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wishballoons:

chakrabot:

maja-stina:

fandomsandfeminism:

generalmaluga:

albinwonderland:

fandomsandfeminism:

betterthanabortion:

"My body, my choice" only makes sense when someone else’s life isn’t at stake.

Fun fact: If my younger sister was in a car accident and desperately needed a blood transfusion to live, and I was the only person on Earth who could donate blood to save her, and even though donating blood is a relatively easy, safe, and quick procedure no one can force me to give blood. Yes, even to save the life of a fully grown person, it would be ILLEGAL to FORCE me to donate blood if I didn’t want to.

See, we have this concept called “bodily autonomy.” It’s this….cultural notion that a person’s control over their own body is above all important and must not be infringed upon. 

Like, we can’t even take LIFE SAVING organs from CORPSES unless the person whose corpse it is gave consent before their death. Even corpses get bodily autonomy. 

To tell people that they MUST sacrifice their bodily autonomy for 9 months against their will in an incredibly expensive, invasive, difficult process to save what YOU view as another human life (a debatable claim in the early stages of pregnancy when the VAST majority of abortions are performed) is desperately unethical. You can’t even ask people to sacrifice bodily autonomy to give up organs they aren’t using anymore after they have died. 

You’re asking people who can become pregnant to accept less bodily autonomy than we grant to dead bodies. 

reblogging for commentary 

But, assuming the mother wasn’t raped, the choice to HAVE a baby and risk sacrificing their “bodily autonomy” is a choice that the mother made. YOu don’t have to have sex with someone. Cases of rape aside, it isn’t ethical to say abortion is justified. The unborn baby has rights, too. 

First point: Bodily autonomy can be preserved, even if another life is dependent on it. See again the example about the blood donation. 

And here’s another point: When you say that “rape is the exception” you betray something FUNDAMENTALLY BROKEN about your own argument.

Because a fetus produced from sexual assault is biologically NO DIFFERENT than a fetus produced from consensual sex. No difference at all.

If one is alive, so is the other. If one is a person, so is the other. If one has a soul, then so does the other. If one is a little blessing that happened for a reason and must be protected, then so is the other. 

When you say that “Rape is the exception” what you betray is this: It isn’t about a life. This isn’t about the little soul sitting inside some person’s womb, because if it was you wouldn’t care about HOW it got there, only that it is a little life that needs protecting.

When you say “rape is the exception” what you say is this: You are treating pregnancy as a punishment. You are PUNISHING people who have had CONSENSUAL SEX but don’t want to go through a pregnancy. People who DARED to have consensual sex without the goal of procreation in mind, and this is their “consequence.” 

And that is gross. 

This has been added to since I last saw it, so reblogging again.

Busted wide open.

BOOM. Fandomsandfeminism you are a goddess. 

This. I love this.

krisofthefree:

sreddish:

irishily:

kiarazuri:

phantom-quantum:

sonotaghostkid:

This is really not okay.

I think some people fail to realize that men can be sexually assaulted, too, and not just by other men. This girl shoves him against the wall and slaps him three fucking times when he pushes her away. Heck, he has to push her away twice before she backs off for a moment. Then she goes right back to kissing him.

If the genders were reversed, everyone on this site would be flipping a shit. And if anyone dares to tell me that it’s different when a girl does it to a guy, I will personally write you a three-page essay on why it is still not okay.

I’m just going to REBLOG this all the fucking time

I SWEAR I WILL ALWAYS REBLOG THIS.

Rebogging for life because this is not ok and needs to be recognized.

This speaks to me. It’s…. close to home.

(Source: hollabackhoe)

majorstranger:

luckyshirt:

Dear guy who just made my burrito:

Have you ever been to earth?

On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain:

You’re an idiot.

Let me further explain:

Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients going that direction, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layers lengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern.

Have you ever eaten one of the things you make all fucking day? You should try one. They are pretty good WHEN YOU ARE NOT WILLING YOURSELF THROUGH THE FUCKING EMPIRE OF SOUR CREAM ONLY TO END UP IN LETTUCE COUNTRY.

When you eat a burrito, you don’t stand it up and bite down on it lengthwise like a fucking Rancor. Humans cannot usually dislocate their jaws, and I’m not a fucking pelican. But you must think that’s how it’s done, since that would be THE ONLY FUCKING WAY to take a bite of your crapstrosity and have it taste like a burrito and not a multi-stage rocket to the planet Fucking Disgustingupiter.

And guess what else, player? You probably can’t guess anything, because I’m pretty sure you’re just a mop with a hat on it that fell over and spilled some shit into a tortilla, but just in case, here’s what:

Humans also don’t eat burritos like fucking corn on the cob. Like a fucking typewriter from one end to the other a little at a time and then DING next line. But today I wish I had tried that. Because at least THEN I would be able to eat some rice, then beans, then be all like HEY BEANS I’LL BE RIGHT BACK JUST GOING OVER HERE TO THE GUACAMOLE FOR A SECOND.

Nope.

My experience was more like HEY BEANS IT’S JUST GOING TO BE YOU AND I FOR A MINUTE UNTIL I CAN FUCKING EXCAVATE THE RICE FROM BENEATH YOU BUT BY THEN YOU WILL BE A FADING MEMORY OH HEY I WAS WRONG I’M IN THE FUCKING CHEESEOSPHERE NOW RICE MUST BE NEXT I HOPE IT’S NOT ANOTHER FUCKING SALSA POCKET.

You built this thing life a fucking pack of LifeSavers.

And don’t even fucking think I’m about to open this shit up and re-engineer this nonsense. I ALREADY PUT A HOLE IN IT WITH MY FUCKING MOUTH. YEAH. THAT’S HOW I DISCOVERED YOU FUCKING SUCK AT LOOKING AT THINGS. I AM NOT GOING TO DO FUCKING TORTILLA ORIGAMI TO GET THIS SHIT BACK TOGETHER.

In conclusion:

You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to the universe, you owe everyone everywhere an apology for this burritobomination, and I hope your babies look like monkeys.

still my fav.

First Love

We met in third grade, and became fast friends.  You were always so happy, you brought me up from the hell that was school. We would smile and laugh and became such great friends that I practically lived at your house on weekends.   Your family seemed to like me (Not that I gave them much thought). Then, in fourth grade, you wouldn’t look at me.  I found it strange and hurtful. I… regressed that year into a shell. A very deep shell. Then, in fifth grade, you came back, told me how your mother had been concerned that I was your “Boyfriend (Said in hushed tones as if afraid to say it out loud.)” I still remember that day.  It was raining.  But in that moment, when you smiled at me again, it was like the sun had come out, just to shine in your blond hair.  I knew, then, that I loved you. 

Say what you want about being too young to love.  I’m twenty one now and that feeling is still there, deep inside.  No longer like it was.  Just an echo of itself.  But it was love.  

We went back to how we were before.  We passed little notes, of which I still own one. THe one were you wrote me a ‘love poem’ It’s what, then, you wanted to do when you grew up.  An dthen… I was told we would be moving… I cried. For days.  Because I would be seperated from  you. I had horrendous nightmares for weeks in the lead up.  I stayed at your house almost constantly. I remember, the second to last time I stayed at your house. I couldn’t sleep (that happened a lot I remember.)  You came to me.  We talked, in the dead of the night, for three hours.  You stood up. I remember looking up, fighting the desire to kiss you because I knew you’d never feel that way about me.  You asked me if I wanted to come to bed with you.  Sleep with you that night. I was stuck in place.  I couldn’t breathe. I wanted, so very very badly to say yes.  To admit that I loved you.  I knew we didn’t have much time left together…. I said no…  And I regretted that action for six years after that.  I remember how… disappointed you looked. 

When I went home, I hurt myself intentionally. Beat my head off the wall and cried.   I didn’t know how to handle the pain I had brought to myself.  I stayed at your house one last time. You wouldn’t get within five feet of me until my father came to get me at midnight (I don’t quite remember why.) Then  you hugged me.  Told me goodbye.  That was the last time I ever saw you.

We had exchanged phone numbers.  But when you live two states apart…. eventually you lose contact.  I remember the day I looked on my myspace and saw you had deleted me.  I wondered… why.  I knew you had started becoming a person that I didn’t really approve of your actions (like you admitting that you spent a night licking peanut butter off ANYWHERE people told you to.)  But honestly, I had thought we were still friends.  I sent you another friend request… you blocked me.  I haven’t been able to find you since… and at this point, I don’t know what I’d say.   You moved on, and I was left wanting for closure.  

That is, I assume you moved on.  Part of me realizes, from our last few convwersatioins you might just be dead.   And thats… sad… to me. Because it’s actually less painful to assume you dead then just… not caring.  I know you probably haven’t thought of me in five or six years. 

Whether alive or dead, I just want to say this… I love you.  Deep down.  but I let you go. And if you ever see this… Well… I suppose it’s just easier to assume you won’t.  But if you do… drop me a message. I miss you.

Sincerely…
Ryan

mandybell21:

recoffthevine:

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WAS EXPECTING BUT IT WASN’T THAT

(Source: vinesnow)

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