"Mitch"

His first name is really Addison, you know. He can't even be honest about his goddamned name. In Old English Addison means "son of Adam," and we're clearly talking more Cain than Abel with our fuckhead Mitch here. But maybe being cursed to a life of wandering the earth after deciding your problems are best solved via cold-blooded murder isn't quite that bad if you get to usher in hundreds of insane judicial picks through the system too. I think we know what the Majority Leader thinks. 

Anyway, he didn't rape me. Yeah, we had dated, and sure, we fooled around. He was doughy but kind of interesting, so what? Don't forget that I'm fucking blindfolded and stuck holding these scales aloft perpetually. My right arm is a wreck and there's no such thing as braille Tinder, smartass. Sometimes an ugly ruthless dipshit is the best you can do. Saturdays get lonely, even for Lady Justice. It's not like I dated Lindsey Graham or something. At least McConnell can think. 

But this bullshit story he's spinning about drowning me...well, I'm still here, right? I wasn't going to go out like that, though I will concede that I'm really, really fucking tired. There's nothing easy about getting up in the morning anymore. These goddamned scales weigh more every day, I swear. In all honesty, I kind of wanted to drown that day, to succumb to the water and let the darkness swallow me, but my instincts wouldn't let me. As exhausted as I am, I still have a reputation to uphold. So I kicked Mitch in the balls and he shrieked like a castrated pig and swore revenge, which I suppose was a real harbinger in retrospect. 

Well, fuck him. My arm isn't that goddamned tired and I can still see the liars clearly, even while wearing a blindfold. It's a long game but I think I'll have my revenge for these lies in the end. Don't forget that my other arm is wielding a sword.