No one is coming to take your guns – please, shut the fuck up.
You don’t need an assault gun with a grenade launcher to hunt deer or protect your home – please, shut the fuck up.
The Muslims and atheists are not coming to blow up your churches or rob you of your religion- please, shut the fuck up.
Gays and lesbians getting married do not rob you of your rights, nor do they violate the sanctity of marriage- please, pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top, shut the fuck up.
Obama is not a socialist, nor is he coming to take your big screen TV to give to a poor person. Corporate profits have soared under Obama- please, shut the fuck up.
Climate change is real, and this planet is in grave danger of dying – please, shut the fuck up: your blustering over cyclical temps is greatly contributing to our carbon foot print.
Obama is not out to steal your liberties: He’s too busy killing innocent people of color in third world countries with his killer robot planes – please, shut the fuck up.
Reagan and Bush spent way more, and contributed more to the deficit than Obama – please, shut the fuck up.
Supply side economics doesn’t work – please, shut the fuck up.
Women deserve to have control over their own bodies – please, take your patriarchal, misogynistic views, and shut that whole fucking thing down.
Getting more people to work is more important than austerity: More workers equals more taxpayers and consumers, which equals more revenue – Mitch please, shut the fuck up.
God is indeed in our schools: if a student so desires to bring god with him or her to school, she or he has every right to do so – can I get a please shut the fuck up?
Most people don’t want “gifts” from our government. What they want is a chance for a good education, a good job, and a good life – please, help yourself to a Mitt Romney sized cup of shut the fuck up.
Liberals are not some communist horde looking to tear down America. We simply want to level the playing field in order to make sure that everyone has a chance to work hard, and build America up – please, right wing pundits, shut the fuck up.
If I left any wing nuts out, don’t worry I’ll get to you – in the mean time have a seat in yonder corner, and SHUT THE FUCK UP!
- Right Now Lyrics By Korn (lyricsjunction.wordpress.com)
- Portable (zozomacallister.wordpress.com)
- What We Have Done (angelschoice.wordpress.com)
- Random Thoughts – Perspective AKA I Might Not Really F*ck With You (breonajai.wordpress.com)
- Mothers who say F**ck (noplaceforsheep.com)
I love Game of Thrones, and I love this meme. So much so that I want to throw whipped cream and cherry on top of it, and roll around naked in it for hours 😉
I came across this wonderful, angry poem yesterday, and had to share. Though it was written decades ago, it’s message is painfully appropriate now.
Without further adieu I share with you:
Poem About My Rights
Even tonight and I need to take a walk and clear
my head about this poem about why I can’t
go out without changing my clothes my shoes
my body posture my gender identity my age
my status as a woman alone in the evening/
alone on the streets/alone not being the point/
the point being that I can’t do what I want
to do with my own body because I am the wrong
sex the wrong age the wrong skin and
suppose it was not here in the city but down on the beach/
or far into the woods and I wanted to go
there by myself thinking about God/or thinking
about children or thinking about the world/all of it
disclosed by the stars and the silence:
I could not go and I could not think and I could not
as I need to be
alone because I can’t do what I want to do with my own
who in the hell set things up
and in France they say if the guy penetrates
but does not ejaculate then he did not rape me
and if after stabbing him after screams if
after begging the bastard and if even after smashing
a hammer to his head if even after that if he
and his buddies fuck me after that
then I consented and there was
no rape because finally you understand finally
they fucked me over because I was wrong I was
wrong again to be me being me where I was/wrong
to be who I am
which is exactly like South Africa
penetrating into Namibia penetrating into
Angola and does that mean I mean how do you know if
Pretoria ejaculates what will the evidence look like the
proof of the monster jackboot ejaculation on Blackland
after Namibia and if after Angola and if after Zimbabwe
and if after all of my kinsmen and women resist even to
self-immolation of the villages and if after that
we lose nevertheless what will the big boys say will they
claim my consent:
Do You Follow Me: We are the wrong people of
the wrong skin on the wrong continent and what
in the hell is everybody being reasonable about
and according to the Times this week
back in 1966 the C.I.A. decided that they had this problem
and the problem was a man named Nkrumah so they
killed him and before that it was Patrice Lumumba
and before that it was my father on the campus
of my Ivy League school and my father afraid
to walk into the cafeteria because he said he
was wrong the wrong age the wrong skin the wrong
gender identity and he was paying my tuition and
it was my father saying I was wrong saying that
I should have been a boy because he wanted one/a
boy and that I should have been lighter skinned and
that I should have had straighter hair and that
I should not be so boy crazy but instead I should
just be one/a boy and before that
it was my mother pleading plastic surgery for
my nose and braces for my teeth and telling me
to let the books loose to let them loose in other
I am very familiar with the problems of the C.I.A.
and the problems of South Africa and the problems
of Exxon Corporation and the problems of white
America in general and the problems of the teachers
and the preachers and the F.B.I. and the social
workers and my particular Mom and Dad/I am very
familiar with the problems because the problems
turn out to be
I am the history of rape
I am the history of the rejection of who I am
I am the history of the terrorized incarceration of
I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it’s about walking out at night
or whether it’s about the love that I feel or
whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and disputably single and singular heart
I have been raped
cause I have been wrong the wrong sex the wrong age
the wrong skin the wrong nose the wrong hair the
wrong need the wrong dream the wrong geographic
the wrong sartorial I
I have been the meaning of rape
I have been the problem everyone seeks to
eliminate by forced
penetration with or without the evidence of slime and/
but let this be unmistakable this poem
is not consent I do not consent
to my mother to my father to the teachers to
the F.B.I. to South Africa to Bedford-Stuy
to Park Avenue to American Airlines to the hardon
idlers on the corners to the sneaky creeps in
I am not wrong: Wrong is not my name
My name is my own my own my own
and I can’t tell you who the hell set things up like this
but I can tell you that from now on my resistance
my simple and daily and nightly self-determination
may very well cost you your life.