Now Playing Tracks

  • Guy on train:

    I'd fuck you if you didn't have so many tattoos.

  • Me:

    *turns up music*

  • Guy:

    I said I'd fuck you if you didn't have so many tattoos!

  • Me:

    *takes off headphones* Leave. Me. Alone.

  • Guy:

    Why the fuck do you have so many tattoos?

  • Me:

  • Guy:

    Are you fucking deaf as well as a piece of trash?

  • Lady by door:

    Hey. Leave her alone.

  • Guy:

    Are you her trash girlfriend? Fucking dykes, all tattooed like fucking men. Disgusting waste of pussy.

  • Lady:

    *moves forward, carefully moves jacket so only I can see the badge on her belt* Are you okay?

  • Me:

    Fine. Just wish he'd go away.

  • Lady cop:

    I can make that happen.

  • Guy:

    Oh, yeah, bitch? Who the fuck are you? I'll kill you!

  • Lady cop:

    And that's what I was waiting for. *grabs guy, holds him against the door* Harassing women on the train was enough, but you just threatened a cop. You're battin' a thousand tonight.

  • Entire train:

    *applauds*

Even at age twelve I could tell that Jimmy Carter was an honest man trying to address complicated issues and Ronald Reagan was a brilcreemed salesman telling people what they wanted to hear. I secretly wept on the stairs the night he was elected President, because I understood that the kind of shitheads I had to listen to in the cafeteria grew up to become voters, and won. I spent the eight years he was in office living in one of those science-fiction movies where everyone is taken over by aliens—I was appalled by how stupid and mean-spirited and repulsive the world was becoming while everyone else in America seemed to agree that things were finally exactly as they should be. The Washington Press corps was so enamored of his down-to-earth charm that they never checked his facts, but if you watched his face when it was at rest, when he wasn’t performing for anyone, you could see him for what he really was—a black-eyed, slit-mouthed, lizard-faced old son-of-a-bitch. He was a bad actor, an informer for McCarthy, and a hired front man for a gang of Texas oilmen, fundamentalist dingbats, and right-wing psychotics out of Dr. Strangelove. He put a genial face on chauvanism, callousness, and greed, and made people feel good about being bigots again. He likened Central American death squads to our founding fathers and called the Taliban “freedom fighters.” His legacy includes the dismantling of Franklin Roosevelt’s New Deal, the final dirty win of Management over Labor, the outsourcing of America’s manufacturing base, the embezzlement of almost all the country’s wealth by 1% of its citizens, the scapegoating of the poor and black, the War on Drugs, the eviction of schizophrenics into the streets, AIDS, acid rain, Iran-Contra, and, let’s not forget, the corpses of two hundred forty United States Marines. He moved the center of political discourse in this country to somewhere in between Richard Nixon and Augusto Pinochet. He believed in astrology and Armageddon and didn’t know the difference between history and movies; his stories were lies and his jokes were scripted. He was the triumph of image over truth, paving the way for even more vapid spokesmodels like George W. Bush. He was, as everyone agrees, exactly what he appeared to be—nothing. He made me ashamed to be an American. If there was any justice in this world his Presidential Library would contain nothing but boys’ adventure books and bad cowboy movies, and the only things named after him would be shopping malls and Potter’s Fields. Let the earth where he is buried be seeded with salt.
The Pain (via azspot)

islashishipiflail:

von—gelmini:

clannyphantom:

ponywindything:

thatradicalnotion:

Lisa Simpson at Stuff-n-Hug

This really says a LOT

simpsons is so next level

I took my girls shopping for some summer clothes Saturday. T-shirts, jeans, shorts. They both love Marvel and superheroes and transformers and Hogwarts and stuff like that. Not so much pink and pretty stuff. They’ve both grown so much that this was the first time we were shopping in the grown up women’s section. Boring selections when it comes to t-shirts. Flowers and zebras and butterflies.

But what was making it near impossible was that all the t-shirts, the few they kinda-sorta liked, had either low/wide cut necklines or were extremely tailored for nipped in waists with little cap sleeves and short hemlines. Showing way too much skin for their ages as far as we all were concerned. So we headed over to the men’s section. A whole WALL full of properly cut tees with great designs on them!

They ran over and started hunting up things they liked. Two women were stocking shelves. 

"You know these are MEN’S shirts."

"The girl’s section is over there."

"There’s not gonna be any Princesses over here, darlin’."

"These shirts are for the boys."

"This isn’t going to fit you right, honey."

I ignored the first time one of them said anything. Just told the girls what sizes they needed to look for and that they could each pick five shirts. But the women kept interrupting me. I tried to stay polite. “Yes, I know this is the men’s department.” But they kept making comments.

Finally I was getting mad. I told them we didn’t need any help. My girls were allowed to wear whatever they liked and they didn’t like the shirt designs in the women’s section and I didn’t like how low the necklines were.

Instead of just noticing that I was getting fed up with their “help”, they started arguing with me! One of them told my oldest, who is conventionally cute and skinny and starting to fill out (but still only 12), that “Oh that’s just because he’s your daddy. He doesn’t understand that a girl wants to show off for the boys!”

That was the last straw. I’m afraid I totally lost my temper. I told them (amongst a few other choice words) that they’d better walk away and come back to finish restocking the shelves once we’d left the area or I’d get the manager.

I try hard not to be rude to sales people and people in the service industry. That’s a difficult and thankless job. But for fuck’s sake! The first few comments were bad enough, but trying to undermine my moral authority with my kids? All in the name of  gender and sexuality policing. They couldn’t get past the idea that my girls might prefer t-shirts that had “boy” designs on them and that didn’t hyper-sexualize them. The idea was abhorrent to them and they had to interfere and then KEEP interfering.

Once our sales “help” was gone, the girls found a bunch of shirts. Captain America, Minecraft, Doctor Who, Batman, Avengers. All the stuff they’re into. I mean, they also like MLP and Littlest Pet Shop and soft fluffy stuffed animals and Monster High dolls. We hit the toy section too for some of that stuff cos they brought their saved-up allowances with them. 

At least we didn’t get any “help” in the shoe section. They’d’ve had a cow again cos while the youngest found a cute pair of pink and purple sneakers, I ‘let’ the oldest go to the men’s section and find a cool pair of dark blue and grey ones. (and omg their feet are huge! youngest wears a women’s size 9.5 and oldest wars a men’s 8. FFS, I wear a men’s 8.5. Their feet are almost as big as mine! How’d that happen?)

I hate this gender policing shit and won’t put up with it at all. I always feel for kids whose parents enforce this shit. I see it at stores when a girl or boy strays outside the lines, too often the parents are the one who pull them back into their place and it makes me sad.

Like, their friends who are boys, when they’re over at our house, they sit there and play with the girl toys as much as the boy toys. One of the boys loves playing LPS with my youngest, making up stories and stuff. The first time I walked out into the playroom and saw, he got so nervous and tried to say that he was just doing it to be nice to her. I told him that it was fine. He could play with whatever he wanted to and I wouldn’t tell anyone. Word got around to the other boys I guess cos now they all play whatever and don’t stop if I “catch” them.

I get shit from my mom about it too. I’m trying to make them into little boys. I shouldn’t have bought them trucks and toy swords when they were little. The oldest needs to learn to start wearing dresses now not just blue jeans. Why did I ‘let’ her get her hair cut short? I need to put the youngest on a diet and make her wear training bras. Why do I let them play with boys? etc etc etc. 

*eyeroll.gif*

I just find it so hard to believe that it’s the 21st century and people are still getting their knickers in a twist over this kind of thing.

Last year, in total, British police officers actually fired their weapons three times. The number of people fatally shot was zero. In 2012 the figure was just one. Even after adjusting for the smaller size of Britain’s population, British citizens are around 100 times less likely to be shot by a police officer than Americans. Between 2010 and 2014 the police force of one small American city, Albuquerque in New Mexico, shot and killed 23 civilians; seven times more than the number of Brits killed by all of England and Wales’s 43 forces during the same period.

The explanation for this gap is simple. In Britain, guns are rare. Only specialist firearms officers carry them; and criminals rarely have access to them. The last time a British police officer was killed by a firearm on duty was in 2012, in a brutal case in Manchester. The annual number of murders by shooting is typically less than 50. Police shootings are enormously controversial. The shooting of Mark Duggan, a known gangster, which in 2011 started riots across London, led to a fiercely debated inquest. Last month, a police officer was charged with murder over a shooting in 2005. The reputation of the Metropolitan Police’s armed officers is still barely recovering from the fatal shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes, an innocent Brazilian, in the wake of the 7/7 terrorist bombings in London.

In America, by contrast, it is hardly surprising that cops resort to their weapons more frequently. In 2013, 30 cops were shot and killed—just a fraction of the 9,000 or so murders using guns that happen each year. Add to that a hyper-militarised police culture and a deep history of racial strife and you have the reason why so many civilians are shot by police officers. Unless America can either reduce its colossal gun ownership rates or fix its deep social problems, shootings of civilians by police—justified or not—seem sure to continue.
Armed police: Trigger happy | The Economist (via kenyatta)
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