Dig “Middle Age RAE of Fucking Sunshine”

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Rae is the local jiz-recycling plant. Society thinks every other person who has been at the receiving end of a violent sexual assault is always interested in more. Most of us here in the support group can testify that statement is false but no one listens to us. On the rare occasion when someone does, the absolute opposite of what we say is recorded.
Last week Sally won a trip to the cinema from the radio station. She was taken in the toilets by three of the employees. This week she has to sit on one of those inflatable doughnut cushions popular with haemorrhoid suffers. Rae is a giant bleeding haemorrhoid blocking the anus of our lives but there is no doughnut ring cushion to make sitting down any less painful. Sally has the underlying smell of stale popcorn about her still, underneath the combined odours of piss and shit.
We’ve reached the end of our tolerance of doing nothing except sitting around in our support group drinking weak tea and exchanging medications and Rae-related horror stories. We’re going to do something about Rae. It is about the only thing we can do to benefit humanity.
We’ve had enough of being told we don’t know what marriage means because our lives bore some slight resemblance to Rae’s or we had one thing in common with her – notice the past tense. It is always the past and never the present or the future. In our support group it is the distant past of our miserable existences. But the authorities and society don’t care. Once you’ve been bathed in Rae’s filth there is no bleach strong enough to cleanse it away.
Rae shouldn’t be allowed to continue in her existence. None of us would hurt our children but we aren’t allowed to know their post-adoptive names. Or even the area of the country they are living in. It isn’t our fault Rae took the decision to drown everything she has ever let fall out of her gaping vagina (there was no pushing involved there).
We’ve been pushed too far by Rae and the people who agree to marry her with the belief that this time she has changed and the nuptials will last beyond two weeks. She is never going to change. She doesn’t have it in her. And she doesn’t think she does anything wrong; it is everyone else with the problem.
She has left behind a trail of very broken people (and drowned infants and gassed colleagues): All those husbands and wives and their partners before she snatched them away in the ripples of devastation.