shit rough drafts

POCKET-SIZED FEMINISM

The only other girl at the party
is ranting about feminism. The audience:
a sea of rape jokes and snapbacks
and styrofoam cups and me. They gawk
at her mouth like it is a drain
clogged with too many opinions.
I shoot her an empathetic glance
and say nothing. This house is for
wallpaper women. What good
is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices I’ve been
sitting this whole time? I am guilty
of keeping my feminism in my pocket
until it is convenient not to, like at poetry
slams or my women’s studies class.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
There are days I forget we had to invent
nail polish to change color in drugged
drinks and apps to virtually walk us home
at night and mace disguised as lipstick.
Once, I told a boy I was powerful
and he told me to mind my own business.
Once, a boy accused me of practicing
misandry. You think you can take
over the world?
And I said No,
I just want to see it.
I just need
to know it is there for someone.
Once, my dad informed me sexism
is dead and reminded me to always
carry pepper spray in the same breath.
We accept this state of constant fear
as just another part of being a girl.
We text each other when we get home
safe and it does not occur to us that our
guy friends do not have to do the same.
You could saw a woman in half
and it would be called a magic trick.
That’s why you invited us here,
isn’t it? Because there is no show
without a beautiful assistant?
We are surrounded by boys who hang up
our naked posters and fantasize
about choking us and watch movies
we get murdered in. We are the daughters
of men who warned us about the news
and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful. To be safe.
Then told our brothers to go out and play.
—  POCKET-SIZED FEMINISM, by Blythe Baird
Survivor (Jason Todd x Reader) | Part Five

Warnings: Swearing. Nervous dork Jason. Emotional?

To say that your life had become complicated was an understatement. Right after Red Hood told you his actual name- which was a huge surprise in of itself- he tells you exactly how he died, as though it was a completely normal and casual thing to talk about! He even had the gall to nonchalantly ask you what your favorite color was when his explanation was done!

You dumbfoundedly answered his question followed with: “I think I- we should sit down before we continue this conversation.”

He cleared his throat with a nod and gestured for you to lead the way. When he climbed through the window after you, you didn’t miss the way his nose scrunched up in offense at the discarded book on the floor. The sight made you smile slightly, and you giggled when he picked it up as though it was a fallen comrade and held it delicately to his chest while giving you a disgusted look.

You simply laugh and plop down onto your couch, and he joins you soon enough- after he places the book at the top of your bookshelf.

“Jay, I can’t reach that high,” You point out.

Jason sits down next to you before saying: “Yeah, I know. That’s the point. You’ll never hurt that poor book again.”


The months seem to fly by after that. Jason would come visit you when he wasn’t on patrol or busy with something, you’d both chat, get to know each other, banter with each other, and then he’d leave with some sarcastic comment and a wink. He’d always come in and out through that same window, too. So when he’d showed up at your door instead, you were certainly surprised.

“So he does know how to use doors,” You sarcastically say, smirking.

He laughs a little nervously, “Yeah, I uh… I came through here because- I uh,” He clears his throat. “I think it’d be inappropriate to ask you my question through the window.” At the raise of your eyebrow he stammers out a rushed: “I-I wanted to know if you wanted to maybe go out. With me. On a date?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah. I-I mean, if that’s okay. With you. If not that’s– I’ll just…” He takes a step back.

“Right now is fine!” You quickly say. “I just need to grab my shoes and stuff.”

“Oh, thank fuck– I mean. Cool.”

It doesn’t take long for you to get ready, and you link your arm with his when you shut your door behind you, which causes his footsteps to falter for a split second before you’re off.

The date goes fairly well. He takes you to a restaurant that may not be the most extravagant or expensive, but the food was really good; afterwards he takes you out of the city, up quite a few hills, until he reaches what seems like the middle of nowhere. When he pulls over and stops his motorcycle, you give him a curious look.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“You know,” You begin. “Most people would feel uncomfortable with their date asking that question after being taken out in the middle of nowhere where there are no witnesses, but yes.”

He grins. “I’m going to ask you to close your eyes, for just a bit.”

You sigh dramatically before placing your hands over your eyes, and you giggle when you feel him place his own hands over yours.

“No peeking,” He whispers, as he begins to lead you in some direction. It’s only a few steps before he stops. “Okay,” He removes his hands. “Open.”

With a flutter of your eyes, you see Gotham City in front of you from the hillside your on. “Holy shit,” You can’t help but blink in awe. “You can practically see everything from here!”

“Yeah, it’s uh,” Jason clears his throat. “It’s a great view, and it’s peaceful up here.”

You turn to him with a smile on your face. “Is this your secret hideaway?”

He smirks in return, “Sometimes,” He brings a fist up to his mouth to clear his throat nervously, again. “But, I uh… I brought you here because… I didn’t want anyone to interrupt me or… ruin…”

You tilt your head slightly in bewilderment. “Jay?”

He bites his lip as he looks to the side, then huffs out a short laugh. You can see his eyes beginning to glisten, and he clears his throat again. “I, uh- we’ve… been together for awhile. And maybe not- not that long, but I uh…” You feel your own eyes begin to water slightly at hearing his voice crack, and he quickly clears it again. “Fuck. I don’t know how to–” He pauses, bites his lip before mumbling out: ‘fuck it’ and he drops down on one knee.

A tear escapes your eye as you raise a hand to your mouth.

“Y/N, I really just– I love you; and I’m sorry for fucking rushing this at the end, but I need to say it before I can’t,” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring, and he keeps his face towards the ground as his voice begins to break. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” You say instantaneously, causing Jason to snap his head up to you, revealing his wide, glassy eyes. “I would love to marry you, Jason Todd.”

Shakily, he places the ring on your finger, a small relieved sigh escaping him. He stands back up, and you engulf him into a hug which he returns with trembling but strong arms. A small sob escapes him, and when you pull back you find him grinning and laughing softly, all the while with tears streaming down his face.

“I’m the luckiest man on the planet.”

You press a kiss to his lips, and it was that moment that you were sure nothing else mattered. Nothing but the two of you. The contagious sound of his gentle laughter- which was so sincerely happy and innocent. You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed on top of that hill, basking in each other’s presence, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to really care. You just wanted to spend time with him, and now you had all of your life to do just that.

SHIT ROUGH DRAFTS x FLFC: Working Girl

Paul Laudiero is a writer and comedian who studies and performs with the Upright Citizens Brigade. His work has appeared in McSweeney’s, CollegeHumor, Huffington Post, Mashable, and Wired. He’s also the creator of the web series Lino At The Movies. 

We’ve been fans of Shit Rough Drafts for ages, and our enthusiasm about featuring Paul’s work on the blog can only be described as…unedited!

Pre-Order the Shit Rough Drafts book here,  and watch the first episode of FUNNY LADY FILM CLUB HERE!

SKIRT STEAK GIRLS

The only girl in a handful of backseat boys, I sit
shotgun without calling it. The song pounding through
the radio says Bitch every Bitch other Bitch word.

One boy assures me I am not like other girls.
Out of habit, I thank him for the compliment.

I listen to them speak of women like menus;

medium-rare
lace skirt
trimmed steak.

I cross my legs and neatly fold my voice
into a teal blue Tiffany’s box.

This is the part where I prove that I am chill.
I can hang, guys. Who says feminists are a buzzkill?

As we turn the corner, there is a gaggle of young
women. The driver of the car I am in leans out the window and spits

How much?

Eyes wide as dinner plates, they scurry away like shot
pool balls, as I have done so many times.

The whole van hoots, fist-bumps, hollers. There are not enough seats
for both a woman and the joke to fit comfortably in the car.

I keep my rant about feminism and rape culture
as a ponytail holder around my wrist.

In a fish tank of predators, I wonder if I, too, am a predator
by association.

When I get the courage to say something,
I am two weeks late and encouraged by Bacardi.

I start by assuring him that he is a Good Person,
which is why I’m telling him this in the first place.

I have to make this matter to him. I have to bring up
his sister, his mother, his girlfriend-
I have to make this somehow relate back to him.

It is the dilemma of the woman who wishes to inform
the sexist, politely.

It is the dilemma of the woman
who wishes to be heard-

Let us give you this reality check
with a spoonful of sugar.

Let us make this easier for you to hear
than it is for us to live.
—  SKIRT STEAK GIRLS by Blythe Baird

SHIT ROUGH DRAFTS x FLFC: Nine to Five

Paul Laudiero is a writer and comedian who studies and performs with the Upright Citizens Brigade. His work has appeared in McSweeney’s, CollegeHumor, Huffington Post, Mashable, and Wired. He’s also the creator of the web series Lino At The Movies. 

Pre-Order the shitroughdrafts book here,  and watch us discuss “Nine to Five”  with Emily Tarver and Sue Smith HERE!

THIS MORNING

I did not have a cigarette for breakfast. I did not talk
to the rabbit hole. I did not tell anyone I loved them
for the hell of it. I did not flirt with the butterknife.
I did not take shame and guilt and self-inflicted pain
like a multivitamin. I did not try to hollow myself out,
today. I did not get jealous of the sky for being
empty. I did not resent my hips for being full.
I did not read the pill bottle label like a newspaper.
I did not dream of bruises blooming from my thighs
like forget-me-not’s. I did not feel the need to prove
I have suffered. I did not live in the minds of the
women I used to be. I did not kiss silence, today.
I am proud of this, but some mornings, I worry:

Did I leave my opinion in her mouth?

—  THIS MORNING, by Blythe Baird