I go to a straight bar and see a cute guy. I buy him a drink. He realizes I’m a dude hitting on him. He’s about to call me a slur, maybe even punch me in the face. I stop him and hold up my aro flag pin and show him the key to a chastity cage. He immediately apologizes for what he was about to say and do, and then he politely rejects my advances.

A straight person looks at me, confused and unable to determine my gender. I get excited that my gender is unidentifiable to this person. Then i remember i have an ace bracelet on, and quickly shove it in my pocket. But not fast enough.

“Ah, i see you are actually Straight, like me. I still cant tell what your gender is, but clearly that isnt because youre trans. Youre just ugly and bad at performing your gender.” They say.

“no, no, im on testosterone. I am trying to achieve gender ambiguity.” I say.

“really-is that what it looks like?” They say, and make a grab at my bag. “You are carrying electric nipple clamps! You would only use these if you were straight.”

I sigh and hang my head in shame. “That is correct, i am actually straight. I am on testosterone and trying to distance myself as far from womanhood as i can because i jist want attention. I am actually a truscum caricature, as is evidenced by my being aro, ace, kinky, and polyamorous.”

“at first i though you were kinda weird, but clearly you are just a regular straight person. Because only straight people would be those things.” They reply.

im walking down the street with my partner. were giggling amongst ourselves, kissing, and holding hands. we are wlw. a straight person comes up to us and is about to call us dykes and punch us before i hold up my hand.

“no, actually, you dont understand. we may look like girlfriends, but im actually aromantic. see, this is my queer platonic partner, and while it may seem like we are romantically involved, we dont define our relationship as romantic.”

the straight man who was initially entitled to our affection bc he viewed us as a fetish puts down his fist. “im so sorry,” he says, crying apologetically, “i didnt realize you were actually cis and straight. even though i can clearly see your genderqueer pin on your jacket, along with the dyke patch, you are also aromantic, which obviously cancels out everything else about your identity. please, excuse me.” 

Twenty-One Things You Don’t Say to a Transsexual by Riki Anne Wilchins.

In TransSisters: The Journal of Transsexual Feminism, issue 3, volume 1. 1994.

hi my name is Smugperson Arttutorial and today ill teach you how to draw the human figure. first lets compare the male (left) and female (right) skeletons

as you can see men typically have no hips whatsoever while women have giant baby bearing baby birthing infant carrying pregnancy accomodating child holding wide thick round wide wide-set h

In the early 1900s a Rabbi who lived in the tenements on the Manhattan’s Lower East Side had to attend a City function at which a notoriously anti-Semitic Episcopalian Minister was also present.

The Minister turned to the Rabbi and with a sinister smile remarked, “What a coincidence! It was just last night that I dreamt I was in Jewish heaven.”

“Jewish heaven?” inquired the Rabbi. “What is it like in Jewish heaven?”

“Oh!” replied the priest. “In Jewish heaven the streets were filled with Jews. Children, their faces dirty, shirts untucked, and clothes unpressed were playing in the dirt. Women were haggling with fish-vendors as Jewish beggars tried to interrupt, asking for handouts. The clotheslines stretched across the roads with the dripping wash mixing with the dust below to add more mud to the existing mess on the ground. And of course,” he added with a sinister laugh, “rabbis were running back and forth with large Talmudic volumes tucked under their arms!”

The Rabbi pursed his lips and then replied, “that is truly amazing. You see I dreamt last night that I was in Episcopalian heaven.”

“Really?” the Minister asked “And pray tell me what is it like in Episcopalian heaven?”

“It is magnificent. The streets shine as if they have recently been washed. The homes are exquisitely lined up in perfect symmetry, each with a small garden that has beautiful flowers and a perfectly manicured lawn. The homes were freshly painted and they sparkled in the sunlight!”

The Minister beamed. “And what about the people? Tell me about the people!”

The Rabbi smiled, looked the Minister right in the eye, and tersely stated, “There were no people.” - Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky

One time in high school a teacher saw my bra strap slip out of my shirt sleeve (because I have no shoulders) and she told me in front of the class that if I didn’t fix it permanently so that she and the boys couldn’t see it she would send me home for the day. So I reached up my shirt and unclasped my bra and removed it and shoved it in my gym bag. All the boys just stared at me and nodded slowly and went back to reading, and the teacher was horrified. “You can’t do that! Put it back!” “But you said you didn’t want to see it. Now you can’t see it.” She didn’t write me up, and it never came up again.

My favorite part is that the boys didn’t even give a shit, the teacher was the one freaking out. 

Mansplaining protip:

When a man starts explaining a concept you already told him you understand, instead of saying “I know” over and over until you die, try one of these:

SAVAGE

teacher-zone him

My cousin is an asst psych professor. Her new boss brought up how male students sometimes challenge female professors. He asked how she handles that: she says ‘hold on: let me take notes’, grabs a pen & paper, and proceeds to take no notes. If he asks why, she says ‘Tell me something I don’t know & I’ll have something to write’; no student has tried twice. Her boss laughed and asked her to mention it at the next staff meeting.

Additional tip:

If you need to bring up a topic you think he’ll argue against, ask him if he knows what it is, nod along as he tells you, and then build on the argument he’s just made for you by laying the base. 

aka, I had a mansplaining coworker who used to trigger the shit out of my PTSD, so one day I asked him if he knew what “trigger” meant as a psychological term. He proceeded to explain my own panic attacks to me and ended up having a facial Oh Shit when I responded with “Yes, that’s exactly what happens to me when you do X, I’m glad you understand.”

It’s very hard to claim ignorance of the subject when you’ve just been so very proud of showing off your knowledge of that subject. 

BRILLIANT.

Incels: “Guys, if you want a high Sexual Market Value-”

Economists: Hold on a moment. THis isn’t remotely the sort of thing my field was designed for, but if you’re going to pretend to abuse it like this, we need to talk.

The most basic definition of the value of a thing is “the amount the buyer and seller agree to exchange for it.” This means that you need both parties in the negotiation to actually determine what is valuable.

Guys. Guys, you need… Women. You need to talk to women, guys. Real, live ones. We’re begging you. Please just… talk to women. Like they’re people.

Incels: … Incels: …you need huge muscles, smouldering looks, a giant cock, and a fat wallet!

Economists: *facepalm into the ground*

Murder on the Orient Express (2017), dir. Kenneth Branagh.

I think i just saw the murder

I saw some asshole use “cu**s” on a youtube comment and I can’t for the life of me figure out if they are trying to imply “nt” or “ck” 

Shrodinger’s cu**

glad to see the alt-right is developing its own gender neutral pronouns 

you ever realize how able bodied people just are not expected to do things that cause them excruciating physical pain? like they’re just. not

if i shouldn’t use my cane because i can sometimes technically walk without it, it would just hurt like a motherfucker then abled people should no longer be allowed to use potholders to take things out of the oven because i mean

well they could technically pick up a hot pan with their bare hands. it would just hurt like a motherfucker

*sees an abled person using potholders*

i just think it’s really sad that you’re giving up on yourself like that

if you use potholders how will you ever build up the calluses necessary to pick up scalding hot metal without burning yourself so severely? it’s like you’re not even trying to get better

I mean, my mother uses potholders, but she’s in her 70s. You’re just… too YOUNG to be resorting to potholders at your age.

If you start using potholders, your inability to hold hot metal will only get worse.

As a professional cook I was, and still am, able to pick most stuff up out of an oven without a pot holder. I might get blisters and maybe it will hurt, but usually it won’t

AMAZING! based on this one specific individual’s experiences i will now safely assume that it’s possible for anyone to overcome hand pain & leave potholders behind for good!!! as long as you want it bad enough, anything is possible!! make this story go viral so that all those self pitying losers who still use potholders know that there’s no excuse

☆♡LIKE & SHARE IF YOU WERE INSPIRED!!!♡☆

This made me cry. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to be potholder-bound like that, and it must have taken such incredible strength to overcome it. If someone like that can hold hot metal, the rest of us have no excuse to give up on anything.

Always reblog.

It’s Purim, which means we celebrate a victory the best way we can: through maximum pettiness. Haman was a relatively obscure figure who lived 2500 years ago, and for the crime of fucking with us we still to this very day make cookies out of his stupid hat.

the other day at work, i asked a woman her name– like i do for everyone, because we have to write it on the cup–and she goes “we come in here all the time. you should really know our names by now” as if i don’t serve hundreds of people a day or as though a nondescript middle aged white woman made such an impact upon me that i’d remember her. i was feeling pretty impatient and irritable though, so i covered my name tag with my hand and asked her my name and she didn’t know it and at least had the decency to change demeanor from haughty and superior to sort of quietly embarrassed and i’m fairly sure that’s the only thing i’ve ever done at work that matters to me.