“ok but what if aliens are baffled by [neurotypical able-bodied human thing]?!”
Fam you know autistic ppl exist and you seem completely fucking alien to us even though we live on the same planet right
I say that if we’re going to write this “humans are space orcs” shit we’re gonna do it while being inclusive as possible and say that neurodivergent/disabled humans are more easily understood by these aliens of yours. Because they, too, are baffled by all of these things I have legit seen people writing stories about aliens experiencing for the first time and going ?????? or !!!!?!?!??:
Quirks of speech
Various types of sensory input being insufficient, or actually physically painful
A seemingly endless reserve of energy and attention
Being able to eat just about anything
Going against rules/structures
Deviating from a routine
And these aliens are like yes, finally, a human we relate to. A human we can communicate/coexist with comfortably. We like this human.
I’m lacking in spoons to write about this in detail but feel free if you wanna
I’m sitting in the mess hall, swirling my spoon through my bowl of frugnarf, when Kap’ka*click*ka (I call him Kap) sits down opposite me.
“Human Monique, greetings.”
“Greetings, Kap. What’s up?” My eyes are still on my bowl.
“I have a most pressing query for you.” He pauses dramatically during which I decide to look up at him. Meeting my gaze sternly, he says, “Are you injured?”
The question throws me. “What?”
“Injured, Human Monique! Are you injured?” The long flabs of skin along his neck flap with his agitation, and I know he’s actually being serious.
“No,” I say firmly. Then, more gently, “Why do you ask?”
Six eyes blink at me before one of his hands reaches to take my right hand, the one not holding the spoon. “You use only one of your fore-appendages. I feared you were concealing an injury,” he explains. “We *click*Ref*click*fer often do this when we wish to deceive others.”
It is in that instant that I understand. Kap’s species is entirely ambidextrous. All seven of their limbs can work apart from the others. The species even has an extra cortex in their brains to allow for this kind of dexterity. (I mean, seven limbs! That also isn’t counting their three legs.)
I smile at him and pull my hand away. “No, Kap. I’m fine. Really. I’m just a Lefty.”
“I’m left-handed. Most humans are either left- or right-hand-dominant. Lefties are less common.”
“You mean to tell me that your entire existence relies solely on one appendage to do everything?”
“Not everything,” I amend, enjoying watching his eyes bulge. “I mean, I type with both hands and I can eat with both hands, but things like writing or firing my rifle, I use my left.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I’m dead serious! Sure, there are a few humans who are ambidextrous, and you can certainly learn how, but it’s hard work and, frankly, it’s a waste of time.”
“But what happens if your dominant, left hand is cut off by a prif’s pincers? What will you do? We don’t have the technology to replace your dominant, left hand, Human Monique!”
I grin up at him and switch my spoon from my left to my right. “Well, I guess I’ll be a Righty, then,” I say and take a bite.
I called Hugh Hefner a pimp, he threatened to sue. But that’s what he was
Now that he’s dead, the old sleaze in the Playboy mansion is being spoken of as some kind of liberator of women. Quite the opposite
Long ago, in another time, I got a call from a lawyer. Hugh Hefner was threatening a libel action against me and the paper I worked for at the time, for something I had written. Journalists live in dread of such calls. I had called Hefner a pimp. To me this was not even controversial; it was self-evident. And he was just one of the many “libertines” who had threatened me with court action over the years.
It is strange that these outlaws have recourse in this way, but they do. But at the time, part of me wanted my allegation to be tested in a court of law. What a case it could have made. What a hoot it would have been to argue whether a man who procured, solicited and made profits from women selling sex could be called a pimp. Of course, central to Playboy’s ideology is the idea that women do this kind of thing willingly; that at 23 they want nothing more than to jump octogenarians.
Now that he’s dead, the disgusting old sleaze in the smoking jacket is being spoken of as some kind of liberator of women. Kim Kardashian is honoured to have been involved. Righty ho.
I don’t really know which which women were liberated by Hefner’s fantasies. I guess if you aspired to be a living Barbie it was as fabulous as it is to be in Donald Trump’s entourage. Had we gone to court, I would like to have heard some of the former playmates and bunnies speak up in court – because over the years they have.
The accounts of the “privileged few” who made it into the inner sanctum of the 29-room Playboy mansion as wives/girlfriends/bunny rabbits are quite something. In Hefner’s petting zoo/harem/brothel, these interchangeable blondes were put on a curfew. They were not allowed to have friends to visit. And certainly not boyfriends. They were given an “allowance”. The big metal gates on the mansion that everyone claimed were to keep people out of this “nirvana” were described by one-time Hefner “girlfriend no 1” Holly Madison in her autobiography thus: “I grew to feel it was meant to lock me in.”
The fantasy that Hefner sold was not a fantasy of freedom for women, but for men. Women had to be strangely chaste but constantly available for the right price. Dressing grown women as rabbits – once seen as the height of sophistication – is now seen as camp and ironic. There are those today who want to celebrate Hefner’s contribution to magazine journalism, and I don’t dispute that Playboy did use some fantastic writers. of Hefner’s business acumen was to make the selling of female flesh respectable and hip, to make soft porn acceptable. Every man’s dream was to have Hefner’s lifestyle. Apparently. Every picture of him, right to the end, shows him with his lizard smirk surrounded by blonde clones. Every half-wit on Twitter is asking if Hefner will go to heaven when he already lived in it.
But listen to what the women say about this heaven. Every week, Izabella St James recalls, they had to go to his room and “wait while he picked the dog poo off the carpet – and then ask for our allowance. A thousand dollars counted out in crisp hundred dollar bills from a safe in one of his bookcases.”
If any of them left the mansion and were not available for club nights where they were paraded, they didn’t get their allowance. The sheets in the mansion were stained. There was to be no bickering between girlfriends. No condoms could be used. A nurse sometimes had to be called to Hefner’s “grotto” if he’d had a fall. Nonetheless, these young women would have to perform.
Hefner – repeatedly described as an icon for sexual liberation – would lie there with, I guess, an iconic erection, Viagra-ed to the eyeballs. The main girlfriend would then be called to give him oral sex. There was no protection and no testing. He didn’t care, wrote Jill Ann Spaulding. Then the other women would take turns to get on top of him for two minutes while the girls in the background enacted lesbian scenarios to keep “Daddy” excited. Is there no end to this glamour?
Well now there is, of course. But this man is still being celebrated by people who should know better. You can dress it up with talk of glamour and bunny ears and fishnets, you can talk about his contribution to gonzo journalism, you can contextualise his drive to free up sex as part of the sexual revolution. But strip it all back and he was a man who bought and sold women to other men. Isn’t that the definition of a pimp? I couldn’t possibly say.
righty. people are stressing over dan and phil tickets and lemme tell you a story.
couple years ago, tatinof is announced.
me?: didn’t buy a ticket for over two weeks after they went on sale.
also me: got amazing seats.
also me: lost said ticket and bought another one to replace it a week before the show.
me: went alone, met people, had the best fucking night, was on a train full of people with cat whiskers on their faces, felt very much at home and happy.
also me: was 21 when I went to tatinof and will be a week away from being 24 when I go on the new tour. do I care about my age? no. nobody else does either. so if you’re 13 or 30, they won’t care and neither will anybody else.
moral of the story: the majority of these venues are fucking huge. they will not sell out in a day.
you. have. time.
I wasn’t front row, I was on a balcony, I didn’t have vip, and it was still one of the best nights of my life.
breathe, pals. pls. you’ll have the best night, I PROMISE.
Okay but serious-talk tho - Biphobia disgusts me on so many levels
Righty - I’m just here to try to spread some positivity to the wonderful people that are so often shunned from all sides for no apparent fucking reason
Pansexuals - Bisexuals - You are all so fucking amazing, do you know that?
I myself am a lesbian, there’s no way around it. Because of society - I told myself I was straight - then I stumbled into thinking I was bi - then into pan - but now I have found myself as a lesbian and that’s just how it is.
It disgusts me to see how many of my fellow sapphic ladies refuse to date bisexuals. You ARE part of the LGBTQIA+ community - I don’t get what’s so hard to understand?
“Oh but they’re more likely to cheat on me!”
“Oh yeah I like lesbian porn so I don’t mind if my girlfriend gets it on with a bisexual - we can have threesomes”
“You have to choose”
Listen - If I can’t choose to be attracted to men, then a bisexual/pansexual person can’t decide not to be.
And as for the fucking ‘more likely to cheat’ get the fuck out - seriously! More likely to cheat than who? “Oh I hate my wife so much lol” straights ™? And even from homosexuals - like really? We’re shunned as it is - why create rifts within our own community just because you can’t relate to them?
No - I couldn’t relate to someone being attracted to men. If my future girlfriend would be attracted to other genders than my own, then that’s her buisness, and I wouldn’t love her less. It would actually make it more amazing! Because listen here - this shit is really important to remember:
Pansexuals and bisexuals have at LEAST double the amount of people they could potentially fall for compared to you - and STILL they choose YOU! So many stars in the sky - so many fishes in the pond - and still they decide that YOU shine the brightest in their life!
Bisexuals and pansexuals - and of course you wonderful gems that are demi, ace, poly or any other part of our family - our community - Thank you for brighting up our lives. Thank you for being you. I wish I could be like you