at monash university in melbourne the women’s department had a bake sale and cupcakes were one dollar for men and eighty cents for women and seventy cents for trans* people to represent the wage gap and heaps of guys kicked off about it being sexist and that’s how i finally understood how hypocritical and ignorant men’s rights activism is
to be fair that is pretty darn sexist… why cant stuff just be EQUAL for everyone?
BOOBS ARE LITERALLY LUMPS WITH SMALLER LUMPS ON TOP WHAT IS SO SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE ABOUT A LUMP!!!!
What is sexually attractive about any human body part really? Penises are just tubes with lumps connected to them. Asses are also just lumps. Your face is just a collection of different types of lumps and there’s a hole on it. Everything is just a lump. I can’t get off to this. Now, a rhombus, that’s something I could fuck the shit out of.
I remember when I thought people in their 20’s were adults. Now all of my friends are in their 20’s and everybody is just kind of fumbling around bumping into each other, trying to figure out where the free food is
I don’t know how it happens but I end up chatting with all the little kids that the adults bring into my work whenever I’m out on the floor. There was a young girl today, wearing these sweet ass retro shades chilling near the clearance stuff. I noticed she was writing on these bright post it notes and she noticed me watching her but instead of saying anything I just kept doing my shit. She eventually said “I’m writing about the end of the world that takes place on Tuesday.”
"Why Tuesday?" I asked.
"I had a really bad Tuesday last week."
"Oh man. Wanna tell me what happened?"
"My little brother died." Insert me almost toppling over a row of shoes.
"Oh fuck. I’m sorry, shit, pretend I didn’t say that. I’m sorry."
She’s not saying anything, but she looks up at me. “He was really sick, and then he kept getting sicker. Instead of getting better. He liked post it notes, liked drawing on them.”
I fully expected her to cry at this point, but instead, she just kept talking about this little brother I never knew.
But now, I know he likes mashed bananas, drawing starfish pirates, sleeping with his nose buried in their pop’s armpit, being pat on the bum after a meal, and trying to clap along to his big sis’s recorder. He had a mole right on his nose, really sweaty hands and a melon-like head. His name was Jeff. His big sis (whose name, I learned, is Natalia/Talia) was going to draw him a card when he got better.
But now, she wears his sunglasses to remember, and writes stories about the world ending on Tuesdays.