Guys like Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown smoke pot, drink and listen to rap music: In death, they’re condemned as a vicious thugs who had it coming.
Joan Rivers was caught on camera advocating genocide and cheering on the deaths of innocent kids: In death, is called a feminist icon with a heart of gold and her vile remarks are completely swept under the rug.
OK. That’s fair.
SOMETIMES I GET SO FUCKING ANGRY WHEN I REMEMBER THAT I AM A GIRL BECAUSE MY MONEY HAS TO GO TO BUYING BRAS FOR THESE STUPID ORGANIC MILK BAGS AND PADS FOR MONTHLY UNWANTED SUBSCRIPTION OF LUCIFER’S WATERFALL LIKE WTF MAN WHY DONT THESE THINGS COME FREE WHEN MY UNWANTED PACKAGE IS GIVEN TO ME SERIOUSLY THO
organic milk bags
I’ve been waiting for this.
ases #he thinks he’s so cool with his deduction #i would like to see how long he woulding evidence #because really what the fuck am i suppose to write #that he fucking loorbie houses and a bear in his basement #fuck you sherlock #just fuck youactual fucking work #easy for him to be so sassy and genius
WE OBVIOUSLY HAVE SOMEONE WHO CAN SPEAK ANDERSON IN THE AUDIENCE. PLEASE STEP UP AND TRANSLATE HIS OTHER SCENES TOO
Odd Romeo and Juliet Tumblr Posts
I am seriously cracking up right now XD
- oNE NIGHT STAND BEFORE THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR NEW JOB AND OOPS THAT WAS YOUR NEW BOSS YOU WERE SLEEPING WITH AU
- DETECTIVE PARTNERS AU
- U N D E R C O V E R A U
- PARENTS ARE CEO’S OF RIVALING COMPANIES AU
- PARENTS ARE HEADS OF RIVALING MOB FAMILIES AU
- REINCARNATION AU
- CHILDHOOD FRIENDS WITH ADJOINING HOUSES/ROOMS AU
- THIS IS THE END OF THE WORLD AND WE’RE ALL WE’VE GOT AU
girl: i’m not a feminist
nah actually i love myself too much to allow myself to be victimized and associated with a hate movement but thanks
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.
Japan’s annual Kanamara Matsuri festival, aka the “Festival of the Steel Phallus.”
(Source: Getty Images)
What the actual literal fuck
legend goes that a woman who had vagina dentata or “teeth” in her vagina (be it a demon or std), castrated her lover’s penis on their wedding night. she asked a blacksmith for help and he made her pretty much an iron dildo to break the teeth off
the tradition celebrates this iron penis, hence its name, festival of steel phallus
in more modern times, sex workers would to go to a shrine to pray for protection from STDs while couples would pray for healthy pregnancies and marriages.
it is also regarded as a fertility festival, where couples would pray for the health of their babies or hope that babies are in the future
the tradition has raised HIV awareness and research efforts in japan so like yeah it’s actually a very neat and positive thing yeah
neat and positive… but also reminds me of like 5 weird manga’s i’ve read…
Because the ghosts of our Puritan forbearers still haunt us.
That fourth one.
"leaf on the…"