OH MY SHIT, YES.

(via hannahblakeman)

… you read this and realize you have three things you could be doing other than mindlessly surfing Tumblr.

… now list them.

1. Emailing a Hanover visitation director and throwing down my admissions deposit.
2. Grabbing phone numbers off of Craigslist.
3. Watching human resources videos for money.

… now do them. :D PRODUCTIVITY!

talentlessanimal:

timekiller-s:

randomthoughtsarerandom:

jonathan-cunningham:

nedhepburn:

The Susan G. Komen Foundation For Breast Cancer removed over $400,000 worth of funding from Planned Parenthood, which, you know, screens for breast cancer. This is all, of course, due to right-ring pro “life” group pressure.

The Komen Foundation DID - however - think it was totally OK to put their branding all over this Smith & Wesson 9mm! Firearms were the second most common cause of violent death among women, just after car crashes! Take that, Planned Parenthood!

Let’s not forget the pink-chicken-buckets from KFC a couple of years ago, which again were another bizarre PR grab from the Susan G. Komen Foundation, because when you think of “health” you ALWAYS think of KFC, right? You’d think if they wanted to actually stop cancer they’d put more funding towards breast cancer screenings, but there we go. This is where we’re at right now. 

Don’t donate to the Komen foundation. It’s emotional blackmail. They just throw the money behind getting more money for the foundation, not towards stopping the disease.

PRO LIFE

Wow…the truth comes out. 

#IStandWithPlannedParenthood

i love the trigger on that handgun though. shoots rather well.

Dude at least it’s not a fucking .22. My dad tried getting me a pink .22 revolver that just screamed “RAPE PREVENTION KIT!” Self-defense has no gender.

Also, fuck Komen.

lookatthisfuckingoogle:

First boy I ever kissed. Was a white supremacist who dated a black girl who was convinced she was not black. The original caption to this is “street punx 4 life!!” but that is clearly a furniture store. No regrets.

WHAT THE FUCK.

He sounds like if Sigur Ros had a baby with Enya.

blankflank:

unhealthylifestylechoices:

blankflank:

burtmacklin:

#what do i win when i get a bingo??? #oh right it’s self-hate

omg wow i’ve heard almost every single one of these :I

ASKHDASKDHASLD ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE TRUE!

I’m coming from a position of judgment that I feel more than qualified to judge from. Medications do keep you from experiencing real life. Taking them over a long period of time means you are chemically re-wiring your brain to experience emotions that aren’t triggered by outside stimuli. Life is hard for everyone; it’s supposed to be, because humans evolved to contend with survival issues. Everyone does get depressed now & then.
And, you know what? We could all use a little more exercise. The times in my life I have been happiest have involved biking between forty & sixty miles a day.

I just think that if people stopped giving credence to their “mental illnesses,” they’d find themselves far happier and feeling far more sure of themselves than ever. It feels good to get up and try.

oh my god i’m fucking shaking with anger right now what the hell is wrong with you

not everyone has your experiences okay not everyone can be as lucky as you

those medications help me experience real life, they let me fucking live real life, and just barely, at that. i can guarantee that without them, i wouldn’t be alive right now. i take steps to make my life better, i really do. i know that i can’t solve all of my problems with medication. i know that i’m rewiring the way my brain works. wanna know why i’m doing that? because the way my brain is originally wired makes me want to fucking slice myself apart. i was literally born like this.

you have no idea what it’s like for me so don’t fucking act like you do. fuck you.

I just have to question why there are more people literally born like this in the United States, where ease-of-use is the highest priority, than in the Philippines. If meds work for you, then more power to you ‘cause they never worked for me, but at least recognize the fact that the corporations you purchase meds from carry a simple agenda: to sell as much of their product as possible. And the more people get diagnosed, the more people need dosed, and the more money Eli Lilly makes. Schwinn has done more to treat my depression by producing awesome bikes that are fun to work on.

blankflank:

burtmacklin:

#what do i win when i get a bingo??? #oh right it’s self-hate

omg wow i’ve heard almost every single one of these :I

ASKHDASKDHASLD ALL OF THESE THINGS ARE TRUE!

I’m coming from a position of judgment that I feel more than qualified to judge from. Medications do keep you from experiencing real life. Taking them over a long period of time means you are chemically re-wiring your brain to experience emotions that aren’t triggered by outside stimuli. Life is hard for everyone; it’s supposed to be, because humans evolved to contend with survival issues. Everyone does get depressed now & then.
And, you know what? We could all use a little more exercise. The times in my life I have been happiest have involved biking between forty & sixty miles a day.

I just think that if people stopped giving credence to their “mental illnesses,” they’d find themselves far happier and feeling far more sure of themselves than ever. It feels good to get up and try.

iloveyoulessthanpunk:

So excuse me if I don’t agree with the following:

• “Otherkin” people. Nah, fuck off, you’re a human, shut up.
• “Polyamory”. Nah, fuck off, if you wanna be promiscuous I have no issue with that whatsoever, but when you try to justify said promiscuity with the pretence…

In the Philippines, we don’t have ADHD. Yet, we’re still a developing nation with many people—including many in my family—receiving piss-poor medical services. How could we have made such great strides in ridding our children of the ADHD epidemic without even any doctors to diagnose them? Well, there you go.
“Blame it on my ADD, baby?” How about not? Raising your children with excuses for their behaviors turn them into my ex-boyfriend who, at the time of this writing, is twenty-two and still living in his parents’ basement, jobless and playing Magic: the Gathering for a living. I’m not denigrating him as a person, but I wish someone would’ve instilled more of a work ethic in him, instead of feeding him reasons why he has none.

When I was fifteen I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. It almost became something of an epidemic in Madison; I met a lot of other young women my age diagnosed, primarily for self-destructive behaviors like self-mutilation, binge-eating & drinking, etc. I joined an online support group for BPD and met a lot of women who were young, able-bodied, and living off of government “disability” welfare for their borderline personality disorders.

How is this justifiable? How? Really, how? It’s not “ableist” to point out the fact that just because someone is an emotionally-sensitive, self-mutilating basket case doesn’t mean they can’t get a job and go to work. Where else but in the United States is it acceptable to get a check from the government after walking out of your job because you “just couldn’t take it anymore?”
Fuck that. Are you a paraplegic? Do you have COPD? Those are disabilities. Borderline personality disorder, for me, is and always has been little more than a nuance that makes me both-at-once loud & shy at parties.

You want to know what I think is more “ableist” than anything else? The fact that I live in a society where it’s perfectly normal to exempt yourself from earning a living so long as you have a psychologist to vouch for you and say that you “can’t.” There’s a big fucking difference between not being able to find work and being able to find work but rejecting it because you’d rather stay at home and mope on Tumblr about how disadvantaged you are.

Every time my ex & I would get into fights, there’d always be some inane, manufactured excuse behind it. I saw a psychologist, mostly to assuage his nerves and prove to him that I was trying. Someone should’ve told me how ridiculous it is that a seventeen-year-old needs couple’s counseling. Within three months of ending the relationship, I was living on my own and employed, out of his parents’ basement. I don’t talk much about having BPD, because I don’t want to give it credence. When my life isn’t going the way I want it to, I try to find tangible reasons and problem-solve. It doesn’t always work out, but that’s life.

Our entire generation needs to be told that sometimes “that’s life” is all you can say & do.

jinandtonix:

iammafalda:

anniehinton:

Despite recent arguments to support this article, I was kind of hoping that this wasn’t the truth. 

“Research to be published this week in a leading academic journal confirms what many female comics - and funny women - have long suspected: men are frightened by their brand of humour. While men might chuckle at the odd gag, when it comes to finding a long-term companion they do not want a partner who will fire a stream of witty repartee at them, according to the study carried out by academics at some of the world’s top universities.”

Small weiners.

Not to worry, I fixed it.

That’s preposterous, being funny is something I actually look for in mates.

My Angry Inner Feminist says it’s because men would rather have women stare into space and giggle like airheads because it’d make them feel like they were doing their jobs charming the pants off of us properly.

In real life, I know it’s definitely small wieners.

There was a burning laugh stifled in my chest
withdrawn by something bigger than me.

Bigger than all of us, we were taught to believe,
were the circumstances that fenced us in,
seeds planted all in one garden strip.

Fuck that, we wanted to say. No one is bigger than us,
said the uprising. The revolution will not be televised,
but it shows no sign of getting off its cigarette break
any time soon.

The revolution had left its boardinghouse,
picked up the signs painted in fingerpaint classes
and marched off, running away from home,
me with them.

There was something about home I could never quite spell,
something that made it deafeningly hard to speak—something
about being told never to defend yourself in a fight,

to assume an automatic role in a play
you never even auditioned for, and
the role you were assigned was “victim.”

I was on my way to work
earlier today and I happened upon a vagrant,
and a piece of graffiti. It read, Fuck Louiville.
Something about home someone couldn’t spell,

I guessed.

There will be thunder on the Southern shores
of the Ohio later tonight. On the Southern shores,
the papers may read, will a body be found.
Things like this happen in cities we live in.

The differences we point out
in all the places we ever lived in
as all the people we ever lived as

are just that: differences. And everywhere in the world,
a difference will be made by someone
just brave enough to battle life long enough
and do it.