Category Archives: Ranty ones

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What are women worth?

A famous thought experiment proposed by a dude called Roger Fisher: that the President of the United States should be accompanied 24/7 by a volunteer who carries the nuclear launch codes with him, implanted in his chest. Should the President wish to launch nukes, killing tens of millions of people, he would have to first kill this one man with his own hands. Take a knife and cut the codes out of the volunteer’s chest. “The President says, “George, I’m sorry but tens of millions must die.” He has to look at someone and realize what death is—what an innocent death is. Blood on the White House carpet. It’s reality brought home.”

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What I hear from the Republican Party on Kavanaugh

It’s important that you know: he didn’t do it. He has never done it. Would never do it. Kavanaugh is a good person.

Note: this post discusses the very credible sexual assault allegations against Brett Kavanaugh, via quotes and ideas put forward by Republicans. Some of the comments and links are disturbing. 

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Genital bodyshaming: your tiny cock and my giant vagina

“She’s fucked so many guys, when we shag it’s like waving a stick in the Albert Hall.”

“Maybe her cunt’s normal and the problem is that toothpick you’re waving.”

Or maybe both dick and cunt are perfectly fine, and the problem is between your ears rather than in your pants. Let’s talk about bodyshaming and genitals.

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‘Marrying up’: every single layer of this is bullshit

I’m late to the party on this news, but a couple of weeks ago someone released some research about what straight women are looking for in a partner, and how they’re struggling to find someone because they’re intent on ‘marrying up’. There’s loads of bullshit to wade through here, and it’s quite fun sometimes to unpack it all, smearing it liberally all over the floor until you realise there’s nothing of value even hiding in the centre of what is a wholly ridiculous concept. Let’s look at ‘marrying up’ and ‘marrying down’.

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Things I have done to impress men

I wish I liked wearing make up ‘for me’, but I don’t. I hate wearing make up. I’m shit at putting it on, bad at choosing the colours that suit me, and guaranteed to smear half of it across my face when I rub my eyes after the second pint of the evening. So why do I bother wearing make up? I’m forced to conclude that it’s at least partly because I want to impress men.

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