Classical Sass

(222) Things I Will Comment On In Order To Avoid Addressing My Unsurprised Disgust At The Electoral…

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Futility Painting, by Bill Brent

*CW: this post contains hyperbole

y’all I had two 220 posts in a row. how many times have I done this. I probably finished my year of dailies three weeks ago. FML.

^That. Let’s talk about that some more and let’s do it with lots of grating swears that are very obviously not trying to be louder than my WELP.

The exact amount of aggravation found in the texture of homemade mayonnaise wherein it is perfectly creamy and thick when first made and on its own, and then liquid disappointment an hour after you have mixed it into the egg salad and put it in your fridge.

How I haven’t painted my toenails in several weeks, and now my naked toes do not repulse me, which only proves that I am adaptable to anything and if any of y’all try to repeatedly feed me buttsteak in order to prove me wrong, the joke’s on you because I was raised on that chewy debacle waitaminute.

That I might get to meet one of the writers on here IRL and am definitely not obsessing over it in that I totally won’t practice making chocolate on chocolate cheesecake till it is exactly the sort of unrelenting tangy chocolatey goodness it needs to be because this writer totally warrants that level of cake.

The stark whiteness of the ally who read the very hysterical, on point, 12 Days of Christmas Status and promptly complained about the lack of kumbaya and safety pins, with an atonal cadenza on reverse racism and hate speech. She’s at least five days of Christmas, but don’t get angry about it, folks. #kumbaya

That everyone deserves a second chance except no, no they don’t. That’s a judgment call and if you can’t give them one, then that’s your call. Don’t give it.

How racism is not politics. Hate speech is not politics. Misogyny is not politics. Violence and bullying are not politics. This country is not in a state of political unrest. It is in a state of perpetual humanitarian atrocity. Be clear about the words used to distance ourselves from the acts we enable and commit.

That low fat potato chips are not ok.

How whole grain cheez-its hurt my feelings. 
So did fat free cream cheese. What the fuck even is that.

How adding a little full fat unsweetened Greek yogurt to my scrambled eggs made them taste like protein laced luxury.

The idea that unity’s durability is based on a flexible cloth, and if we are all fibers in it, the issue isn’t that we all bend in the same way, it’s that we all bend in some way. (This is not a kumbaya. That’s not what this means.)

The quiet hours of the night give me my brain, articulate against the muffled flails of a quitting day, and let me rest against thoughts that finally have a home. Then a dog farts on me, and I get side eye for not being asleep.


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