female privilege is feeling unsafe literally everywhere you go and men getting personally offended by you feeling unsafe
White people hate black people so much because deep down in their hearts they know we are superior, our skin, our origin, our African history, our physicality, they hate us because they aren’t us.
you aint lying
my fall look today is winged eyeliner, plum lipstick, and a look on my face like i’m fucking your boyfriend and can’t wait for you to find out.
My fall look is simple liner with bold lashes, burgundy lipstick, a gleam in my eyes that let’s men know that I’ll suck their dick, their money out of their bank accounts, and the souls right out of their bodies.
this is my favorite post on tumblr currently
Whenever people point to Mary Shelley and say “a woman invented sci-fi you know” I just think “well, I mean, technically a woman invented the whole concept of authoring books as far as we can tell but hey who’s keeping track”
*mentioning internet friends to parents*
we went to school together before they moved away a couple years ago.. did i never mention them.. weird.. totally went to school together..
At Stanford there was this Professor who was a total bitch and she taught British Literature, which was cool. Except she taught only her opinions of the books and it didn’t help me as a writer. I went to school to learn new things to improve my craft, not have someone else’s opinions carved onto my forehead.
So anyway, for our final project, she asked us to write a ten page paper on why the color symbolism in Othello was so significant. I did some research and it turned out that she did her entire graduate thesis on this very subject. I was mad. This wasn’t teaching, this was boosting her ego. SO I wrote a ten page essay on why color symbolism in Othello wasn’t significant, satirizing it to the point of no return, saying that her opinion was an opinion and shouldn’t be taken seriously.
SHe failed me, needless to say. So in retaliation, I responded by baking a batch of brownies laced with weed and laxatives and delivered them myself to the professor hours before her big graduation speech. I told her that it was a peace offering, my way of apologizing and asking if I could do anything to fix my grade.
She refused to fix my grade.
In the end, she shit herself on stage.
I didn’t regret it.