tinypancakegirl
White men make up approximately 36% of the population, but commit 75% of mass shootings. What would be called terrorism by any other skin tone is suddenly some mysterious unnamed disease. We as a society are perfectly happy to further stigmatize mentally ill people, who are far more likely to be victims of violence than commit violence, in the service of protecting white supremacy and male entitlement.

The “Mental Illness” We Refuse To Name: White Male Entitlement | Constituative Outsider

Resubmitting this because the original did not cite the original author, and plagirizing of WoC’s work is a serious and rampant issue. We cannot allow them to do this difficult work without acknowledging the value of their work. If you reblogged, please delete the original and reblog this version.

(via shitrichcollegekidssay)

alwaysbeenarambler
thekaleidoscopediaries:

notpulpcovers:

Canada, eh?
morebadbookcovers:

wordsofdiana:

corpsecaddy:

So I found this harlequin romance paperback today, and normally I just toss those right over without paying them much mind, but the cover of this one made me pause. Sure that the artist was just taking liberties, I checked out the back.

I’m dubious. I should read a passage:

It is a literal bear.
Okay yeah I’ll admit it I’m going to read this but only because it sounds like the most fucked up romance novel in existence.
But wait….

You have some explaining to do, Canada.

You guys don’t understand. Screw it being a bestseller, 50 Shades of Gray is a bestseller, this book won the Governor General’s Award. That’s the highest literary award in Canada. That’s the pulitzer prize of Canadian literature. Bear is a part of Canadian literary history.

HOLY MOLY.


i had to read this book in uni for my first year Canadian literature class. When we first heard of it we were like, “Oh the Bear’s a metaphor or some shit.” but then one kid read ahead, and was like, “Guys, no, she literally fucks the bear. She fucked a bear.” 

thekaleidoscopediaries:

notpulpcovers:

Canada, eh?

morebadbookcovers:

wordsofdiana:

corpsecaddy:

So I found this harlequin romance paperback today, and normally I just toss those right over without paying them much mind, but the cover of this one made me pause. Sure that the artist was just taking liberties, I checked out the back.

image

I’m dubious. I should read a passage:

image

It is a literal bear.

Okay yeah I’ll admit it I’m going to read this but only because it sounds like the most fucked up romance novel in existence.

But wait….

image

You have some explaining to do, Canada.

You guys don’t understand. Screw it being a bestseller, 50 Shades of Gray is a bestseller, this book won the Governor General’s Award. That’s the highest literary award in Canada. That’s the pulitzer prize of Canadian literature. Bear is a part of Canadian literary history.

HOLY MOLY.

i had to read this book in uni for my first year Canadian literature class. When we first heard of it we were like, “Oh the Bear’s a metaphor or some shit.” but then one kid read ahead, and was like, “Guys, no, she literally fucks the bear. She fucked a bear.” 

newwavefeminism

Academics have developed complicated theories and obscure jargon in an effort to describe what is now referred to as structural racism, yet the concept is fairly straightforward. One theorist, Iris Marion Young, relying on a famous “birdcage” metaphor, explains it this way: If one thinks about racism by examining only one wire of the cage, or one form of disadvantage, it is difficult to understand how and why the bird is trapped. Only a large number of wires arranged in a specific way, and connected with one another, serve to enclose the bird and ensure it cannot escape.

What is particularly important to keep in mind is that any given wire of the cage may or may not be specifically developed for the purpose of trapping the bird, yet it still operates (together with other wires) to restrict its freedom.

Michelle Alexander, The New Jim Crow (via newwavefeminism)
santaclouse

I was shooting heroin and reading “The Fountainhead” in the front seat of my privately owned police cruiser when a call came in. I put a quarter in the radio to activate it. It was the chief.

“Bad news, detective. We got a situation.”

“What? Is the mayor trying to ban trans fats again?”

“Worse. Somebody just stole four hundred and forty-seven million dollars’ worth of bitcoins.”

The heroin needle practically fell out of my arm. “What kind of monster would do something like that? Bitcoins are the ultimate currency: virtual, anonymous, stateless. They represent true economic freedom, not subject to arbitrary manipulation by any government. Do we have any leads?”

“Not yet. But mark my words: we’re going to figure out who did this and we’re going to take them down … provided someone pays us a fair market rate to do so.”

“Easy, chief,” I said. “Any rate the market offers is, by definition, fair.”

He laughed. “That’s why you’re the best I got, Lisowski. Now you get out there and find those bitcoins.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m on it.”

I put a quarter in the siren. Ten minutes later, I was on the scene. It was a normal office building, strangled on all sides by public sidewalks. I hopped over them and went inside.

“Home Depot™ Presents the Police!®” I said, flashing my badge and my gun and a small picture of Ron Paul. “Nobody move unless you want to!” They didn’t.

“Now, which one of you punks is going to pay me to investigate this crime?” No one spoke up.

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t you all understand that the protection of private property is the foundation of all personal liberty?”

It didn’t seem like they did.

“Seriously, guys. Without a strong economic motivator, I’m just going to stand here and not solve this case. Cash is fine, but I prefer being paid in gold bullion or autographed Penn Jillette posters.”

Nothing. These people were stonewalling me. It almost seemed like they didn’t care that a fortune in computer money invented to buy drugs was missing.

I figured I could wait them out. I lit several cigarettes indoors. A pregnant lady coughed, and I told her that secondhand smoke is a myth. Just then, a man in glasses made a break for it.

“Subway™ Eat Fresh and Freeze, Scumbag!®” I yelled.

Too late. He was already out the front door. I went after him.

“Stop right there!” I yelled as I ran. He was faster than me because I always try to avoid stepping on public sidewalks. Our country needs a private-sidewalk voucher system, but, thanks to the incestuous interplay between our corrupt federal government and the public-sidewalk lobby, it will never happen.

I was losing him. “Listen, I’ll pay you to stop!” I yelled. “What would you consider an appropriate price point for stopping? I’ll offer you a thirteenth of an ounce of gold and a gently worn ‘Bob Barr ‘08’ extra-large long-sleeved men’s T-shirt!”

He turned. In his hand was a revolver that the Constitution said he had every right to own. He fired at me and missed. I pulled my own gun, put a quarter in it, and fired back. The bullet lodged in a U.S.P.S. mailbox less than a foot from his head. I shot the mailbox again, on purpose.

“All right, all right!” the man yelled, throwing down his weapon. “I give up, cop! I confess: I took the bitcoins.”

“Why’d you do it?” I asked, as I slapped a pair of Oikos™ Greek Yogurt Presents Handcuffs® on the guy.

“Because I was afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Afraid of an economic future free from the pernicious meddling of central bankers,” he said. “I’m a central banker.”

I wanted to coldcock the guy. Years ago, a central banker killed my partner. Instead, I shook my head.

“Let this be a message to all your central-banker friends out on the street,” I said. “No matter how many bitcoins you steal, you’ll never take away the dream of an open society based on the principles of personal and economic freedom.”

He nodded, because he knew I was right. Then he swiped his credit card to pay me for arresting him.

(via fishmech)

Can’t wait for the sequel.