i must not get takeout. takeout is the wallet-killer. takeout is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face the kitchen, fridge, and pantry. i will make choices about what to cook and then execute them. when hunger is gone there will be nothing. only i will remain.
my mom (went to catholic schools her whole life, graduated in the late 70s) just tried to argue that since jesus died in the afternoon on good friday that you can eat meat for dinner. “he is already gone,” she said.
If I had to choose between a catholic lawyer and a baptist lawyer, I’d choose the catholic every time
i really hate coming out but still want my extended family to know, so my mother took it upon herself to invent the game “guess which one of my kids is gay.”
the rules are simple.
- sit down with uncle so-and-so
- he says something about gay people in passing
- my mom says “there’s a gay person at this table right now. guess which of my kids it is!
- he looks frantically between the three of us trying to figure out if she’s joking or not and trying desperately not to offend anyone but also she won’t continue with the conversation unless he makes a guess so he has to make a guess
- we all enjoy his discomfort immensely
This isnt coming out of the closet. This is coughing loudly from within the closet to scare the people outside of it, which is immensely more entertaining.
certified iconic post
people in the global south: hey isnt it so fucked up how america basically dictates world geopolitics and can directly fund and endorse our murder and displacement no matter who is in charge and how the system fundamentally prevents people from changing that and that americans who feign allyship make no effort to change that?
some annoying fucking white person with hufflepuff in their bio: so you’re telling me you want me to vote for trump right. is that what you want. you want me to vote for the orange man. you’re a russian bot aren’t you
