“Choose love, not fear,” is the social-emotional equivalent of “Have a green smoothie for breakfast.” I know it’s good for me, but I just keep drinking black coffee.
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This post is for men who are angry on behalf of the women they love. Male anger is branded as heavily as Axe Body Spray, and it’s ALMOST as repellant to experience in real life.
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The message read, “It’s cool that you’re interested in feminism.” I had to close the computer and laugh.
But now it’s time to clear a few things up, sir.
“What’s the closest you’ve come to dying?” I do not have a good answer. Not one that will satisfy the room.
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I want to pepper spray Chuck Grassley in the asshole. You could say we’re pissed.
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Welcome to hell week. Want to support your loved ones as they fight to keep their heads above water? Here are some tips.
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I just read Jian Ghomeshi's piece in the New York Review of Books. Yes, the whole thing. Yes, multiple times. I await some sort of prize for reading the entire bag of lukewarm bile without putting my fist through a wall, vomiting into the fist-hole, and dropping my phone into the vomit in the fist hole while saying, "I FUCKING QUIT."
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It smells like hot electronics in here.
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