Guys look I MET ANDREA GIBSON~~

Not All Men”


It’s Monday, I’m on a bus, I’m going home at 6pm and the middle aged man and the teenage boy are the only people left with me. I consider the fact that because the driver is also a man I am the only person left on the bus with the correct genetic makeup for boobs, the only one on this vehicle who has the coding to give birth. I’m scared, scared because of my own anatomy, automatically scared because I’m built differently and that now makes me a target. I wonder how old I was when I realized that my own body was going to be the cause of constant anxiety and fear not only when I’m in a deserted bus but everywhere. I get off at the last stop and the older man smiles at me while following me up the street, his teeth are bared at my face but his eyes are somewhere else, his smile is thicker and more cloying than honey, and it’s drip, drip dripping, forming a puddle of something that makes my heart race and stomach churn. He turns off down another road, whistling a show tune, and I run the rest of the way home.

Not all men.

I’m at home alone after school, planning the concerts and adventures I’m going to, the travels I want to go on, dreams of meeting new people and places. I want to live my life and experience freedom if only for a few fleeting months. But… my mum is hesitant. She’s forever worried about the danger that being a young girl traveling by herself can mean; and I despite my protests that I won’t be alone, I’ll be surrounded by friends all armed with cell phones and pepper spray, she’s still so worried that I’ll be by myself and she’s scared. Surely I’m not going to be a victim, because I don’t feel like a victim; I am invincible, I am strong. But I know, I know that danger is real and I can’t help but think to myself, if I feel unsafe in my own city, now am I going to fare once I graduate and I am truly on my own iron a college campus miles away from home, surrounded by men that I don’t know? If I was my brother planning this, I would be concerned on how many hot girls there would be per square foot.

Not all men.

Friday is a beautiful sunny day and I’ve always been told that I have a “nice enough body” to wear a bikini on the beach. Ever since I was 6 years old I’ve been told that that having tummy fat was ugly, that skin that doesn’t have a perfectly golden glow is undesirable and even if you have to coat it with chemicals to make it appear darker and healthier so be it. I amble to a clear patch of sand in a two piece, midriff and legs bare, and I can already feel pairs of eyes latching onto me. Hairy men in speedos, leering business men who should really be with their families, a couple of frat boys who whistle and howl, “hows it goin’ baby?”, those of the male gender who I don’t look twice at eat into my body with their stares. Am I a piece of meat, a juicy steak? I am a steak. Slowly, with growing trepidation I realize that I am their amusement; and I utter a silent prayer that today not be the day I am eaten alive.

Not all men.

Just last night night two friends and I are walking into dinner as per the custom before a school dance when we hear “Jesus look at you! You sluts heading to a pole?” come rolling out of the mouth of a sharply dressed gentleman, the stench of whiskey bourbon apparent even from our eight feet away. Shivers roll up my back in fear, after all it’s dark. We are alone, our gallant dates inside waiting for us, no idea that we’re inches from danger. One of us pushes past him, so the rest of us follow suit, careful not to make any eye contact, careful not to ignite the situation. Because one can never be sure how quickly a sexist man can get angry so we walk as quickly as we can until the warm glow of lights is on us and we can breathe. We’re angry, so so angry. But also deflated, because I know although none of us say it out loud, we all wonder if we deserve not only this fear, but this shame.

Not all men.

Sitting on the internet, Friday night and scrolling down any social media newsfeed:
“Haha, killed it at the game tonight, bro. We RAPED them!”
“Damn with tits like that, you’re asking for it, ass ain’t bad either.”
“Keep it tucked in if you don’t us commenting, god you slut, kill yourself hahaha”
Another sexist comment…
Another sexist comment…
Another sexist comment…
I’m shrinking and shaking and I want to cry because these boys don’t understand my how small they can make not only me, but every girl feel with just pressing a few keys. I see these boys at school, I talk to these boys, I laugh with these boys, for gods sake half of them are my close friends. For once on my life I hope in this instance that these boys don’t think actions speak louder than words do.

Not all men.

It is now 3:00 AM on a Sunday morning and the light is grey tinged with pink and I think back to the three rules my mother and every female relative I know has preached at me until they’re drilled in to my bones:
-Never talk talk to strangers, especially not strange men
-Never be alone with a stranger, especially not a man
-Never get into a car with a stranger, especially not a man
When I was younger all I heard was “blah blah blah” but can you you see he pattern now? Mothers, aunts, grandmothers, women who had married and carried children, loved with men much of their lives still understood the danger of them.
However I break all 3 of these laws as I pull open the taxi door, fully knowing that driving 4 tired, drunk girls home after a party is above even me. Making light conversation with the driver, three of my friends giggling and snoring lightly around us, he doesn’t see me shaking, nor does he notice me clutching my purse so tightly my knuckles are as white as the bone that lies underneath my flesh. He doesn’t even realize the fear I feel at his presence of control in the car, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he cannot comprehend it, he never will. How easy would this 15 minute car ride be if I were born the opposite gender?

Not all men.

It comes to Monday another boring, mundane Monday, full of school and wrinkled pieces of notebook paper, and someone has the AUDACITY to tell me not all men are rapists. I am livid, but I say nothing.
I’m a 15 year old girl.
When I am walking alone and it’s dark and my phone is miles away in my back pocket, it’s all men.
When I am in a train car with a man I don’t know well, it’s all men.
When men drunkenly leer and catcall at me on the streets, it’s all men.
When a boy won’t leave me alone at a party, saying that “baby you’ll like it, I swear”, it’s all men.
Not all men are rapists. But for a young girl like me? Every single one of them has the potential to be.

Not.
All.
Men.

2

Taeyang’s TERRIBLE joke when he fails to understand the reporter… (x

Hubby Marco comes home late from a work party having drunk a little bit too much that evening. Headcanon is that Marco is the sort of drunk that really lays on the affection when he’s intoxicated.

TIME FOR SCIENCE, ASSHATS

OIL AND WATER DON’T MIX, AND I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THOSE SHITTY YET STILL FASCINATING LITTLE POP BOTTLES OF WATER AND OIL AND SAND AND SHIT YOU MADE AS A KID!

I’M TALKING PURE FURY OF THE ELEMENTS, SCORCHING PAIN THAT COULD BLIND AND MELT YOUR FUCKING FACE!

SAY YOU’RE A HARDCORE MOTHERFUCKER, TRYING TO MAKE SOME FRIED CHICKEN OR SOME BULLSHIT. 

SO YOU’VE GOT YOUR HOT-ASS OIL, READY TO DUNK YOUR DELICIOUS STRIPS OF BIRD FLESH DIPPED IN FLOUR AND SECRET HERBS. 

WHEN ALL OF THE SUDDEN YOUR BLOOD SIBLING RAN INTO THE ROOM, SCREAMING ABOUT HOW A POWER BASED ON PUTTING THE WORLD INTO BALANCE COULD DEFEAT THE RULER OF CHAOS, BUT IF EVIL AND DEATH WAS STILL IN BALANCE, THAT SHIT WOULDN’T WORK, AND IT’D KICK YOUR ASS AND STEAL YOUR IDENTITY!

TAKEN ABACK BY SUCH INTERESTING THEMES IN A PASTEL-COLORED SHOW, YOU WHIRL AROUND, UPSETTING THE BREW OF LEMON-TRACED SUGAR WATER TOWARD YOUR OIL!

MOTHER OF FUCKERY, YOU BETTER GRAB A SHIELD, BECAUSE SOME SCIENCE IS ABOUT TO HURT YOUR BEAUTIFUL ASS!

THE BOILING POINT OF OIL IS WAY THE FUCK HIGHER THAN WATER (Usually between 200 and 300 degrees C, while water boils at 100 C) SO FOR EACH LITTLE DROP THAT STRIKES THE OIL, IT IMMEDIATELY CHANGES ITS STATE OF MATTER INTO STEAM. 

LIKE ALL ASSHOLES WHO DO THEIR HOMEWORK, YOU CAN PROBABLY IMAGINE THE EXPANDING GAS CREATING A LITTLE CRATER, WHERE MORE WATER TUNNELS DOWNWARD, THEN EXPANDS WHEN STRIKING THE NEXT LAYER. 

JESUS FUCK YOU JUST CREATED A GRENADE OUT OF LIQUID!

THE HOT OIL, PROPELLED BY THE CONCUSSIVE FORCE OF PURE NATURAL FURY, THEN SPATTERS EVERYTHING AROUND IT, STILL HOTTER THAN BOILING WATER. 

YOUR SKIN BETTER BE COVERED, BECAUSE OTHERWISE THAT SHIT’LL MELT THE FUCK OFF, LEAVING YOU (AND POSSIBLY YOUR EXCITABLE BLOOD RELATION) COVERED IN AGONIZING BURNS. 

THAT’S WHY COOKING FIRES ARE DANGEROUS AS FUCK! 

PEOPLE ASSUME ‘WELL THERE’S A FIRE, BETTER PUT WATER ON THAT BULLSHIT!’

AND SO THEY THROW WATER ON IT, AND THAT IS LITERALLY THE WORST THING. 

I LIED

THAT IS NOT THE WORST THING. 

INSTEAD OF WATER, YOU SHOULD EITHER SMOTHER THE FIRE WITH THE PAN’S LID, OR THROW SALT ON IT. (salt and burn, motherfucker. Your kitchen will practically be holy ground after this) 

THE WORST THING IS WHEN SOME ASSHAT CONFUSES SALT FOR FLOUR, AND THROWS FUCKING FLOUR INTO THE FIRE. 

WHEN FLOUR IS BEING ALL DUSTY, IT IS HIGHLY FLAMMABLE, CREATING A PLUME OF FIRE AND DEATH LEAPING RIGHT INTO YOUR FOOLISH FACE. 

WERE YOU BREATHING IN THAT FLOUR DUST?

SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR LUNGS, MOTHERFUCKER!

SO WITH THAT, REMEMBER TO SMOTHER OIL FIRES WITH A LID OR SALT - NOT FUCKING WATER OR FLOUR

OF COURSE IF YOU’RE A PREPARED RAIDER, YOU PROBABLY HAVE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER

 AIM AT THE BASE OF THE FIRE, NOT THE FLAMES THEMSELVES.

REMEMBER THAT FIRE SPAWNS FROM A SOURCE, AND THE PRETTY FLAMES ARE JUST PARTICLES AND PLASMA FLOATING UP FROM ITS SPAWN POINT. 

KILL THE SPAWN POINT - KILL THE FIRE. 

#somewhere there’s a guy spitting out his coffee while looking at the elevator security cameras  #like I’d like to hear what the hell he thinks is going on #there’s this kid flying inside and grows ridiculous sideburns #and this doctor with freaking long nails and hovers like a world of warcraft character #then there’s fights and ugly faces #then this third guy appears looking like a supermodel and barely touch the doctor before he’s out of the picture #literally #then he turns to the kid with the sideburns who just got his ass kicked asking why he’s not in school #poor people of beacon hills

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