relaxant that initially makes her sluggish, giving you time to hustle her out of the club and into a cab. By the time you get her back to your place, likely she’s bordering on unconsciousness.
By the time you put her on the bed, the person — remember, we’re talking about a human being, not a slab of meat — is rendered inert. You have time to kick your shoes off, pour yourself another drink, sit down and maybe watch some TV ‘til you get ready to go in there, take off her clothes and rape her without the least bit of resistance: “She ain’t even know it.”
If you’re real slick, when she comes to, say, perhaps the next afternoon, you have put her clothes back on. And are sitting there with a cup of fresh-brewed coffee, talking, “How you feel? Got a little carried way gettin’ your drink on, didn’t y’.” And lie that you were such a gentleman, you let her have your bed while you slept on the couch. “She ain’t even know it.”
You don’t proselytize such ruthless pimping and then try to back step. Rick Ross apologized, playing for sympathy by whining, “I am first and foremost a father, a son, and a brother to some of the most cherished women in the world. To the young men who listen to my music, please know that using a substance to rob a woman of her right to make a choice is not only a crime, it’s wrong and I do not encourage it.”
Bull. He went to one of his press reps who wrote that for him to say. The real reason he recanted is that his mouth has caused him to lose money. Rick Ross is up to his neck in water with Reebok and about a handful of other companies who have caught hell from consumers protesting “U.O.E.N.O. (“You Don’t Even Know It”), vowing to take their business elsewhere.
Young thugs, ignorant as they are, aren’t stupid. They know good and well that Ross was made to back off, forced to chump himself. They thought he had a great idea, drugging a hottie and doing what you want with her. And still think it’s a great idea. Only now they consider him some kind of martyred champion of misogyny.
It will go on. Without end. Mainly because if Rick Ross ran into a stranger at some bar and they went back to his place, probably all they would do is shoot pool, watch the tube, and eventually agree to call it a night. Either that or both pass out. Ross quite probably will never give a tinker’s damn about victimizing someone, violating a female in a way from which the woman or girl might never completely recover, if at all.
He and his apology can both go straight to hell.
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