I’m glad bad men exist.
I’m glad bad men exist, so you can be a hero. You can imagine beating them up. You can imagine that the world would be a better place if only you could dispense your justice.
I’m glad bad men exist, so you can feel good about yourself when I tell you about them. You get to feel like a great boyfriend because of what you don’t do. Sure, you don’t support or protect, but you also don’t hit. You’re like nothing. And nothing is better than something bad.
I’m glad bad men exist, so you can tell me that you’re not like them on our date. I’m glad they exist so you can hear stories and get a sick satisfaction from it. Or even get off on it, and make me extremely uncomfortable.
I’m glad bad men exist, and that they’re none of your friends. No one you know would ever do that. Even when I complain that they are catcalling me or making rude comments, or leering at me, you know that they’d never do that. You know that I’m probably just crazy.
I’m glad bad men exist, so you could build this cozy nest for yourself — where you’re a good man, a great catch, a superior leader, a dispenser of justice, a fair judge of character, and you don’t have to do a thing.
I’m glad bad men exist, so you can turn the pain they inflict on me into an ego boost for yourself.
