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xxbecause-i-canxx:

hotmesswithouthehot:

lemonmintcoughdrops:

the-grudge-girl:

I live in Osaka, Japan and often use the subway to go to work in the morning. One day while I was waiting for the train, I noticed a homeless man standing in the corner of the subway station muttering to himself as people passed by. He was holding out a cup and seemed to be begging for spare change.

An overweight woman passed by the homeless man and I distinctly heard him say, “Pig.”

Wow, this man is insulting people and he still expects them to give him money?

Then a tall businessman went by and the man muttered, “Human.”

Human? I can’t argue with that. Obviously, he was human.

The next day, I arrived early at the subway station and had some time to kill, so I decided to stand close to the homeless man and listen to his strange mutterings.  A thin, haggard-looking man passed in front of him and I heard the homeless guy mutter, “Cow.” Cow? The man was much too skinny to be a cow. To me, he resembled a turkey or a chicken. A minute or so later, an obese man went by and the homeless man said, “Potato.” Potato? I was under the impression that he called all fat people “Pig”.

That day at work, I couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless man and his puzzling behavior. I kept trying to find some logic or pattern in what he as muttering. Perhaps he has some kind of psychic ability. In Japan many people believe in reincarnation, so maybe he knows what these people were during a previous life. I observed the man many times and began to think my theory was right. I often heard him calling people things like “Rabbit”, “Onion”, “Sheep”, or “Tomato”.

One day, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to ask him what was going on. As I walked up to him, he looked at me and said, “Bread.” I tossed some money into his cup and asked him if he had some kind of psychic ability. The man smiled and said, “Yes, indeed. It is an ability I obtained many years ago, but it’s not what you might expect. I can’t tell the future or read minds or anything like that.”

“Then what is your ability?” I asked eagerly.

“The ability is merely to know the last thing somebody ate,” he said.

I laughed because I realized he was right. He said, “Bread.” The last thing I had eaten for breakfast that day was toast. I walked away shaking my head. Of all the psychic abilities someone could have, that one must be the most useless.

HUMAN

HUMAN

SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST

bodaciousbanshee:

amorellamoon:

So this is a thing that happened…

Christian Day, a pagan writer and store owner, sent me this love letter after outing my account name on Facebook. Like many people who have an alias on facebook, I have a rather good reason for doing so. (I have a Meatspace stalker, who use to mail me bits of dead things, and threaten my children, because he wanted me to bear only HIS children. It was a living nightmare that I lived for over six months.) Alas… I was not very happy with Mr. Day for this, and told him so.

This screenshot shows his response

You are not misreading that. He actually said “…if he rapes you, please call out my name while he does.”

Facebook has been less than helpful during all this… As a matter of fact, they have sided with HIM, yanking my post with this screenshot on it, and putting my account on a 24 hour hold for “Harassment.” of Mr. Day.

I have… No real game plan at this point, other than not allowing this to go unseen by the many Pagans on the web. I have had such an outpouring of support from my friends and the general pagan community on facebook that it honestly made me cry. On another note, I have had to un-relax, knowing my stalker is still out there and can find me now. But, I will not back down. This shit IS NOT OK for our so called “Pagan Leaders” to do.

Rock on my Beauties… Pass this along if you wish, repost it everywhere, and let us not allow this “Man” to have a moment peace until he answers for what he has done. 

Dear followers, please reblog this. I want it to spread like wildfire. This guy is a real “Big Name Pagan” a famous published author, and he spent months bullying, harassing and threatening my godmother and her daughter over facebook. He owns a franchise shop here in New Orleans, and has systematically been trying to sow seeds of distention among local witches and their shops in order to cripple competition. He’s blatantly (racistly) disrespected our local Voodoo community on the radio saying that you shouldn’t have to go to Haiti to get initiated because it’s a “dirty place”. If you see his so-called “apology” don’t buy the hype. He is openly sexist, racist and classicist. This is not the first time he’s done something like this, he is not sorry. He needs to be held responsible for his actions. 

appropriately-inappropriate:

lesbian-isthenewblack:

heylookitsliz:

elizabeth-antoinette:

ikenbot:

freeselfdefense:

Rape Escape

  • Easy and very effective
  • Requires nothing but your body
  • Includes attack

Very useful to know, pass and share please.

Worth watching

I don’t mean to impose a personal favour on you guys, but I really would like to ask that everyone who follows me reblog this. 

I don’t think I made it very clear but last month I was sexually assaulted by someone who I thought was my friend (I don’t want to talk about it don’t ask), and it’s… really fucked with my head. 

Had I known this a month ago I would have been able to get away

So, essentially, I’m really pleading with you to reblog this so everyone who follows you doesn’t get stuck in the same position I was with no way out. 

I mean again I don’t want the point of this to be my sob story or whatever but if you could reblog this it would seriously mean a lot 

and im asking to all of my followers who see this post in your dashboard to please press play to this video, you never know when this is gonna be useful, PLEASE DON’T IGNORE IT.

This is one of the first moves I was taught in Krav Maga, and it is one of the most effective.

It took me about a half hour to get down with practice, but once you get it, it’s an intuitive movement.

Please pass this along, it will save lives.

(Source: )

operationobservation:

huffingtonpost:

DEBI JACKSON, MOTHER OF TRANSGENDER CHILD, GIVES MOVING SPEECH

The best part of the video may be when Jackson addresses the comments she’s heard about her daughter and sets the record straight about statements like you “wanted a girl so you turned your child into one” and “kids have no idea what they want or who they are — my kids wants to be a dog, should I let him?”

So watch the full video to see her answers to those difficult questions here.

Chills down my whole body. This is how parents should react.

nympheline:

This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.

I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.

The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.

"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"

Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.

Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.

I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.

But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.

"No, I’m good," I said.

"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.

Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—

Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.

Reader, I bought them all.

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