Don’t Be Afraid

20 Dec

Originally posted on Twanzphobicallylyricalbee:

Don’t be afraid

I am just the same as you

Don’t be afraid

Because I’m a woman too

Yes I know I’ve got a penis

But it’s a woman’s one you know

And if it freaks you out

You mustn’t let it show

 

Don’t be afraid

Even though I’m in your space

Don’t be afraid

Though I’ve come in woman face

Yes I know I was a rapist

But a man can change it’s true

And I’m every bit

As womanly as you

 

Don’t be afraid

Yes I know I’m six feet tall

I wouldn’t hurt you

I’m not violent at all

Yes I know I wave my arms

And shout a lot with rage

But surely

We are both on the same page?

Don’t be afraid

Though I’m in your bathroom now

I only do what

Men’s law will allow

I am not safe the way I…

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Men suffering on sexodus – the right to rape

11 Dec

Originally posted on Laura McNally:

Between the pulling of Grand Theft Auto V from Target Australia and the increasing number of women who want to be treated like humans, men are under attack like never before.

A widely-read article by Milo Yiannopoulos, published at Breitbart, recently decried the excruciating oppression facing men, who, with the advent of women’s right to work and vote, are no longer able to use “girls” to solve their problems. A travesty of the highest sort. The author quotes one man:

“[it] wouldn’t be so bad if we could at least dull the pain with girls. But we’re treated like paedophiles and potential rapists just for showing interest”

These men claim they are earning less money, have less retirement funds and now, have to deal with “girls” who expect to be treated with respect. It’s unthinkable, really.

These men cannot even shop safely at Target anymore, knowing their right to prostitute…

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Catholics and Condoms (NSFW)

7 Dec

Miep:

This is hilarious.

Originally posted on Cursitivity:

This is a semi-sex story that I told my sister, J. I think this story makes me seem like a bit of an asshole. And I probably am. But J convinced me it was hilarious and I should blog about it. So, here you go.

 

The last guy I was sleeping with was R. This feels like a lifetime ago, but it was actually only last year.

 

R was 15 years older than me. He was divorced and had a lot of kids. He was also an ex-Catholic. If you have read My Life’s Mottos, you’ll know that one of them is: Once a Catholic, always a Catholic.

You cant argue with those bitchin’ churches, though.

I have dated many ex-Catholics. And every single one of them has had some serious sexual hang ups. That’s not to say all that all ex-Catholics do, or even that all Catholics…

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The Pyramid of Oppression.

7 Dec

Originally posted on The Prime Directive:

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It’s Not Them, It’s Us

7 Dec

http://dgrnewsservice.org/2014/12/07/not-us-unadaptable-climate-change/

“1. Maintain the fossil fuels underground is not only a priority to halting environmental devastation, but to end one of the evils that has so hurt and changed the pace of the climate in very few decades.

2. Ban the financialization of forests and the commodification of the functions of nature, as they are not a solutions to reduce emissions of carbon gases into the atmosphere; strategies which represent false solutions that have increased the destruction of ecosystems, the breakdown of communitarian social fabric and organization.

3. Water, as a common good can no longer be conceived as a commodity. Dams and hydroelectric dams are part of the mining and energy industries. The production of hydroelectric power is what keeps widening the gap of environmental devastation.”

Remembering Montreal

7 Dec

Originally posted on Anti-Porn Feminists:

Apologies for being a day late with this.

Remembrance 01

Remembrance 02

Remembrance 03

(Images found at Next Years Girl)

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Welcome To The Neighborhood

7 Dec

Welcome To The Neighborhood

It was a great relief to get away from our rented apartment where pesticide techs would suddenly arrive and spray the poor helpless vinegaroons in the lawn, so we would have to go out and terrorize these toxic hired humans until they left in fright. 

Our new landlady was a friend of a friend, surely she’d treat us right.

Our new house was a little larger. There was more room for the tarantulas. 

My bedroom was a largish, elongate, doorless space off on one end of the house. I had a bed, and I had some of the tarantulas. Specifically the Texas Tans. Up on shelves.

Bob came from Texas, and he had a fondness for invertebrates, especially spiders. The Texas Tans were South Texas tarantulas of a species he’d named himself, and at this point he was periodically traveling back to his home digs, collecting them and bringing them back here to Carlsbad for us to sell, because we were broke.

We had our usual collection of tarantulas, but moving into tarantulas being inventory required some adapting. Whole rooms were required. Containers must be acquired.

I wound up sleeping, or trying to, with sixty-odd Texas tan tarantulas in plastic shoeboxes on shelves along the upper walls of my bedroom, singing to each other, that spring.

The female spiders would drum on the bottom of their plastic spider kennels with their pedipalps, and the newly mature males would hiss back, rubbing their legs against indeterminate parts. This went on and on during the late spring, when Bob would bring me these spiders.

Then we’d advertise them and mail them to people.

Meanwhile, we had these new humans to deal with. Our landlords lived in a house that was famous because some outlaw died in it. Meanwhile, these humans had a way of sitting around and littering. 

I spent a lot of time picking up trash. But also there was the well. We noticed the well after a bit. That place up by the road with decaying pieces of wood suspended over it. The one where if you poke around, you discover that there is this thirty-five foot hole there, about twenty feet across.

Bob, being the social sort of person that he was, addressed our new landlord and lady about this here well. The landlord was not too communicative. The landlady let us know that the well was indeed a sorrowful thing, that in fact they’d lost a dog down it once.

We were however somewhat familiar with the landlord because of his proclivity for collecting things. The largish property of our landlords had many of these things acquired and left in many places, along with the vast  quantity of other, smaller trash, that all these humans and their relatives left everywhere, endlessly, blowing in the wind. Usually into our yard, what with us being downwind.

Meanwhile, we were busy trying to educate people about tarantulas and other arachnids, trying to keep the bills paid. Bob worked to fix the rental house endlessly. I gardened, and Bob fed birdseed to the harvester ants, and complained that the birds were stealing the ants’ food.

And eventually he took to creeping out at night and collecting all of our landlord’s endless accumulation of crap and pitching it down the abandoned well. Eventually they noticed. A young son informed him that they’d been planning to use that well again soon.

Last I saw of that well was after Bob planted it in arundo, a kind of drought resistant cane that does well here. I like to think of it as a kind of memorial. Some years later, a little boy fell into another such abandoned well locally, and died. Not our well. Not that one.

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