I'm a professional geek, and this is where I come for my daily doses of fandom squee, cute stuff, and social justice. I post original content elsewhere online and use this account for an alarming amount of reblogging. You have been warned.
did i tell u guys i got into an argument on twitter bc i said foxes are dogs and someone tried to bring up their actual fuckin. classification or whatever and i just said “foxes are dogs cause they are fluffye” and they kept arguing with me. the entire time i was like “you will not survive the immigration to tumblr you are lucky we are not there right now”
This is especially funny because they aren’t even right. Foxes *ARE* dogs.
People are like “these animals have exoskeletons and these ones have endoskeletons” but no. It’s all exoskeletons, your exoskeleton is protecting your bone marrow which is where your soul (which is you) is. The rest of the stuff is extraneous decoration that Big Pharma wants you to think is important/
Why do you think there’s so few ghosts around? Why are most ghosts
people who died violently? You gotta crack the bones to let the soul
out. Most souls are trapped alone in the dark and silent ground (or
teaching hospitals) for hundreds or thousands of years until the bones
eventually start to break. People who are cremated get their whole soul
released and it can reincarnate. But if someone dies violently then
maybe only a couple of their bones are cracked and a little scrap of the
soul escapes but it’s incomplete and confused. Can’t figure out how to
leave, gets obsessed with its own circumstances, repeats actions, CANNOT
be reasoned with. PROOF that the soul is in the marrow.
See I know what I’m talking about.
Sin is stored in the teeth btw which is why young children are innocent (they’ll get a do-over with replacement teeth) and the elderly are shameless (once you have no teeth to remember your sins, you have nothing to fear).
Upon review I think that maybe vodka isn’t for me.
Hired a moving company and they sent four strong, strapping, beautiful lads to my house to disassemble my furniture and move all my things. I loved them. I got them pizza. They told me moving company gossip. I missed them one minute after they left. My moving lads. Come back to me. You’re so strong and so well trained in safe lifting
I miss my moving men they took such good care of me and they were so handsome and beautiful and strong and efficient and they wrapped all my furniture up in plastic and they loved that I got pizza for them and they knew how to safely drive the big big truck. Come back to me moving men
Moving men please come move me in your big strong arms in a way that complies with local safety regulations and the company’s values
One of the men had a dangling earring and a stud, so I told him I liked his earrings. So he told me about how when he first got his ears pierced, he lost a stud and had to borrow an earring from his girlfriend to keep the hole from closing up. Well the only one she had to lend him was a dangling pink fuzzy duck. And everyone made fun of him for wearing it until they realized he didn’t give a fuck what they thought. So now he always wears one stud and one dangling earring.
He told me this story while manhandling my entire couch. And I’m supposed to be normal about this? I’m bisexual
where’s that masterpost of quotes that have no right going as hard as they do. I’d like to submit “Protagonism is best left to teens and the insane”
Every time I consider making a sandwich I think of this fucking tweet.
The stupid thing is that it puts me in the mindset of being an NPC looking forward to a balanced, delicious, good-looking sandwich, instead of some vegemite half-heartedly smeared between a couple of bits of bread. So now I’m like “well if my goal is Sandwich, it should be a good sandwich”. I mean it’s gotta look good in the thought bubble right? Some guy wandering around in a computer game would be imagining a picture of a ham and cheese toastie AT MINIMUM, probably with tomato and some greens in there. Possibly he’d imagine a full on sub sandwich.
I have started putting actual effort into making tastier, prettier sandwiches. Because of this fucking tweet.
So I have a friend that used to be in the tumblers troupe at the renfaire as a contortionist
We were chatting online and she told me to tell you all this story.
I love Kat dearly
but she forgets that she’s stupid strong and hypermobile
so one day she throws her back out
bad enough that she needed painkillers and couldn’t stand upright
“But also I needed Tampons and like. A Burrito, real bad.”
she’s flat on her back in her apartment when she decides this
and, in an
impeccable
leap of reasoning, decides
“I can’t roll my back forward to sit/stand up like normal.
But I can ARCH my back just fine.
SO
I’m going to do that and get on my hands and feet in a stomach-in-the-air this-shit-belongs-in-a-horror-movie-type pose,
And amble on down to the 7-11”
“And get me that Burrito”
It is,
for context,
after midnight in July during a wildfire so it’s hot as satan’s own asshole and the moon is red and shit’s already generally cursed.
Imagineyou are some poor sap working nights at the world’s deadest 7-11, and you hear the door jangle but you don’t see anyone’s head over the counters.
Whatever.
Except you keep hearing noises like there’s someone in the next aisle over.
Fucking around in the burrito section
It’s also worth mentioning that Kat
1. sings whatever earworm is currently running through her head when she’s not paying attention
2. sounds EXACTLY like some kind of creepy child from a horror movie when doing so
tonight’s song is something from veggietales.
DUDE ACTUALLY STANDS HIS GROUND
and/or is really fucking high and isn’t sure if he’s tripping balls or notanyway
Kat goes up to pay for her burrito and tampons
She realizes the counter presents something of a challenge, and then demonstrates for me on her kitchen table at 4AM during a different july wildfire,
exactly
how she used the shelves to climb up the counter
like one of the boston robotics beasties
dude stares at her for like, five minutes and says.
“Register’s broke.”
“Oh No!” Says Kat. “Just Take ‘em.” “Really? I can leave cash-you don’t have to give me change I don’t want you to get in trouble with your manager.” “…Nah.” “Oh! OK! Thank you!” “Yeah ok bye.”
Shortly after she arrived back at the apartment, she got a text on her phone from the campus security about "A Suspicious Individual” at tle 7-11.
It took her
FOUR
FUCKING
YEARS
to realize she was the suspicious individual
every time this crosses my dash, all i can think is “i’d love to hear this from the perspective of the cashier who encountered some sort of demon buying a burrito on the night shift”
This is the funniest thing i’ve heard my entire life 😭
Truth xD
This is literally me as a kid. Dad used to have the responsibility of giving out the well reports that came in on the friday night to anyone who phoned for the rest of the weekend. The problem was, on saturday mornings, he was doing the food shopping, so I was given a list of approved callers and he’d leave the well report figures by the phone.
Theoretically I was just supposed to list off the numbers. Except. Very early I started parsing the figures and give my own analysis. Apparently engineers and geophysicists got a bit freaked out by a ten year old going ‘It’s not that good, the flow’s really slow compared to last week, and there’s gas pockets really screwing up the flow in the east pipe judging by the pressure report.’
Dad still got that yelled at him at conferences: ‘This is the fucker who used child labour to do well analysis!’
‘Was it wrong?’
‘That’s the not the point!’
We found him- the 20 year old with 10 years experience
according to my great grandma it was cast on her grandma by a neighbor with the evil eye - “your daughters will marry their fathers and your sons will become them”
which is really just a fancy way of describing the cycle of abuse and therefore worked very well, generally going into effect before the kid in question turned 21
so my matrilineal family tree winds up a fractured, miserable mess, lots of young marriages and parents falling apart generation after generation, serial toxic marriages with generations of kids scattered across the whole state in foster homes - very nasty stuff
until it gets to me (firstborn in my generation of cousins) and by the time im twenty one i am 1. both daughter and son and neither 2. extremely aspec and queer
which apparently this neighbor did not conceive of when casting her eye and seems to have simply error messaged the curse into oblivion. no one born after me has had this problem. all their romantic relationships are loving (though i would never claim them perfect) and their children adored. fairytale loopholed so hard the damn thing disintegrated. its the funniest magic story i have lmao
imagine if doorways grew back like scabbed over with fresh drywall and you had to keep carving them back out with a jabsaw to keep the doorway clear etc
Imagine if the membranes recoiled in pain every time you did this. Imagine if over time, some doorways became accustomed sensation. Imagine that very rarely, some even seemed to enjoy it.
*sleepover host voice* imagine if you two went to sleep
Oh for gods sake kids it’s like piercing an ear - that’s why you put a doorframe in - you don’t hang a door in drywall, you gremlins. You frame the door. It’s like those gauges that people put in their ears - the hole stays. It won’t scab over with a doorframe in it. You’ve lived around doors you whole life, you little clowns. Lights out
The thing about Cottagecore is that is a fetishized aesthetic of country life, divorced from labor and idealized by a primarily urban audience with a backward looking ethos of tradition. They are not prepared for the stresses of a rural life: farming; harvesting; tapping pumpkins to ensure none of them have been replaced with flesh; losing out on income by having to use one of your pigs in a blood sacrifice to paint protective sigils over your doors and windows; checking cracks and chimneys for the flesh-vines of the Pumpkin Lord; having to decide, before the Growth is complete, whether that’s really your tradwife or an amassment of vines, leaves, and blood in the shape of your tradwife; ignoring their desperate pleas that “I’m me! No! No!” as you burn them alive, realizing too late you picked wrong; and the exploitative corporate nature of commercial farming in 2024. All seen through a deeply colonial lens, of course
When I made this post I did not expect it to be an effective test of which Tumblr users actually read a post fully before reblogging, and yet
gather round, folks, that i may pass down the tale of Fuck-It Jonn, because that dude is just the GREATEST FUCKING CONMAN in the WORLD, and he WASN’T EVEN TRYING. he absolutely fucking STUMBLED ON ACCIDENT into THE SCAM THAT WOULD DEFINE HIS ENTIRE LIFE. the lie that transformed his ENTIRE EXISTENCE out of SHEER RANDOM BULLSHIT.
and his sole motivation was to EAT FINGER FOOD.
consider:
in the Wayback Days™ before i was born, the people who would later become my parents had this friend named… yeah, let’s say jonn. i’d rather not say his real name. bitches not snitches, and all that.
so. france in the late 80s. jonn and my parents had just finished school and all found jobs in computer engineering. (not that they STUDIED computer engineering, mind you. no, they were all studying how to become fish farmers or some shit. but those were simpler times, when knowing how to turn the fucking screen on got you a comfortable salary at the ripe old age of 24 years old.)
except that jonn, who was a chill hippie kind of dude, was bored to death by his desk job. so bored that he decided to just up and quit. “fuck it”, was basically jonn’s motto. fuck it, he’d find something better! fuck it, and things would work out! EXCEPT (as you may have guessed) THEY DIDN’T. for months and months he didn’t find another job. and so he ended up depressed, struggling, and eating dinner at my future-parents’ tiny apartment, three times a week, so he wouldn’t literally starve.
time went by. jonn was still unemployed. so before his resources hit rock bottom, jonn did the only logical, reasonable thing. what’s that, you ask? begged for his old job back? went back to school? crawled home to his parents? ha ha! obviously you do not share jonn’s ADVENTUROUS AND ENTREPRENEURIAL SPIRIT. and also you lack his BIZARRE LOGIC AND PLAIN WEIRD APPROACH TO LIFE.
what jonn did was: say “fuck it” (again) and leave for thailand.
because you see, thailand was cheap by french standards. so cheap that even a penniless dude on unemployment could live there for weeks on end, spending much less than he would have in france, as long as he didn’t mind roughing it. and jonn didn’t mind! “fuck it”, he’d said. and by god, he would stand by his words!
so jonn gamely scrounged up the money for the plane ticket and then… yeah. basically bummed it out in thailand. for two months. seeing the sights. sleeping on the street. making new friends.
and one of these news friends turned out to be very adept at FORGING PAPERS.
huh, jonn said to himself (probably high at the time) this sounds not at all shifty and more like a ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY; what could POSSIBLY GO WRONG. my new thai best friend is even offering me a FAMILY DISCOUNT. for fake papers. fuck it! let’s have some!
as far as i can tell, jonn… didn’t even need fake papers?? like, he was literally just trying not to pass up on an opportunity here. so he smoked some more weed (i can only assume) and got A BRILLIANT IDEA. fake ID card? LAME. fake driver’s licence? HACKNEYED. fake medical degree? PEDESTRIAN. no! jonn got himself a fake press card.
but why??
well, OBVIOUSLY, just so he could get into cultural events for free - conferences, art premieres, etc - and eat all the finger food. that was his grand plan. stroll into press-only events, wave his poorly-made card around, and gorge himself on canapés. no more going hungry! ever! jonn would live off tiny slices of toasted foie gras and flutes of cheap champagne for the rest of his life!
so now jonn, Very Obviously Fake Journalist™, is back in france and he’s DOING THE THING. and guess what? this was before google. before facebook. before linkedin. impersonating a journalist was very easy. if people asked where you worked you just said you were freelance, then steered the conversation to current politics and stealthily devoured the entire buffet while everybody was busy debating.
and so. this is what jonn is doing. his monumentally stupid plan is actually working. this is how he eats. with thai-made fake papers and sheer fucking confidence. and of course people start noticing him eventually! jonn is always fucking there! at all and any events in paris! because, again, THIS IS HOW HE EATS! but it’s always the same people running around in these circles, anyway. so nobody’s surprised to see the same dudes popping up over and over again. jonn blends in! and jonn is very good at making friends. and changing the subject. and eating canapés.
and then ONE DAY
one of jonn’s newfangled journalist friends (a REAL journalist, mind you, who has NO IDEA that jonn isn’t What He Seems) basically goes: “dude i’m so swamped rn. everyone wants everything all at once. fuck. shit. are you swamped too?”
“oh, for sure,” jonn says through a mouthful of his twenty-ninth serving of canapés that night. “not a second to myself”
“god. fuck. tell me about it. shit. i’m just so damn swamped.” Real Journalist shakes his head. “if i could only find someone to cover for me on this one article.”
now, i know i said before that jonn was smoking weed. but i must confess now i said it for humorous effect. i have no idea if jonn’s ever been within five hundred yards of a blunt his whole life. but what you must understand is that jonn is Chill™ on like. a soul-deep level. his whole mind is one long exhale of smoke followed by the words “fuck it”. this is a man who left his job for no reason, lived in thailand on a tourist’s visa for two months, got fake papers there for the lol of it all, and is now living off press-only events in paris. jonn was BORN HIGH.
SO. when RJ asks him: “dude. jonn. you said you were working freelance. i know you’re busy but don’t you think you could maybe cover for me? just this once?”
jonn NATURALLY answers: “fuck it. sure”
then goes to an unemployment center and applies for one of their free one-week classes. on journalism. jonn spends ALL OF ONE WEEK learning How To Write An Article Like A Real Journalist With A Real Press Card. then writes the article. basically bullshitting his way through that thing. half-assing the life out of it. faking his heart out. because why not? FUCK IT.
i have NO IDEA if he actually did a good job or not. but it was in fact good enough for RJ who really must have been truly swamped, and was so truly grateful that he told all of their mutual journalists friends. who were ALL SWAMPED. i’m given to understand it’s the natural state of the journalist in the wild.
and so jonn is now REGULARLY COVERING FOR ALL SORTS OF JOURNALISTS.
not making much money i assume. but still, not bad for a dude who studied journalism for five whole days.
and well, it’s kinda fun! better than moping around at home waiting for the next free canapé press-only premiere. so jonn keeps at it. and eventually it occurs to him that hey! he spent two months in thailand. why not make an article out of that? so he writes himself a lil paper, retelling his Bumtastic Adventures in the Land of Thai People, Cheap Living and Forged Papers (That Last One Having Nothing to Do With Him Personally of Course). and he’s kinda proud of it. so much that he gives it to his journalist friends. can they maybe pass it around? see if anybody would be interested in publishing it? for a modest fee and some more canapés?
and yeah. someone was in fact interested in publishing it. and that someone was:
THE
NATIONAL
GEOGRAPHIC
(french edition.)
so jonn got a REAL press card. got a FULL-TIME JOB at the national geographic. and spent the REST OF HIS WORK LIFE traveling abroad for six months, then going back to paris the rest of the year to write about his wacky journeys. he’s retired now, having published several books full of his articles and photographs. he’s bought a b&b in the french countryside with all his money. and continues to say “fuck it” to any problem that comes his way like the absolute fucking legend he is.
as far as i know, none of his journalist buddies nor his boss ever found out about any of this.
People on twitter are always like ‘there’s still people on tumblr?’… As if Twitter wasn’t full of stolen text posts, gifs and art originally posted here
They think that they’re doing an archeological dig but really they’re just walking into our houses picking up random stuff and saying “Wow, what a beautiful post! Shame that the people who made it died a long time ago :(((” While we stare at them from our dinner tables
@transgirl-link this was too fuckin funny to leave in the notes
It just occurred to me that I kind of arbitrarily started referring to “first age” “second age” and “third age” tumblr one day because I realized during a discord conversation that it really can be divided up very effectively between a couple major events that changed the fabric of the site’s culture almost overnight, but nobody but me ever refers to them that way, so by way of explanation:
First Age: everything before Dashcon. Art communities were still largely thriving on the internet and social media still mostly existed out from under corporate monopolies, and people were just wildly guessing about how to use it. We were in the last hurrah of the internet wild west and lolcats were still a thing. Tumblr was just a fun and quirky place, we were blissfully writing unironic posts about tumblr university and fandom vs hipster and the “I like your shoelaces” thing, Hank Green wrote a goddamn song about tumblr, we were all like Adam and Eve dwelling in Eden unaware of their sin. Potterheads grab your wands.
Second Age: post-Dashcon, but pre-Purge. We have all eaten the fruit of knowledge and there is no going back. There are no more secret code or tumblr university posts because everyone knows firsthand how badly that would go. Fandom culture is forever changed. We are now aware that we live in a hellish cringetopia but have absolutely no plans to leave, because by now a combination of monopolies and a sneaky rise in purity culture has the internet by the throat (but not in a kinky way, that would scare off advertisers) so there aren’t a lot of better options, and at least our relatives can’t find us here. A lot of artists now have their primary presence on tumblr. The lax policies regarding nsfw and controversial content mean it’s a good space for queer creators and sex workers despite the many shortcomings we’re now aware of. The porn bot plague really kicks into full gear to the point that every time our follower counts go up we’re ready with the block/spam button like the uncles from Secondhand Lions picking off traveling salesmen. The drama starts to get really fucking weird, with classics such as the human pet guy and the bone-stealing witch.
Third Age: post-Purge. After changing corporate hands a few times, the drive to make the internet safe for our Good Christian Advertisers and hypothetical children has finally reached us, and brings with it TERFs, purity culture, and the Porn Ban, which was allegedly a solution to the porn bots except that it clearly wasn’t at all. The large community of sex workers and artists that was keeping tumblr afloat as anything resembling a viable social media site have made a mass exodus and a lot of the rest of the userbase followed them, mostly to twitter or a few doomed attempts at tumblr copycats. Tumblr is now a mad max clown car full of people too stubborn to pack up and leave for a functional website. It’s a post-apocalyptic wasteland whose only remaining merit is that even without the ability to post porn we’ve managed to make ourselves such a complete anathema to advertisers that we’re mostly just left alone. We’re all just tired. Some people still run art blogs but nobody outside of tumblr ever sees them. Literally all we have going for us is that we’re not twitter and we have +5 resistance to capitalism. And Xkit.
Tag yourself. At which era did you enter this hellsite?
Second age
Third Age
First Age, but I had already survived Strikethrough on Livejournal, I knew what was to come
callout posts in 2014: this user is sending mean messages to people! please be warned!
callout posts in 2015: this user is stealing bones from cemeteries for witch rituals!
callout posts in 2016: this user Actually A Nazi
callout posts in 2017: this user watches an anime I don’t like
callout posts in 2018: i went through this user’s youtube like history and found a video from JonTron that they liked in 2012, proving that they’re a bad person
callout posts in 2019: this user plays E-Rated Video Games, which are meant for children, which seems pretty sus to me idk :/
callout posts in 2020: this user stole 5 gallons of purified water from the New DC Resistance Camp and was last seen headed towards Sunken Brooklyn
what I REALLY don’t like is this post was made in 2017
The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
High heeled shoes don’t become flats if you break the heels off.
The posts of earrings aren’t sharp.
Nail polish takes a long time to dry and smudges when wet.
You can’t hold in a period like pee.
Inserting a tampon is not arousing or sexual in any way, ever.
Feel free to add your own.
- Bras leave red marks on the skin under and around boobs and it is a magical experience when taken off.
- Make up can take anywhere from 5 to 25 minutes depending on how skilled you are.
- Taking hair out of a ponytail after wearing it for hours does not make it perfectly straight when it comes down.
- Hair when wet sticks to the skin it no longer flows, idiot.
-When women with long hair kiss, turn around, do anything, their hair falls in the way.
- Stockings are itchy and tear like wet paper bags.
- Pantyhose, tights, leggings, and stockings are each different.
- Waxing hurts and leaves red skin for a while afterwards while shaving leaves stubble
- Most can’t run in heels unless they have been VERY worn
- Insecurity in appearance doesn’t mean “buy me a drink”
- EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT TASTES IN EVERYTHING
-Having large breasts sucks. It sucks beyond belief. If a garment happens to fit your large chest, odds are it won’t fit the rest of you. Underboob sweat is real and terrible. Bending over for extended periods of time will tweak your back out. Running can be painful due to boob turbulence. Bras are hella expensive. Big breasts are not fun.
Putting a tampon in isnt a quick bend-poke-done kinda deal. It involves cubicle yoga, messy hands, numerous curse words as you realise it isnt in correctly and have to take it out and start again with a new one.
Yes to all of this. But also:
If her hair is in an updo, one does not simply remove a hairpin to send her hair cascading down her back. No. If her hair is an updo, it will take at least an hour and an extra set of hands to remove the 137 bobby pins that are holding her hair in place. Furthermore, there’s probably a can’s worth of hairspray in there, intended to withstand category 2 hurricane winds. There’s no cascading happening here - the best you can hope for is a misshapen nest of hair to clump and poof unattractively in the back while it still remains flat against her scalp.
This is one of the funniest posts I’ve seen in a while (especially if you read all the comments), but also really depressing because at 42 I still judge myself as having failed for not matching up to all these mythical stereotypes despite knowing they’re impossible
^^^This though
The odds of a woman having smoothly shaved legs and armpits are directly proportional to the amount of skin her clothing bares and/or the amount of fucks she gives at that particular moment.
GLASSES ARE NOT COSMETIC. If we whip them off, we do not become gorgeous fashion models. We become squinty.
-most women wear bras. Yes, even when they are trying to dress sexy. Because bras make boobs look perkier and rounder, which is something men apparently find sexy, so being a seductress or femme fatale is not an automatic reason for a female character to not be wearing a bra.
-a good bra will hide headlights, or at the very least drastically reduce their noticeability. A women with enough pointy nipple issues will opt for a padded or molded bra to hide them.
-women’s nipples do not automatically become hard pyramids visible through any and all layers of clothing the second they become even slightly aroused. They are not the female equivalent of boners. And even if their nipples do get hard, the bras they are almost certainly wearing (because even a goddamn succubus with big, honkin’ knockers for seducing men is gonna have those painful puppies in some kind of boob sling) should keep those pointy nipples from being visible to every other character in the scene, JIM BUTCHER. YES, EVEN LARA RAITH WOULD WEAR A BRA ONCE IN A GODDAMN WHILE.
if you’re being tied up and tortured in a freezing underground dungeon, then you probably have more important things to pay attention to than how hard somebody’s nipples are, jim butcher
- Wearing a bra that doesn’t fit HURTS. It’s not sexy to wear a bra that’s “two sizes too small”, it’d make your clothes hang oddly and you’d have a weird, uncomfortable “quad-boob” effect and your back would hurt, BEN AARONOVITCH.
Also, after removing a too small bra, there’s gonne be angry red lines on the boobs and ribs and the lady is not going to want them to be touched by anyone for a good long while
-Not all women wear heels. Those things hurt and are hard to balance in. They can also mess up your feet and back pretty bad.
-Lips aren’t just naturally red “as if she’d been drinking wine but they were just like that without makeup cause she’s so perfect,” my dear little Kvothe from ‘Name of the Wind’. Also, girls do not naturally smell like fruit or flowers, it’s either perfume or something she’d been eating recently.
I’ve been appreciating this post but now it’s back very specifically calling out my problematic faves and I don’t think those male authors realize how much it totally takes me out of the story for a moment when they commit these errors. It does nothing useful for the plot and is annoying for half of the audience
Is it weird that I’m female and wasn’t aware of a solid third of these?
I mean, all writes take note. I basically live in man land when it comes to protagonists so I don’t know half these things despite being a woman
(Most) Women do not look at themselves in the mirror and compare their breasts to fruit. Any sort of fruit. Especially melons. Please save us from the melons.
Also we are not aware of our breasts at all times. I do not walk down a flight of stairs and think “oh golly my breasts are bouncing so much right now”. They are as much as natural part of our bodies as arms. Do you constantly think about how your arms are moving? Sure you may be aware of them, but paying full attention? Doubtful.
Also: women working out are almost never sexy. They’re not glowing or glistening or (kill me) *sparkling*. They are red and sweaty and gross just like all the dudebros doing their time with the dumbbells. Stop ogling fictional women at the gym, TOM WOLFE.
I love this post.
I never understood why men feel the need to address all this telltale “feminine” awareness when writing women. Like once in grad school one of my male colleagues wrote from a female character’s POV and was like sure to notice how her feet felt in high heels and all the women’s lifestyle magazines on the coffee table and also that like, her breasts were “heavy” or some shit. I write male characters all the time. Not once have I ever stopped to make sure they notice the weight of their own balls or been hyper aware of their chest hair or some bullshit like that. ????? why????????
Love this. I’ve been cackling to myself for good 20 mins reading all the comments as well but the last reblog had me dying like can you imagine!!
“Chad was late. He had an important meeting to get to and was mad at himself for oversleeping.
He quickly washed and brushed his teeth and then ran downstairs, his balls bouncing playfully in his pants.
Do I have time to make a coffee?he thought. He decided he did so went into the kitchen and switched the kettle on. As he was waiting, he noticed his thick, curly chest hair was poking through the button gaps of his shirt. He giggled to himself and tucked his manly fuzz back in, hoping it wouldn’t happen during the meeting.”
ALT
