the art of boredom
Month
jedidiahis4loversreblogged you:
Asian American community reaches out to Warner Bros. about AKIRA
Now I’m all for racial equality, but until we get Asian actors who can A) act, and B) speak clear engrish, then let them cast Fassbender, McAvoy and Hedlund all they want.
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A woman can’t imagine a man reloading his double barrel shotgun or chopping wood when he’s donned in Donna Karan and drinking an Appletini…Men were meant to wear rugged Wranglers, leather jackets and boots, like they belong in a James Dean movie and not an episode of Will & Grace.
Jane Gilvary, bemoaning the over-feminization of society (from an article in The Bulletin)
Hello, Jane. My name is middle ground. Have you met me before? Because I’m going to take a double-barrel shotgun in the dark and say you haven’t.
For example- although your first sentence made me nostalgic for my racist, sexist grandfather, I would like to point out some slight problems I have with it. I don’t know if you’ve stepped out of your log cabin lately, Miss Gilvary, but ever since a couple of the good ol’ boys built themselves a railroad, these crazy things called cities began to pop up. A city is a place where outhouses are inhouses and women can hold jobs! I live in a city, and frankly, so do a lot of people. So if I saw the Brawny Paper Towel Man chopping wood outside his first floor apartment, I don’t care if he’s wearing a Republican polo or a Gucci jacket. Because he is insane. Come on, Dr. Laura!
Oh, and about those Appletinis.. you know when everybody last drank an Appletini? At the corner of Sweet Sixteen and Never Again. I’m sure you eat fruit less than you call people ‘fruity’ but people have finally realized Green Apple is not a flavor because it does not taste like a green apple does. It tastes like food dye and missionary sex. I can guess which one you’re used to tasting.
Also, Will and Grace was cancelled. Years ago.
Let me explain to you something, Jane Gilvary, time machined from 2002. You need to understand that not everything is a stereotype that you watch on the View or comes out of Sarah Palin’s mouth. Gay men, or ‘overly feminized men’ do not flounce around in large scarves and tinkerbell their way over to their ‘girlfriends’. They might wear bow ties. They might have enjoyed the Terminator. They drink gin and tonics, and maybe have seen a couple of Bravo reality shows, but they do not cackle fashionably over television popular five years ago. ”Men” don’t walk around punching doors in with Marlboro cigarettes and wearing things that are rugged. Men work for their money. Men take responsibility for their mistakes. Men wear pants that fit. Men own a suit. Men treat their partners- women or men- with respect. They are not the cowboys on the cover of your latest harlequin romance novel. Men are also mature adults, as are women.
Lady, I know that you’re probably just a bunch of disgruntled Middle Americans in disguise, but if you are going to write a secretly homophobic article about how you miss it when men were allowed to Mad Men their wives into emotional destruction, at least update your stereotypes. “When he’s donned in a casual yet fitted blazer and drinking Manhattans” might have worked better for 2010. Oh, and skinny jeans do not ‘over-feminize’ men in America. They make them douchebags in their early twenties. Men who know about fashion but vote and pay taxes are not your problem. That might just lie in the kind of men that wear Wranglers and wife beaters and listen to Eminem while cleaning their shotguns and voting against abortion. You might know the kind of men who think wearing leather jackets stands for how they are not in touch with their feminine side and ‘no son of mine is gay!’, but I know men who just look damn good in leather jackets. James Dean is now James Franco, sister. Have you seen Milk, or just bought some lately? I’m sure you’ll be too busy looking for Will and Grace on the NBC Thursday lineup to even bother with either.
(via thefrenemy)
gaws:
bitch mob niggas go to parties and take bitches SIM cards.
“bitch, give me your SIM card, ima put yo shit in my shit, put my number in the contacts, and next time we meet, ima give you yo shit back. Until you fuck me you dont need to contact anybody besides my dick bitch”
thats the new game spitting technique from now on.
let these hoes know.
OH MY GOD THIS IS THE MOST GENIUS SHIT I’VE EVER READ.
us poor CDMA folk..
50 Cent lost weight for a movie role and thinks he’s Oscar worthy. Eminem won an Oscar and it wasn’t for his acting chops.
I always thought that if you walked around a city long enough, you’d probably bump into somebody you’d fall in love with. I thought the whole point of a city, even Sim City, was to scurry around knocking into people you’d want to roll in dirty sheets with and paint with all the colors of the wind. Which really is no fucking colors, because wind is not a color, but let’s not argue with Pocahontas right now I don’t have the time. Either way, meeting people in cities is the obvious reason why city dwellers put up with the roaches, as well as why most bodegas still sell Four Loko. However, I still have never met anybody this way at all, and while I’ve always chalked this up to the fact “I obviously didn’t spend enough time this afternoon putting a burning hot iron on my head to make my hair straight,” today I realized that I will never, ever meet somebody on the streets of any city. Because I’m an idiot. I hope you learn from my mistakes:
Reasons Why I will Never Meet Somebody On The Street:
- This Fucking Sandwich: Portable food is often the best food in the world. If burritos suddenly ceased to exist, I would find myself running crazy through the streets like Jimmy Stewart’s character in It’s A Wonderful Life, except I wouldn’t be screaming whatever the fuck he screamed, I’d be like ‘oh fuck,no burritos?’ and then slathering sour cream on me out of solidarity. Because a burrito or a sandwich is like finally being able to hold happiness in your palms as if it were Tinkerbell or the mini bottles of rum on airplanes. I love these things. I love mayo, in spite of and especially because it looks gross. Regardless, today I got a veggie Bah Minh sandwich and I sat on a bench and happily chewed it and this hot guy on a bike parked himself next to me and I smiled at him. But then all the pickled carrots poured from my mouth like rain and the crumbs were on my jeans and probably looked like crabs. And I think I ate a bit of the paper wrapping as it was now on my chin. I was as much of a disaster as Nic Cage’s acting career since The Wicker Man, and this cute guy was not impressed. He gave me the same kind of disgusted look you would give a shitty kid throwing a tantrum in the K-Mart, and I just had to pretend that I was not hitting on him but instead looking at the great unknown, contemplating wanderlust like all do in Brooklyn. I still liked that sandwich, so fuck that guy.
- Bad At Walking: You know when somebody is walking the same side of the street you are on but in the opposite direction, so if you keep walking as is you will crash into each other? And so one of you moves to get out of the way, but you both move the same way, and you giggle and it’s cute? Well, I do that a lot but it’s not cute. Because I suddenly start to mimic your movements not once like normal, but like 8 times because I am an invalid at walking. It begins to seem like I am actually trying to bump into you headfirst as if this were my goal, as if maybe we are on the Matrix. I become the obnoxious chihuahua in Oliver and Company, which isn’t relevant but I just thought about that movie a lot today. I definitely become a bull. It’s like all of a sudden we are in Spain and I am a bull and I am like ‘it’s one or the other, Matador Johnny’ and it pisses you off and sometimes I actually bump into you and you spill your coffee and dagger eye me. I am not good at walking down streets.
- Ipods: I give way more of a shit about my music than paying attention to the people on the street, especially because I assume I walk way cooler to the beat of music than without it. Listening to Radiohead and ignoring all human contact kind of drifts me off into some A Beautiful Mind kind of fantasy shit, but I’m happier there just like I’m happier thinking I actually am dating James Franco but he’s always in NYU and can’t call very often. So crazy! It’s like all of a sudden I’m in my own movie, the kind of movie that probably really sucks but I guess I get to make out with some hash brown boring CW star for a minute. Either of the guys from The Vampire Diaries would work. Both of them really look like their agents didn’t work hard enough to get them some top role in a Kate Hudson rom com, but someday they might nab it if they try hard enough. They also look like People magazine would shoot them coming out of the ocean in a wet t-shirt, and that is the only kind of guy I would make out with in a movie starring me. I look like an Afghan Hound when I’m wet, so I’m not looking forward to bikini season.
- I Choose All The Wrong Men: Like for example, when I was walking back home there was an apartment fire and all the firefighters came and I couldn’t cross the street and I had to wait there. So I watched three firefighters that looked exactly like Jeremy Renner and three others that were also hot block off the street and my jaw dropped and I shit grinned at them and was trying to give them ‘screw me eyes.’ I am of course uncomfortable with the fact that I’d sleep with Jeremy Renner, but he’s like the townie who actually got out of town so I’ll excuse it. Not the point. If MY apartment were on fire, I would hope they would PUT OUT THE FUCKING FIRE and not let the mini-girl with the screw eyes and the crumb-mouth distract them. Which is obviously the reason why they ignored me, as if I were a Celine Dion song on the jukebox and you are not an obnoxious person purchasing songs from a jukebox. Of course, I still resented them for not hitting on me because I’m an asshole, or I’m bored, or I’m like that tiny dog that humps the sofa because it hasn’t been spayed yet.
- I once got a nosebleed in the middle of the street. Couldn’t have helped.
- Can’t follow up: Whenever some cute guy kind of smiles at me on the street, I have to grip my purse because obviously if you are looking me in the eye you are trying to take my credit card to buy furniture in Oregon with. If you are looking at me on the street, I can only assume you are going to eat all my skin off like I am a rotisserie chicken. If you smile at me on the street, I will smile at you and then I will trip on a pebble. I will give you the same kind of awkward smile that mirrors the Jeffrey Dahmer, or Brittany Spears as she was stabbing a car with an umbrella. I do not make a good first impression.
- Can’t Drink On The Street: I mean, come on. I’m not going to hit on you sober. That’d be progress, and the opposite of progress is congress and I happen to be an American who votes. WHATEVER.
this bitch is forever funny
I want to start this by saying: the video Alexandra Wallace posted to YouTube was undeniably racist. Nothing I say after this excuses her behavior or should make us any less critical of what she said.
With that said, I do want to talk a little about the backlash against her and why some of it is problematic.
A prominent line of criticism, especially in YouTube video responses and comments sections of various blogs and articles, that I noticed today focused on two things: blond hair and big boobs. From there, commenters and YouTube users drew a variety of conclusions about Wallace based on negative gender stereotypes: she’s a bimbo, she’s a slut, she’s a streetwalker, she’s a cunt, she’s a butterface, she’s trash, she’s an airheaded Valley Girl, she spends all of her time in a mall, she’s destined for Playboy, she’s destined for a pole, etc., etc.
The thing is, there is absolutely no reason to rely on sexist stereotypes to prove that what Wallace said was completely and irrefutably racist and wrong—the actual content of her rant more than supplies sufficient material for criticism. Even so, many people—completely missing the glaring hypocrisy in their actions—chose to forego critiquing Wallace for using negative and prejudiced stereotyping in her rant, and instead employed negative and prejudiced stereotyping themselves to discredit her on the grounds that she’s simply a lower order of human being.
It’s frustrating to watch a scenario which provides ample opportunity to talk about the prevalence of racism in America today degenerate into a competition to see who can find the cleverest way to say “she’s got big boobs, therefore she must be unworthy of listening to.” If you were hoping to move the conversation forward, you failed. This not only is actively engaging in and perpetuating sexism, but it’s also basically making the case that racism is exclusive to a fringe group of exceptionally unintelligent and undesirable people, instead of an endemic social issue. We’ve moved the conversation from “what is wrong with racism” to “what is wrong with blond girls with big boobs”—a lost opportunity for progress on all counts.
I totally agree with this. Ad hominem attacks against this girl make you no less ignorant.
She’s a racist prick but physical threats against her life? Let’s be real
The temblor, which struck Friday afternoon near the east coast of Japan, killed hundreds of people, caused the formation of 30-foot walls of water that swept across rice fields, engulfed entire towns, dragged houses onto highways, and tossed cars and boats like toys. Some waves reached six miles (10 kilometers) inland in Miyagi Prefecture on Japan’s east coast.
The quake was the most powerful to hit the island nation in recorded history and the tsunami it unleashed traveled across the Pacific Ocean, triggering tsunami warnings and alerts for 50 countries and territories as far away as the western coasts of Canada, the U.S. and Chile. The quake triggered more than 160 aftershocks in the first 24 hours – 141 measuring 5.0-magnitude or more.
”—What a genius campaign. hilarious too!
I for sure thought i’d see a different type of ‘job’ posted
this is so fucking true
