evilkillerpoptarts:

themiscyra1983:

evilkillerpoptarts:

Okay, folks who are more clever than me, please give me a hand.

I’m trying to rewrite “Hail Mary.”  Here’s what I’ve got:

Hail Carrie, Queen of Space, 

The Force is with thee; 

She who drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.  

Holy Carrie, the batshit crazy, 

Remind us to take our meds, 

So we can live to tell the universe to fuck off. 

Amen

If you can come up with a better cadence to make it fit better, that’d be awesome.

I took some liberties, so it’s not a close scan to the common English form of the Ave Maria, but here’s a go:

Hail Carrie, Queen of Space,
The Force is with thee;
Blessed art thou amongst the mad and free,
And blessed too is thy companion, Gary.
Holy Carrie, drowned in moonlight,
Strangled by thine own bra,
Help us to take our meds, to walk with thy strength,
And to tell all creation to fuck off, forever.
Amen.

YAAAAAAAAAAAAAS

telegantmess:

lauraannegilman:

rudolf-rokkr:

wodneswynn:

Without a doubt, whiteness is a bigger enemy of “white culture” than anything else.

As for me, if I had to name my ethnicity, I guess I’m German-American; and once upon a time, that used to really *mean* something, used to be something deeper and more meaningful than Lutheran church and polka music and pretending to give a shit about soccer. There used to be extended families, schools, Sprachenbund, festivals, distinct communities, all that good stuff, but that’s all gone now. “Now it is just another someplace where automobiles live,” as Herr Vonnegut once said. And it’s the same story with Irish, Hungarian, Swedish, Italian, Norwegian, Russian, et cetera and so forth immigrants to this brokedick country; there used to be rich, vibrant communities of European immigrants and the children of European immigrants that kept alive art, music, folklore, language, all that good stuff, that said loudly and proudly, “We are here, and this is who we are.”

That’s all gone now. Nowadays, ethnicity within whiteness is just an excuse to drink expensive beer at a folk festival once a year. And people of color didn’t do that, naw, the dominant WASP society did that, and we were complicit in going along with it, because we benefited materially from it, nevermind what we had to give up along the way. They’ll try to sell you a bill of goods about how integration did this; it’s actually the opposite.

White pride is not cultural pride because whiteness is not a culture; whiteness is the Borg. The truth is that white-identitarianism is how come I never got the opportunity to learn Diets on my Oma’s knee.

It’s stuffy and takes a long time to set up and is more reading than anyone feels like doing but Rudolf Rocker’s Nationalism and Culture is a huge-ass take on basically this by other means.

As a Jewish person who married into an Irish-German-Geek family, this is scarily accurate.  They were astonished that my family had this entire side-culture that had nothing to do with America OR really to do with religion, but was entirely about being Jewish (culture) – music and food and jokes and language.  They had no traditions that were specifically German or Irish or Greek (or even any celebration of that particular blending).  My husband didn’t even have the (to me) expected smattering of German or Greek words in his vocabulary, and had no knowledge of the cuisines.

Even their Christmas traditions were kind of… homogenized Americana.

I have felt this strongly for a very very long time.

I have nothing of my Greek or Hungarian backgrounds, and almost nothing of my Jewish background because to earn whiteness, my family shed its cultures, its languages, its stories, and its everything. What I have of those things, I have had to excavate myself and there is so much that I don’t have the tools to access. Whiteness is like a gaping wound in my identity, its a sucking void that prevents me from finding the ground of my history to put my feet on.

whiteness requires that we do violence to ourselves in order to access it, there should be no surprise that it is expressed through diverting and amplifying that violence outward.

I experience whiteness as violence, and I genuinely do not understand how other white people find a place within it, and doubt that any of us do.

and maybe this is the source of white insecurity, the instinctual knowledge that we are trying to exist in a non-space, a space of lack, an emptiness. We defend whiteness because we live in a world that tells us that it will keep us safe, when we know on a gut level that the shield is made of cardboard, that the protection it affords is barely more than a placebo.

Whiteness is a poison. we can choose to counter it with an antidote, or we can poison ourselves and those around us for the appearance of safety. 

angryspace-ravenclaw:

Before I disappear on my hiatus, I want to say one thing about the Check, Please update (mostly cos I have seen some critique of the impending kiss already, and I know there’s more)…

I’m not here for hyper critique over unrealistic coming-out scenarios in Check, Please.  Because it’s a fictional world where a sport team is 100%, unrelentingly supportive of their gay captain.  It’s a fictional world where an NHL team can know that their leading scorer and Alternate Captain is bisexual, and invite his boyfriend to family skates to make them all pb&j sandwiches and pie, and no one is uncomfortable or bothered.

Straight ™ romance has unrealistic scenarios all the time.  And I don’t just mean fantasy, human falls for Vampire/Werewolf love triangle or whatever.  I mean theoretically realistic scenarios where Straights are shagging their teacher, seducing their boss, their customers, their clients, their sibling’s partner, their sworn enemy, the nerd getting the Most Popular Kid in school, make-overs that change your entire social status.  The most popular Christmas movie of all time has a PA snogging the bloody Prime Minister in public on a stage and there’s not a sudden, public outcry and demands that he be removed from office.  People didn’t demand to be shown the realistic moment when every piece of trash publication started defaming their characters, and ultimately their relationship falls apart because they can’t handle the pressure and constant criticism.  No, they just thought it was sweet, and wished them well.

So ffs, let Jack kiss Bitty on ice, and maybe things will be a bit mad, but ultimately let this fantasy world have this LGBT+ romance.   Because how many pieces of LGBT+ media end in tragedy, heartbreak, death?  So many that we have a literal trope called bury your gays, and the majority of our media fits into that trope.

I don’t care if Ngozi doesn’t write a single moment of Jack facing homophobia or critique after The Kiss, because goddamn it, we deserve that piece of media with that happy ending.  And so do Jack and Bitty.

eerian-sadow:

aniseandspearmint:

peradii:

“Womp rats,” snorts Wedge. “Womp rats, would ya believe it, this star-eyed little waif burbling on about rats–”

“Womp – did you say womp rats,” says Shannah Yvetta, materializing from behind his X Wing. Wedge jumps, which is a perfectly natural response to being confronted with six and a half feet of grumpy rebel who is eighty per cent scar tissue and twenty per cent misery.

“Yup,” says Wedge. “Rats. This –”

“Yeah, I heard bout that. Fuckin’ impressive, ain’t it? Can’t quite believe it myself.”

“What do you mean?” says Wedge. Shannah is never impressed. Shannah never shows any emotion that is not ‘the Empire killed and ate my wife, sons, dogs etc and thus everyone in it must die’ or ‘sleeping, but still vengeful.’ 

“I mean – Womp Rats,” he says, like this is explanation. 

“Rats,” says Wedge. 

“Womp rats. Did I ever tell you how I lost my arm?”

“–was it the Empire,” muttered one of the attendant pilots. He was quickly shushed. 

“No. I was on Tatooine, picking up some parts. And this swarm of rats came surging into camp. Weren’t scared of us, not at all. Ate three of my men where they stood. Ate them alive. Smallest of these fuckers was six foot long, nose to tail-tip. But that ain’t counting the spines, sticking out from their shoulders, barbed and brittle and designed to break off under your skin. Or their teeth, big as my hand. And we shot them, and they kept coming, and we shot more of them, and they were so fucking fast, ducking under the sand – burrowing – and popping up where you didn’t expect them to and… and in the end we brought them down but they didn’t stop trying to bite until we’d smashed their skulls to rubble. Two hours later, the men who had been bit were screaming. The bites went bad, see. Womp Rats carry the Black Rot. It’s gangrene on steroids. Eats you up. Healthy flesh went necrotic in minutes. Evolutionary thing, I hear. Symbiosis between the host and the virus; because when we’re dead and rotten we’re just easy to slurp up, like soup.”

Wedge has gone faintly green. Silence spreads out among the other pilots, settling like a blanket, so Shannah’s voice carries far. 

“So. The ones who got bit on the torso died fast. The Rot got to their hearts. Do you know what it looks like when someone’s skin falls off their ribcage, so you see their heart turn black, turn liquid, and stop?”

Wedge makes a thin, frightened noise. 

“I was lucky. It just got my arm. Skin went purple, black, started to slough off. I cut my arm off. And I lived. I still dream about them.”

The silence has taken on a strange, sacred quality. No one wants to be the one to break it. And then –

“Hi guys!” Luke Skywalker is almost a foot shorter than Shannah Yzetta. His hair is corngold, and his eyes are indeed starry, and he fits every definition of a waif. 

“Hi Luke,” says Wedge. “We were just…uh. Talking about Womp Rats.”

“Oh yeah,” says Luke. “Pretty good with some toast.”

“Um,” says Wedge. “You ate them?”

“Course we did. I killed enough to feed half the village come breeding season.”

“–huh,” says Shannah. His robotic fingers flex. 

“It was something to do. We’d goad them to attack us, take them out mid leap. Fast little things. But not fast enough.” His grin is cheeky – sort of, because Wedge is pretty sure there isn’t meant to be bloodlust in cheeky.

“So,” Wedge says, “two metre gap. Reckon you can handle it?”

“I know I can.”

This time, Wedge believes him.

oh my god this is amazing. 

Tiny adorable little angel of death from above Luke Skywalker is the BEST Luke Skywalker.

His mother would be so proud.

This. Is. Awesome.

allthecanadianpolitics:

pixel-sylveon:

hey american followers

canadians reblogged fcc & net neutrality stuff for you so you had access to information – can you lend a hand and help us now?

Context (please share this post!):

Bell, Cineplex, Rogers and Shaw are trying to censor the internet and force the end of net neutrality in Canada.