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unholy transplant
I don't care much
for Jesus or cornbread.
That's why I left the South.
It started innocent enough. I just needed to rest my eyes from finishing up the rest of this term paper. My friends and I seemed indestructible—despite all of us being on the brink of breakdowns those years. It was a care free time for us, the sugary middle of our college years, before the market fell to shambles and everyone went into panic mode. Before my mother lost her job, and I fell into a financial and emotional hole so deep that I’m just now crawling out and looking over my shoulder ever second, in fear that if I don’t watch it at every step I’ll fall right back in. I wouldn’t exactly label myself happy during those years, but I was full of life and exuberance. I had guile, and I was brave. These days I tiptoe through life as if I’m walking on thin river ice. I’ll never get it back; I’ve seen too much and haven’t gotten enough reward to erase what happened in the interim. I’m only 24, but damn I feel old.
There’s going to come a time when I look back on this pussy assignment and laugh at my wide-eyed naiveté.
It’s term-paper season in graduate school, and this is exactly how I feel. It’s precisely the reason why I’m reading The Frenemy and not writing my 15-page critical analysis on Sir Walter Ralegh. As it goes, I’ll never have to outrun anything. Dinosaurs, for example, are dead. Zombies are a distant dream, one that pictures me swinging a sword that ostensibly, I have no real access to. I’d probably cry over my loved ones and die. I’d probably break my glasses and die. There are also no…
I’m operating on less than 6 hours of sleep, and I could use a pack of Marlboro menthol lights, a gin and tonic, and a good lay right now. I can have two of those things.
Not bad.
I knew these girls too.
“Santorum Girls” Haley And Camille Harris Sing Song For GOP Candidate Rick Santorum
I remember girls like this. They were the perky ones from Sunday School you had to hang out with because your moms knew each other.They’d tell on you for smoking cigarettes and feel righteous about it, even after you covered for them while they were getting fingerblasted through Jordache jeans in the church basement during the youth group sleepover.
It’s okay, though. Jesus forgave them. They were true believers, the kind of candy-headed twits who would get genuine tears in their eyes whenever some tie-dyed youth minister told that insufferably retarded story about footprints in the sand.
I never knew quite what to say around them, because every conversation led back to Jesus, praise the lord and hallelujah! It was awkward. They weren’t bad people, just blindly earnest and completely full of shit.
I learned quickly that their ignorance really was bliss. There was no saving them from being saved. It was better just to nod and smile and dream of the day I could finally move the fuck out to Los Angeles.
That’s all well and good, because I get to watch this ridiculous YouTube clip from a thousand miles away, safely ensconced in the land of godless liberals. I’m so glad I escaped that kind of life. What a holy nightmare.
No hard feelings, though. I wish the all Haleys and Camilles of the world continued bliss, and short of that, I hope the abortion that statistically one of them will end up getting is safe, legal, and covered by insurance.
A. Men.
This may be a campaign about HIV/AIDS awareness, but that’s no excuse. This is blatant misogyny, really sinister stuff that conveys a much more profound message about the female body.
Take another look at it. She’s got a killer smile, but still, you can’t see her eyes. The model is cropped so that she’s essentially headless. What makes her human is gone. What makes her a woman is on display. That’s a very deliberate creative choice.
She is an object to be fucked without a brain or an identity. Worse still, her vagina is a fully indexed destination on a Google map. The visual metaphor is so potent (and porn is so ubiquitous) that this image is more jarring than one in which she shows us her actual pussy.
It’s not about the fact that she’s had sex with Bill Johnson and 19 others. Who gives a fuck? What’s toxic is the idea that they checked into her vagina on Foursquare. It’s saying is that a her private parts aren’t private at all. They’re public. That’s the implicit message in this image, and it’s degrading as hell.
It’s not slut-shaming so much as it’s female-shaming, and it reinforces the age-old cultural narrative that women’s bodies aren’t their own.
(via coketalk)
Just because you like the same band(s), television show(s), movie(s), and/or extracurricular activities does not make you compatible.
Carry on.
I want that kitten, especially today.
(Source: itspainfullycute, via theanimalblog)
I love her.
• Esperanza Spalding
• Ableton Live
• World’s Busiest Airports by Passenger Traffic
• Fridtjof Nansen
• Slab City
(Source: coketalk)
It’s amazing. I can make a post about knocking Lady Gaga to the floor, and her slobbering piss-ant followers aren’t adept enough at not-so-subtle humor to figure out that I’m making fun of her. Nice reblogs, though. Don’t think I don’t appreciate them. Maybe I should just start adding ridiculous photos of the twat with wry captions and see if I attract new followers and more reposts.
