“You’re woke! You’re a woke left! You support the trans and the pronouns, don’t you? Wanna know MY pronouns? My pronouns: Fre/nch! Que/bec! Bar/be/cue! Go/Habs/Go! Blue and pink. And you, what are your pronouns, huh? Tell me, what are your pronouns? Joe/Bi/den?! Ru/Paul?! I will pray for you.”
Introducing Samoa Joe: the king of not giving a single care in the world. Or more fittingly in his case, the king of giving a big flat NOPE to those who try it with him and fail in the process
happy 4/20
When's your birthday, Ricky?
April 20th!!
Whats weed?
more adhd things
Thank you tumblr for being a real one. Twitter is diagnosing me with dementia
some dykes for your feed :) going to be making pints of this later this year >:)
more yerrig content. he has to go hose himself down in shadowmere's stinky ass pond
Wow.
Transcript:
My name is Jessica Valenti and since Roe was overturned, I’ve been documenting the harms caused by abortion bans in a newsletter called Abortion, Every Day. I cover everything from legislation and court battles, to anti-abortion strategy and language, but the topic that I find myself writing about most, I’m sorry to say, is suffering.
And while Americans know about some of the suffering caused by abortion bans, thanks to the bravery of women like Doctor Dennard, there are hundred of other stories that go unreported. I have spoken to a 21-year old woman in Texas who was denied an abortion even though her fetus developed without a head, and a hospital worker in South Carolina who watched a college student die after attempting to end her own pregnancy. I get more messages every day than I could ever possibly answer. And while I could share stories that would shock and sicken you in the way that I am shocked and sickened every single day doing this work, I wanted to use my time here to stress that this incredible suffering, this cruelty that treats American women as less than human, is all by design.
Despite Republican assurances that cases like Doctor Dennard’s are the result of legislative growing pains, or doctors simply not understanding the law, despite claims that their bans just need to be tweaked or clarified. I want to make clear that all of this pain and suffering was not just expected. It was planned for. Anti-abortion lawmakers and activists would have voters believe that they had no idea that this is what post-America, post-Roe America would look like, but they had 50 years to plan for this moment, and they made that plan carefully, strategically, and callously.
Every raped child forced to give birth, ever cancer patient denied care and every woman arrested after having a miscarriage was accounted for and strategized over. But with Americans getting angrier and angrier at what abortion bans are doing to their families and communities, Republicans are desperate to hide that truth from voters. They need us to believe that they’re not the cruel extremists that their laws show them to be. And they certainly don’t want us to know that they planned for women’s deaths in the same way they strategize over a talking point or a poll. And I mean that literally.
For months I have been tracking a conservative campaign to sow distrust in maternal mortality numbers. Republicans know that the data is going to show that their laws kill women, so they’re preemptively claiming that maternal death numbers aren’t accurate. Some states have even disbanded their maternal death review committees entirely, and because the people most likely to die are the most marginalized among us, their hope is that no one will care.
I’ve also documented how the anti-abortion movement laid the groundwork over months to blame doctors for women’s deaths, as if the people working under threat of losing their license or jail time are the problem, and not the laws that prevent them from doing their jobs. All of which is to say, when Republicans feign surprise or compassion over post-Roe horror stories, they are lying. They knew that women would suffer and die as a result of their laws. They decided it was a trade off worth making, and everything they’ve done since Roe was overturned has been in service of hiding that fact.
Most of those lies are hiding in plain sight. When Republicans tell Americans that the national fifteen week ban they’re proposing is a reasonable middle ground, they leave out the fact that the law would force women to carry non-viable pregnancies to term. Their compromise would do to any American capable of pregnancy, what Texas tried to do to Kate Cox and again, this is not an oversight, it is a deliberate part of a much broader extremist strategy.
Right now, there is a quiet but well-funded campaign led by the most powerful anti-abortion groups in the country, that is focused entirely on pressuring and forcing women to carry doomed pregnancies to term. They’re not only trying to do away with exceptions for non-viable pregnancies, they’re trying to eradicate prenatal testing altogether. It’s a lot easier to force women to carry a dying fetus to term if they never get diagnosed to begin with.
When I tell people about this, the question I get asked out often is “why?” Why would anyone want to deliberately create a world where women are forced to be walking coffins? It is inexplicable until you understand that this has nothing to do with families or babies but enforcing a worldview that says it’s women’s job to be pregnant, and to stay pregnant to matter what the cost or consequence. But because Republicans don’t have the bravery to admit that truth, and because they’re afraid of voters who are more pro-choice than ever, they lie. They talk about compassion because they know that their laws are cruel, they use the word consensus while passing bans that voters don’t want, and they call Democrats extremists while fighting for the right to deny women life-saving abortions in emergency rooms.
And because Republicans know that votes overwhelmingly oppose their bans, they claim to be softening on abortion by pushing one of the biggest lies in abortion politics, exceptions. Again and again, Republicans propose and pass exceptions that no one will ever qualify for. The only purpose they serve is to allow extremist lawmakers to feign moderation, or pretend as if they’ve conceded something.
And frankly, any Republican who claims that exceptions are real should have to do so in front of all the people who’ve been told that they do not qualify for care even as they went septic or had their uteruses removed. They should have to defend themselves in front of women like Kate Cox and Doctor Dennard, or Brittany Watts, who wasn’t just denied care by by religious hospital when her water broke too early for her pregnancy to survive, but was arrested when she miscarried at home.
The only Republican exception that holds an iota of truth is the one about women’s lives, though not in the way that they think. When you look at any Republican “life of the mother” exception, they all contain a caveat. And that caveat says that when women’s whose lives are at risk can be given abortions, unless the risk is because she’s suicidal, and I want to stress how telling that is. Republicans know that forcing people to be pregnant against their will, will make them want to kill themselves, and they enshrined, into law, that they don’t care. In a moment when we are hearing so many extreme horror stories it can be difficult I think to get back to that foundational cruelty. That to force someone to be pregnant against their will, for any reason, at any point, causes profound existential harm. Abortion is health care, but it is also freedom. That’s why every abortion denied is a tragedy, and increasingly Americans understand that. They don’t want the government involved in their decisions about pregnancy at any point.
The first time I came to DC was in 1992. I was 13 years old and my mother brought me here, for the pro-choice March for Women’s Lives, maybe some of you were there. I remember men screaming at us from the sidelines, and I remember how confused I was, over why they hated us so much. Today, my 13 year old daughter is in the room, and it’s her first time in Washington and yet somehow she’s here with less rights than I had 32 years ago, and I think that we should be ashamed of that. My deepest hope is that she doesn’t need to follow in the steps of her mother and grandmother, and come here decades from now to defend her daughter’s humanity. Thank you for your time.
He's so Tumblrina
Conversation I had with @cowboysteph
kiss
how it looks for two loner shut-ins to swag out together
lmaooo
"faulty accelerator pedal" here means that the cheap plastic dressed to look like a fancy futuristic metal to cover up the cheap plastic pedal thats like an inch wide was cheaply glued on, so it would slip and jam itself into a cheap plastic nook below the dashboard, pinning the cheap pedal to the cheap metal so that the cheap engine would be at full power btw
sw*fties will do mental gymnastics to convince themselves taylor's a lyrical genius but let's be real you could compare her crap to poetry written by an emo middle schooler going through baby's first break up and her ass would be left in the dust
My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
Happy 420
Can’t stop think about how Chilchuck’s love language is, like, 100% acts of service that little mother fucker could barely be nice to his friends but was sewing up everyone’s clothes and doing marcille’s hair and letting izutsumi sleep in bed with him and carrying around halfoot marcille to keep her safe he’s such a goober i can’t stand him
