As we all know, May 2nd, 1998 marks the downfall of Lord Voldemort. I propose that on Monday, May 2nd, 2011, we all mark our hand/wrist with a symbol that is an obvious symbol from Harry Potter. (A scar, Deathly Hallows symbol, DA, House animals, etc.) It’s a promotion of sorts for the last movie, I suppose, and I realize that we don’t even have to do this for promotion - just for the sake of expressing our devotion to Harry Potter. More than that, it represents our love for Harry Potter - to show to the world that we have stuck with Harry until the very end.
Major Blackard, then just 19 years old, dug into his trousers in search of his wallet. He patted his jacket, but could not find his billfold.
“Sir, I done left my wallet…” Blackard said. Before he could finish his sentence, the young man was posted against the brick wall, cuffed and taken to the St. Louis city jail. Unable to prove his identity, he would spend the next 21 days in a cramped, musty cell. That’s where his older brother Matt found him, beaten and bloodied. Matt returned with Major’s employer later that day, wallet and identification card in hand, to post bond.
The year was 1899. Major Blackard was my great, great grandfather.
The real crime, as Pulitzer Prize winning author Doug Blackmon points on in his seminal work Slavery by Any Other Name, was that my grandfather was a colored man in America.
This morning, as White House staffers handed out copies of the president’s long form birth certificate, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something very ugly was going on. For the first time in recorded history, a sitting president of the United States found it necessary to produce his original birth certificate for public inspection. Not once, in 235 years, have we ever demanded proof that our president was born on American soil.
Just finished Game of Thrones Ep. 2, and even in knowing what was coming I BAWWWW'd anyway.
While I’ve read the series this is one thing that I just…have a hard time understanding. WHY did GRRM decide that Sansa couldn’t have Lady? Was it just a method to get across how shitty the Lannisters are, a metaphor for the removal of innocence or was it just LULZ, let’s tear the hearts of animal lovers to pieces? It basically feels as though GRRM is all like:
Summer and Bran at the end <3 …though I will say I’m a bit bummed they didn’t put in any of what Bran was dreaming, though I’m sure they’ll pull that off in dialog at some point? Maybe? Who the fuck knows.
Joff is a perfect little bitch, and seeing Ned get so teary eyed about Jon’s mother/Arya being lost/Arya being brought before the king/having to deal with Lady basically made me all teary. WTF SEAN BEAN?? WHY DO YOUR MAN TEARS AFFECT ME SO?
FUCK. Why do they always gotta kill the damn DOG?!
Yesterday, the clinic had to call the police (again) because the protesters had (again) violated the terms of the injunction. There were four women on the sidewalk and together they had three kids in strollers. In my world, four plus three equals seven. When told they were violating the injunction, they argued that “four people” did not include children.
Apparently, their actual children don’t count as people, but according to the signs they wave maniacally, fetuses do count as people.
Forgive me for enjoying the deliciousness of the irony.
This is a wonderful fucking thing.
Pro-lifers think children shouldn’t count as people in the eyes of the law.
BRB, I have to go fill my tub with haterade and bathe in the overpowering irony of this. I’m going to marinate a chicken in the left-over irony/haterade. There is so much irony in this situation that if it actually was a physical thing that you could eat, world hunger would be over.
“when i was 16, i had a fake i.d. and decided to go to a gay bar by myself because some friends bailed on me. while there, an older gentleman bought me a drink. he wasn’t a creeper, and he definitely wasn’t unattractive. i accepted the drink and began talking to him. no big deal. as the hour progressed, i felt myself feeling strange. i mentioned that i felt like i had a headache, and this guy helped guide me out of the bar. as we were walking down the street, the thought of, “oh god, he’s drugged me. i’m going to die” came to my head. i tried to get away, but i was so drugged up that i could barely walk, let alone speak. it also didn’t help that i had really large “goth” platform shoes because i was going through a phase. anyway, so this guy brought me to his suv and began undressing me. as a final act of defiance, i hit him over the head with my platform shoe. he then punched me, and i remember thinking, “why don’t they ever give workshops to gay guys about being victims of rape too?” while i was as careful as possible, i never saw the guy slip something in the drink. i even watched the bar tender make the drink. anyway, i lied there completely paralyzed while this pervert was lubing up. i locked eyes with his for a moment, and that’s when it happened. a very large and angry drag queen opened the door of the vehicle and beat the shit out of my attempted rapist. she and her other drag friends helped dress and care for me while the police arrived. i was saved by a group guardian drag queens. they were basically the modern day “angels from heaven.”—