this video is so adorable

Artist: USGMEN_GIF / Twitter

hello this is my favorite video ever please please

el muchacho monday

source

Sometimes good posts are made by annoying people so I’ll help out

These are Safe Shorts. They were made by Sandra Seilz after someone attempted to rape her. If the fabric is torn, an alarm will be sounded.

This is the Rape-aXe, invented by a South African doctor by the name of  Sonnet Ehlers. After interviewing a rape victim who wished she had teeth down there, she made this. If someone’s penis is inserted and pulled back out, the teeth will sink in, and can only be removed by a doctor.

The Killer Tampon (couldn’t find a site for it), made by retired anaesthetist Jaap Haumann. When penetration takes place, the sharp end will slice the offending appendage.

The Anti-Rape Belt (also couldn’t find a site), made by a group of Swedish teenagers led by Nadja Björk. It requires two hands to undo.

Anti-Rape Underwear/Bra (once again), as made by a group of Indian students. Will deliver an electric shock when met with unwanted advances, as well as sounding an alarm.

Undercover Colours. Made by 4 male undergraduates at North Carolina U, they change colours when in contact with chemicals or drugs that cause unconsciousness. Used in case you’re wary that your drink has been roofied.

These are just tools to help, but in addition to being mindful of your situations and staying safe, they can help when the worst happens.

Stay safe.

ok, those are all kind of awesome. i wish they weren’t needed, bit still…awesome solutions.

I feel more comfortable reblogging this version

RapeAxe has a gofund me up that barely has 700 dollars. I feel like the inventions that havent even been funded yet should be linked to the page you can support them at.

RapeAxe- website which links their gofundme

wish this wasn’t necessay, but this could save someone. please reblog!

my arch nemesis cynthia is, of course, at the bank, because we both were sent like clockwork to pick up the checks of our husbands. she is wearing a lovely long green gown, which i know was on behalf of me, because, as my husband will tell you, our house abhors green and glamour. already the tellers look at each other under their little hats, for they love our tirades, i’m sure, although not more than i hate them. 

“oh, is that your knitting?” my arch nemesis cynthia peers her eyes at my hands. “is it some kind of… sock?” everyone knows she and i used to be close before we were married and our husbands, smartly so, have introduced us to the idea of true vengeance.

“it is a scarf,” i say. i want to tell her that when the time comes and the world gets cold it will go over my mouth and i will breathe warm air and it will fill my lungs and i will be able to run around with my love even in the dark night. “it is not,” i say, “over surprising that you should be caught unawares of a scarf,” i say, “as i’m sure enjoying winter festivities are too beneath the handsome qualities your husband prefers.” pompous ass.

the tellers pass each other eyes for now it has started and they are delighted.

my arch nemesis cynthia thrusts out her hand. a white bottle. “rat poison,” she says. “i would expect the whole town knows about your little problem.” stage whisper. “such a shame, my dear.” then she rustles her long green skirts - which i know she wore on behalf of me - and she shimmies herself out of the room like royalty. oh, she floats everywhere she goes, beautiful black hair behind her. the bottle in my palm is cold. i will devise how to get her back starting first thing tomorrow.

the week, as always, is a long week, for there is much to make and do and knit and be. my husband comes home and i love him for who he is; for he never comes home without checking the state of the house up and down. he is the kind who loves his home so completely and sets each room like a stage for a great band to come playing. i am too ashamed to tell him why so many of the rats go missing, only make him a stew the next morning to celebrate. his favorite, although not mine, i’m afraid. plenty left over.

my arch nemesis today - of course - in a green the color of rotting. a bruise is uncarefully covered on her cheekbone, so striking against all of her dainty. her husband would say it was for her ungraceful nature, and i know mine would agree. i strike first, already delighted by my master plan, shoving over our best picnic basket tied with a bow. “i made you and yours a stew,” i say, “for beneath all that you carry” all that horrible wealth of your husband  “it seems you’re getting rather skinny.” i can’t resist one last comment. “i am worried you’re about to waste to nothing.”

She plucks it out of my hand. “yes, if it weren’t for you and your husband’s dwindling wealth,” her sarcasm is biting, “i’m sure i will be nothing in, oh, 5 weeks time.” she arches a brow. “so long from now.”

“i am counting the days,” i tell her. her lips purse. the tellers behind me make a choked titter. perhaps, by their estimation, i have won this round quite completely. i go home to my husband smiling. he asks where i have been and i tell him i’ve been at the bank, but he checks anyway because i like to get up to tricks and he doesn’t like to fall for it. it is a good game we play. at night, when he is asleep, i am so in love that i must convince myself to pull the covers over my nose and practice breathing. how silly to wake him up for a young girl’s feelings. 

the first week of five: she gives me a solid, ugly ring that requires three knuckles to hold. “i feel so badly for your status, and i must remember to practice charity,” she says. “it such a small thing, but do be careful amongst all that thin pine furnishing of your house, which dents so easily.” my husband appears at the bank’s front door. just checking. so lovely to be picked up by him. at night, in a rage, i try it - beneath the table bends easily. i scuff out the scratch with walnut before my husband can see. i pull the covers over my face in bed and breathe.

the second week: i wear her ugly ring and give her more stew, this time hearty with meat. her dress is a meadow. my heart each time it sees her collapses on itself. she hands me clothes for my husband, since his wealth continues to go missing, and the charity of her heart is so loving. i am so ashamed i bury them far by the old tree, where all my shames go hiding. again, the covers. it, by now, helps me sleep. i have gotten so good at it that i can simply shimmy my shoulders to be perfectly toasty and buried.

the third week: she asks how comes my knitting. i tell her it’s nearly complete. she asks how comes my husband, whom she must know has been ill recently, and who is doing quite badly. i go home to him, shaking. even sick he is a good housekeeper, who comes home examining for dust and dinge so i do not fall behind on my chores. who checks over and being sure i spoke to only him and no one more. tell me, who else has a man so involved, in this day and age?

the fourth week she is envy green. i shove a whole heaping of stew at her, for now her husband has gotten it. i say it will return him to spirits, she laughs, a sudden, beautiful sound, even in the quiet of a bank. everyone stares. maybe it is the stress that is making her quite improper. i feel the same way. so much is happening and it always seems she knows. she says she heard he has left me nothing in the will, which everyone already knows. she says she doubts either of us can dig upwards from the hole we’re both in. i look at the bruise on her nose. i tell her to mind her own husband, and be careful where she goes.

the fifth week: so final. her, garishly lime green. and i in black, to pick up a check that hardly seems the effort. it will be enough to cover my husband’s funeral. she smiles at me and hands me a silver bottle. she says quietly: now that i am destitute, there is one thing for it all, and everyone would understand quite completely. it would be quiet, and quick, and complete.

it is the night of the new moon, so dark no man can see in it. i receive notice her husband has died, and i am sorry to say i find a terrible joy in it. the air has changed cold. i have left a note asking to be buried in my scarf, the last thing i have made on this earth. i go through each perfect room, but there is nothing else to take with me, for the house has always been his and his alone, and now aches to be gone of him. i would not serve as a good tender for it. having spend so many nights watched carefully, the silly girlish freedom i’d gain would surely set the house ablaze.

i follow her instructions. quick, quiet, complete.

the horrible rustling is what does it. like a million green skirts. and then it is dark, and i am in my own coffin, eerie with pine. my head hurts but i must be quick and quiet. they have listened and buried me with my scarf. i shimmy my shoulders just-so and get it over my face. bring my arms up, ugly ring heavy, and begin to hit as hard as i can, over and over, the thin wood of my husband’s favorite furniture, the cretin. it would be pine, of course - he left me no money to be buried in any nicer recourse.

the wood splits so horribly, and then it is very hard to breathe, harder than under the covers, and i have to remind myself to be patient and continue to dig upwards, while my throat closes and my heart beats so loudly and the whole thing is so heavy it is a universe. the shifting of gravedirt is loud, and loud, and i feel i will be turned into a worm, and i fear everyone has forgotten about me, or i have gotten the timing wrong, or i will really die down here in the dirt and the cold

but then her hand, and my hand, and we are both digging towards each other, and she lifts me so easily from the ground like a plucked turnip and holds me against her, us both panting and muddied. we can only stay like this for so long, here in my pauper grave, and then we are both running to the old tree where we met, and unburying a second thing; my lovely box of shame, and men’s clothes, and all of my husband’s dwindling fortune i have slowly been squirrelling away.

my love and angel cynthia, who has black hair like a curtain and a mind so fast i sometimes am in frank awe at it, who is, even now and dirty and raw: even now the only sun in my life.

like this, i a man in an almost-dawn, and us cleaned by the river, and her smiling so widely, and only a faint bruise on her, and our pasts behind us in ugly garish colors. and her delicate hand and beautiful nose and when i finally get to kiss her it feels like green feels; my favorite color, all warm and nature and sunny grace and grass and lying awake so filled with love it makes you shake.

i hold her, and she holds me, and our future is a love like a dream unburied.

I did NOT see where this was going.

songs to touch the stove to

So there’s this huge dudebro in my class, who, yesterday, sat next to me. And I’m sitting there sweating because like… I’m wearing my shirt with the lesbian flag on it, and he’s the most popular jock in school, and always has this look on his face that say ‘I can and will kill you’. He looks me up and down, stares at me for a minute and then goes, “So. Girls in skirts and long socks, am I right?”

To which I nodded solemnly, both out of agreement, surprise and also a healthy amount of awkward fear. He nodded and went, “You get it.”

I said, “Yep.” He fistbumped me, and on went our lives.

Oh! I forgot to mention! I saw him at lunch the same day, and he ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, pointed at this super sweet girl who comes to GSA and asked if she’s gay. I told him he should ask her because that’s not my place and he said he would.

I thought that would be the end of it.

Except ten minutes later he came back and told me he found out (she’s bi) and that both of us have a shot. I said “You more than me.” because he’s attractive and popular. 

But this wholesome dumbass looked really confused and asked, “Because I’m tall?’

So this isn’t lesbian/jock solidarity but I thought you guys would want to know-

My math teacher was trying to fix the rolling whiteboard and he just offhand said “This would be easier with a wrench”

And deadass, dudebro said “Hang on” and then proceeded to pull a fucking wrench out of his backpack

Update- after school today he saw me in the library and he didn’t say anything? He just pointed at the book he was holding and I gave him a thumbs up because it’s a pretty good book, and he went “Yes!” Really quiet and pumped his fist and then left

Ah, it’s too late to post this on Halloween.  But here is a little story about ghosts, and roommates, and roommates who are ghosts.

y'all ever just in the mood to mutilate a .jpeg

I got one of the best pictures I ever made out of that urge

H O N S E

@skycowboys I demand a pegasus version! oh no I mean A MEGASUS

I forwent client work for this. 

The Megasus: a creature of legend. Bringer of hurricanes. Children are told to look for the shape of the Megasus within storm clouds.

Theme song: The Horde by Ramin Djawadi (Warcraft)

heard my little brother mention a character that shares my deadname. went “AUGH” like you do when you hear your deadname. he and my sister go “what?? what is it??” i say i heard my deadname. it takes them a second and then they both say

“i forgot you had a deadname??”

reblog to forget your own and everyone else’s deadname

He looks so excited my God 🤣🤣

I know this is about ecological balance and population control but I can’t help but imagine those wolves are on a covert mission to assassinate moose extremists or some shit

The true deadly sins

Lust

Not a sin- feeling sexual attraction, sex with consenting partners, masturbation, consuming pornographic media, having several sexual partners, sex before mariage. IT’S A SIN WHEN- the person projects lust onto an unwilling recipient person and does not take into account their wants or consent. Rape, harassment, sexual assault, catcalling, dick pics.

Gluttony

Not a sin- food, enjoying food, cooking, eating sweets, eating meat. In the larger sense, accumulating material things you enjoy, like books or collectibles or whatever.  IT’S A SIN WHEN- It deprives other people of what they need.

Envy

Not a sin: Wanting things you see other people have, like money, power, fame. IT’S A SIN WHEN: This is how you define people, and stop respecting them as humans. It’s a sin when you use them for what they have and what they can bring you.

Greed

Not a sin: Wanting financial security, working hard for the things you want.  IT’S A SIN WHEN: Your own financial growth depends on keeping other people impoverished and suffering.

Pride

Not a sin: Being proud of your accomplishments, liking your looks, dressing up IT’S A SIN WHEN: It stops you from accepting your faults and seeing how you can be wrong, not admitting that you can better yourself. 

Wrath

Not a sin: Righteous anger at situations, being mistreated, seeing other people suffer, at the injustice of the world. Self-defense. Revolution.  IT’S A SIN WHEN: Violence towards defenceless people, hitting your partner or your kids,.  Violence fuelled by intolerance and bigotry. 

Sloth

Not a sin: Resting. Sleeping. Taking a day or a year off. Being unproductive. Playing videogames. IT’S A SIN WHEN: You stay inactive when action is required. When people need you and you’d rather do nothing.

THIS IS SO IMPORTANT AND GIVES POWER BACK TO SO MANY PEOPLE

16-packs!

i turned on the light in the dining room but Tubby had been sleeping in a chair and it woke her up and she was Not Pleased

yes

however we recently got her a new ceramic fountain that better suits her aesthetic

and her own fainting couch

but she still prefers a good lap whenever possible

this flag gets me

things to update after a legal name change!

*Please add to this list if you can think of anything else!!!

Why slam the door once when you can do it three fucking times?

i had an incredibly visceral reaction to this

there’s so much more of these, this is the source.

this 1 centimeter ruler might be my favorite.