You would be supplying me with paid utility bills and a belly full of Del Taco. <3
ORIGINAL PAINTING GIVEAWAY!!!
Since my followers are so awesome, I decided to do something nice. I’m giving away an original piece of artwork made by me.
*Must re-blog. No more than once, please.
*Must be following me: Alex Strangler
*Winner will be chosen randomly on July 1st at 12:00 p.m. Pacific Time
| Forever Came Calling Shirt Design
– An Addendum, On Rape Jokes. (via transformfeminism)
I don’t know if rape jokes encourage rape culture. I don’t care. You still shouldn’t tell them.
Statistically, if you have told a rape joke to a group of more than five people, one of the people you told it to was a rape survivor, possibly of multiple rapes. They will not necessarily disclose this to you; rape apologism is endemic in society and most rape survivors are cautious about whom they tell. Some may even be too ashamed of their rape to admit it to anyone, or because of rape-minimizing narratives like “men can’t be raped” and “I consented to oral, so I couldn’t have been raped” may not admit it even to themselves. The fact remains: if you’ve told dozens of rape jokes in your life, then you have almost certainly told a joke that minimizes or trivializes rape in front of a survivor.
And if you put as your Facebook status “I totally raped at Halo today” for your two hundred Facebook friends to see, statistically, you have just reminded thirty-three people of one of the worst experiences of their entire lives.
To describe how well you did at a video game.
It’s 8:00am at home, but only 6:00am at my new home. I’m a lot farther from home for a lot longer than I’m used to. I still haven’t slept. If my body still thinks it’s in Oklahoma, shouldn’t I be MORE tired? You can take my body out of Oklahoma, but you can’t take Oklahoma off of my body. That isn’t a hacked up quote off of a No Fear shirt from the early 00’s, that’s just because I got a bunch of Oklahoma references tattooed on my body from ages 18-19. I like all of them still, for the record. If you’ve read this far in this mess, I want to apologize for the lack of structure in this mindless body of text you’re indulging in. Why the heck are you reading this? I hope I spell everything right. Regardless, thank you for being interested. Paragraphs are too mainstream, it’s gonna be hell to read this whole thing through.
I am listening to some not so good “hip” music. I won’t mention the band name, but I saw them play a house somewhere outside of Boston (If I remember correctly, tour blurs together, especially house shows for me.) They were really cool at that house show. I bought a The Wonder Years 7” from a man sitting behind a milkcrate full of vinyl records at the dining room table that night. I remember there was a kid next to him with a straight edge jacket on. The straight edge kids from my hometown ruined straight edge for me. Thanks for giving it a BADxNAME. I hope someone chuckled at that. I broke edge once…Well, really, I was just edge until I started drinking. I don’t drink anymore, really. I don’t have time. I can’t waste potential productivity, but usually I just end up cruising craigslist for jobs I won’t get a reply from anyway. That isn’t overly-emotional, that’s just Los Angeles. People don’t answer their phones and people don’t reply their emails. Maybe the world spins a little faster out here at the edge of the country. If the world was flat, would the edge spin faster?
New paragraph. Isn’t it strange the trends the world goes through? I want a cell phone the size of my fingernail, just kidding, can we make that the size of a phone book? Why the hell do they still ship phone books anyways? Then people want an iPod with 5000 terabytes of storage, give it another year and people won’t even want to own their music. Think I’m crazy? Ever heard of Spotify?
I wonder if other “artists” think they should put quotation marks around the word artist when they begin a sloppy paragraph preparing to talk about themselves. I wonder if other artists dwell on the specific talents they feel they are incapable of and hold those against themselves until they question their legitimacy as an artist. I wish there was a bad ass way to end this sentence. If my hair looked cooler and I played a guitar instead of fiddling with a camera and creating .psd files daily, I’d end this with “We’re just a rock ‘n roll band, that’s all.”.
It’s easy to get homesick out here when you can’t sleep. Our place is really quiet right now. About as quiet as a thin-walled apartment with a strange tapping noise coming from (assumably) the roof gets, anyway.
Sometimes when I can’t wrap up a sentence with fully articulated thoughts I just end my statement with another separate sentence containing only one obscenity. Shit.
…Like that. I realize this doesn’t help uphold the image I try for, but oh well. Fuck.
– Eve Ensler (via lesregardsperdus)
I am over rape.
I am over rape culture, rape mentality, rape pages on Facebook.
I am over the thousands of people who signed those pages with their real names without shame.
I am over people demanding their right to rape pages, and calling it freedom of speech or justifying it as a joke.
I am over people not understanding that rape is not a joke and I am over being told I don’t have a sense of humor, and women don’t have a sense of humor, when most women I know (and I know a lot) are really fucking funny. We just don’t think that uninvited penises up our anus, or our vagina is a laugh riot.
I am over how long it seems to take anyone to ever respond to rape.
I am over Facebook taking weeks to take down rape pages.
I am over the hundreds of thousands of women in Congo still waiting for the rapes to end and the rapists to be held accountable.
I am over the thousands of women in Bosnia, Burma, Pakistan, South Africa, Guatemala, Sierra Leone, Haiti, Afghanistan, Libya, you name a place, still waiting for justice.
I am over rape happening in broad daylight.
I am over the 207 clinics in Ecuador supported by the government that are capturing, raping, and torturing lesbians to make them straight.
I am over one in three women in the U.S military (Happy Veterans Day!) getting raped by their so-called “comrades.”
I am over the forces that deny women who have been raped the right to have an abortion.
I am over the fact that after four women came forward with allegations that Herman Cain groped them and grabbed them and humiliated them, he is still running for the President of the United States.
And I’m over CNBC debate host Maria Bartiromo getting booed when she asked him about it. She was booed, not Herman Cain.
Which reminds me, I am so over the students at Penn State who protested the justice system instead of the alleged rapist pedophile of at least 8 boys, or his boss Joe Paterno, who did nothing to protect those children after knowing what was happening to them.
I am over rape victims becoming re-raped when they go public.
I am over starving Somalian women being raped at the Dadaab refugee camp in Kenya, and I am over women getting raped at Occupy Wall Street and being quiet about it because they were protecting a movement which is fighting to end the pillaging and raping of the economy and the earth, as if the rape of their bodies was something separate.
I am over women still being silent about rape, because they are made to believe it’s their fault or they did something to make it happen.
I am over violence against women not being a #1 international priority when one out of three women will be raped or beaten in her lifetime — the destruction and muting and undermining of women is the destruction of life itself.
No women, no future, duh.
I am over this rape culture where the privileged with political and physical and economic might, take what and who they want, when they want it, as much as they want, any time they want it.
I am over the endless resurrection of the careers of rapists and sexual exploiters — film directors, world leaders, corporate executives, movie stars, athletes — while the lives of the women they violated are permanently destroyed, often forcing them to live in social and emotional exile.
I am over the passivity of good men. Where the hell are you?
You live with us, make love with us, father us, befriend us, brother us, get nurtured and mothered and eternally supported by us, so why aren’t you standing with us? Why aren’t you driven to the point of madness and action by the rape and humiliation of us?
I am over years and years of being over rape.
And thinking about rape every day of my life since I was 5-years-old.
And getting sick from rape, and depressed from rape, and enraged by rape.
And reading my insanely crowded inbox of rape horror stories every hour of every single day.
I am over being polite about rape. It’s been too long now, we have been too understanding.
We need to OCCUPYRAPE in every school, park, radio, TV station, household, office, factory, refugee camp, military base, back room, night club, alleyway, courtroom, UN office. We need people to truly try and imagine — once and for all — what it feels like to have your body invaded, your mind splintered, your soul shattered. We need to let our rage and our compassion connect us so we can change the paradigm of global rape.
There are approximately one billion women on the planet who have been violated.
ONE BILLION WOMEN.
The time is now. Prepare for the escalation.
Today it begins, moving toward February 14, 2013, when one billion women will rise to end rape.
Because we are over it.
GTFO of life. Not just mine. Everyone’s lives. Go live in a cave. In Antarctica.
…except one term is correct and the other isn’t.
"Rad gauges, man!"