Thinking about Disability More

 

As you can see in this picture, I use a cane.  It’s pretty and shiny and it’s name is Draco. Let me let you in on a little secret; I don’t need it at all times.  So why do I carry it?

When most people think about disability, they think of people bed bound.  They think of 100% blindness, deafness, muteness.  They think of wheelchairs and walkers and crutches all day long.  They think of missing limbs and catastrophic brain injuries, but only the ones that leaves one capable of only drooling in the corner.  They think of that sweet bagger at the grocery store, trying their best.

And then, they stop thinking.

That’s where we get the heartless claims like,

“Most people on disability are lying and cheating the system.”

“Oh, poor you, have a bad back? Take some aspirin and get back to work.”

“I know she’s on Social Security, but I saw her walk to the mail box without her wheelchair yesterday!  She’s a cheat!”

You know, shit like that.

If they bothered to keep thinking, they might discover a few things.  They might discover the concept of “good days” and “bad days”. They might realize that disabilities come in different levels and flavors and severity.  They might realize that not all disabilities are in the legs.  They might get what ‘chronic’ means. They might even realize that mental illnesses can actually be disabling.

See, for me, a good day is getting up without using the headboard to lift myself.  It’s getting up and down the stairs slowly, actually getting shit done around the house.  It’s not needing to sit in my chair to put on pants and socks. It’s feeling up for dialing a number and speaking to someone. It’s standing or sitting in front of people and talking to them without feeling like fleeing (too much) It’s not needing my cane to get around to say, the corner store.  It’s feeling like going to the corner store.

It’s feeling that I don’t want to die today.

A bad day is, well, turn all that on it’s head.  It’s being so tired that my day turns into a series of naps. It’s sliding against the wall going down the stairs, or just not bothering with them at all. It’s crying in bed or in front of my computer for no discernible reason and ignoring PMs and sending phone calls to voicemail. It’s going 3-4 days in the same pajamas without showering because who the fuck cares, right? It’s being so anxious that I don’t even want to exchange greetings with anyone who lives with me.  It’s beating up on myself for being worthless.  It’s considering my options for suicide.

And yeah, those are cane days.  I lean on the fucker when I know I’ll be standing for a long period of time (like waiting for a bus) or around people for a while (the grip is nice and steady).  I use it to get in and out of the car. On the bus, I sit in the preferential seating.

When someone asks me why I use a cane, I give a short answer.  “Oh, I have fibro.”

What I want to say is “Because we live in a society that values our ability to labor over quality of life, I worry about being judged on my ‘good days’, so I carry it with me at all times whenever I leave the house.”

But those are longer words.  And they require people to think.  It’s a bit much to think about for others.

I really wish they would, though. The disabled need those thoughts.

Triggering Snuff

Boy oh boy, that’s gonna pop up on someone’s search, and they’re gonna haaaaate reading this.

Oh well.

Alright, I realized I though I’d said something, when I actually didn’t so here goes:
For my allies and friends, yes, showing clips or pictures of black people dead by police hands might get someone you know to wake up and smell the racism, but for me, given how often it’s happened, it’s like sharing bits of snuff porn, like Faces of Black Death, except they’re all real.
“Here’s this large black woman slumped over on the ground, dead or dying due to police neglect”
“Here’s the body of that kid with the Skittles and Iced Tea”
“Watch this cop shoot this black man to death!”
What I’m asking for here is for people to keep in mind that for some of us, this is tiresome and (yup, gonna say it. Hold on to you hats) TRIGGERING. Gasp, I know, I used the terrible word that shows that I’m fragile snowflake that cannot handled Real Life.

You know, like I haven’t been bombarded with this photos for fucking YEARS already.  I’ve had enough Real Life.  I’ve had enough of our dead being used to “prove” that we’re being slain unfairly. Can you, just for a moment, try to empathize that maybe I…or we…have had enough Real Life, plxthanks.  Too many people, too many thoughts of brothers and mothers and fathers and grandparents and sisters pop in my own mind.  Too much Real Life will traumatize a motherfucker.  Like college students who have had Real Life thrown into their faces before they step one foot onto campus, lives of poverty, assault, rape, physical abuse, raising siblings, holding down jobs of their own.

Have some fucking empathy.

At the very least, put the article or picture in a comment. Find an article that has a picture of the victim alive, so we can see them as a person, and not a hunk of dead dark flesh to gawk at. 
Please?
Please? Please?

(And yes, I do make use of my “Hide Post” button. That’s not the fucking point.)

Peaceful Savages

As I’ve said a lot among friends, if black people were as violent as white people think we were, this entire shit would have been burned to the ground long before I was even born.

But we’re not, no matter how many dogs get sicced on us or hoses are sprayed at us, or tear gas canisters are thrown at us, rubber bullets shot, fully armed to the teeth cops being intimidating, we don’t bite back.

(sure, there have been riots, but never in direct response to being threatened, and aren’t the focus of this post)

We have been insulted to our faces, told our hair isn’t acceptable, our skin too dark. White supremacists burn crosses, ride confederate flag festooned trucks past our children’s birthday parties, walk in our neighborhoods openly carrying their guns, mock our dead, and very rarely do these people get popped in the fucking mouth.

And it’s not just black folks. Due to the recent attacks in Beirut and Paris, people are tripping over themselves to see who can be the biggest Islamaphobic douchenozzle.

Then act surprised when white people start fucking with anyone in a hijab or on a prayer mat. Mosques and Muslim owned businesses have been vandalized and anyone wearing a scarf on their head is a potential target for verbal or physical abuse by complete strangers.

And through it all, there is no retaliation.

I could go on with examples; pro-choicers NOT going after pro-lifers in the wake of violence, queer people NOT going after straights after a bashing, and so on and so forth. You wanna know why?

Think about what that would look like. Especially in the media, who looks for just about any excuse to demonize the opressed. Already keyed up bigots, who who only need little reason, no matter if true or not, wanna act out so badly.

I’m gonna quickly point out here the desperation of white racists to start a Race War by taunting black people in so many ways, waiting for us to respond in kind, so they can go “see, these niggers ARE violent and dangerous”, and justify killing us. It’s quite literally the “I’m not touching you” game that ends up in someone getting hit.

And deep down, we all know that. So we refrain. We act with peace. We may make a fuss, but we don’t go eye for an eye.

We can’t go eye for an eye.

And you need to understand what a further burden that is. To be taunted and abused and knowing damn well you can’t respond in kind. You have to be the bigger person while bigots get to act all kind of ways.

That is some hard shit. We need our allies to know that. So the next time you want to say something like “Well, if that was me, I would…”, stop and think.

And then shut the fuck up.

And Basic Shit Season Gets Even More Basic: A Rant

For those new to Feminace and all of the weirdness therein, I posted a thing last year about racist Halloween costumes and how I wasn’t going to break it down how dressing as another culture is fucked up unless a motherfucker was willing to pay up.

You can find that here, and oh, by the way, my rates have gone up by $100.  You know, inflation and broke bitch be broke. Fuck you, pay me.

Apparently, we have to add another type of costume to not do to the fucking list:

DON’T FUCKING DO THIS.

Do we even have to explain why?

Do we?

Apparently, according to the replies on the Facebook page where this pic is featured WE FUCKING DO.

“Wah, PC is gonna ruin Halloween!”

“You’re offended, no one cares!”

“Don’t be whiny, it’s just one night!!!!”

You’re right, jackasses on Facebook, it’s one fucking night.  One night that you can possibly NOT be an asshole.  One night you could not make someone who CAN’T take of the ‘costume’ uneasy. One night you can try some, I dunno, creativity in a fucking costume.

We who give a shit aren’t a problem, you are.  You, with all the imagination of a fucking dead goldfish, who can’t bother to think beyond “hee hee, dis ill be funneh”, are the problem. You and your lack of empathy.  You and you lazy, sorry, basic asses.

I could post links that could show you why this costume isn’t okay.  I could post links about disowned, disenfranchised, discriminated, and dead trans women. But you don’t care.  You just want your lazy yuks, you pieces of shit.

And the fact that Caitlyn Jenner ‘doesn’t mind’ this take on her coming out outfit doesn’t fucking matter.  She’s not the only trans woman in the world, so don’t even try that excuse.

If you can’t put together two brain cells together to create a fucking costume for your “one night”, you can go buy something else.  Halloween Superstore has thousands of different costumes.  You could be anything else that won’t shit on a marginalized group of people that YOU. ARE. NOT.

But you don’t fucking care. So fuck you.

I hope someone throws a red solo cup of trash can punch on your fucking “Call Me Cait” white nightie.  I hope someone snatches your “Indian headdress” and throws it in the trash.  I hope you’re thrown out of the party when you show up in black/brown/yellow/redface and treated like a pariah. I hope the people around you are better than you and treat you like the unfunny piece of shit.  I hope pictures of you show up all over the Internet, your boss (current or future) finds it, and fires (never hires) your ass.

Because when you replace “being PC” with “being respectful”, you look like a jerk.

Welfare: A Falcon-Punching Rant

We interrupt this series of “shit what was in my brain while in-patient” for a rant:

I swear on my bowl of cereal that the next person who breathes in my direction about how ‘easy’ it is to get or stay on ‘welfare’ is getting Falcon-punched right in the groin.

GAME MOTHERFUCKING SET

If they knew just how fucking difficult it actually was, they’d shut the entire fuck up.  Lost documents, lack of information, phone calls, phone calls, waiting music, on hold, full waiting rooms waiting for your number to come up all to feed and care for you and yours. It’s time and worry and fear and documents to fax or mail or drop off.

If you’re someone like me, with GAD and a general hatred of using my phone as a phone, this is a special sort of hell.  Fuck, attempting to work with all of my mental/physical shit was less hell than this.  Almost.

Almost.

So now I’m currently in limbo thanks to my hospital stay and someone outright lying to me over the damned phone. No food money, no general aid, while they fuck around like Keystone Fucking Cops.  Can you imagine every six months having to justify your salary?  Not a raise, but literally “if you don’t cough up a ton of info, you will never get paid again”.  Could you?

And of course, I have no savings, because get this – have too much in a bank account and you’re seen as doing alright. I’m surprised just having an account doesn’t disqualify me.

*deep breath*

Don’t worry.  I’m not in too dire straits, thank fuck. I’m lucky.  I still have a roof over my head and food stocked up while they take their sweet time to figure my really not that difficult shit out.  I’m lucky.  Just irritated.

For those still suck in the mindset of “lazy welfare cheats”, just try to think about that.  About this.

Food, Sex, and Implied Judgement

Since my entire opinion of Baltimore can be described as continuous screaming, I’m gonna address that thing I said I was going to address before that burned my biscuits last week.

So, to continue the analogy from my previous post:

“I don’t like sweet potatoes.”
“Have you tried this recipe or this method or this type?”
“No seriously, I’m not interested.”
“Have you try eating them correctly?”

Is that makes no sense to you, then why does this make any more sense:

“I’m not into sex.”
“Have you tried this position or with this partner or this kink?
“No, seriously, I’m not interested”
“Are you sure you’re doing it right?”

Both are presumptive things to say to anyone. Both are bullshit.

Here’s two more examples:

“I’m going vegan!”
“Well, I enjoy meat still”
“I’m gonna have all of the meat you’re not having!”
“Bacon bacon bacon!”

And this:

“I’m demisexual!”
“What? You form emotional connections before pants feels? Do you think you’re better than me?”
“That’s not a real orientation, you special snowflake!”

Both responses are also bullshit. Now I’ve mention my asexuality before, and I’ve been very critical of sex-positivity that doesn’t allow for “no, not ever” to be a viable option.  I’ve read comments of people treating my sexuality as some sort of personal judgement against them.

I say this with all of the love in my heart: This shit isn’t about you.

The vegan isn’t not eating meat at you.  I’m not Not eating sweet potatoes at you.  I’m not lacking in sexual attraction at you.  The demi isn’t having their feelings at you. My sexuality isn’t about you.

I’m so very, very sorry that folks lack the imagination to guess how ace/gray/demi sexualities work, but that isn’t our fucking problem. We exist anyway. You can’t imagine how one can be romantically attracted to someone without pants feelings? You can’t think of how someone might not feel pants feelings until a romantic bond has formed. I pity your lack of imagination. We exist anyway.

(Dear fuck me, don’t meet someone who is aromantic and involved with someone. I fear your heads might explode)

You don’t have to ‘understand us’ to accept us.

I’m disappointed at so-called “sex-positive” stances that apparently don’t have room for “no thanks, please” as an option. My sexuality isn’t a commentary on yours. My fears of assault and hate because of my sexuality, because of my gender, because of my race are just as real as someone who experiences sexual attraction.

Shit, hearing people try to dismiss asexuality because of the societal expectation of abstinence until marriage make me want facepalm forever. If you’d just think for a moment, think about how once we’re adults, the exception is that sex is going to happen, and it’s expected, especially in romantic relationships, and see how downright ‘deviant’ it seems to say “that doesn’t do it for me”. How you’re not believed. How it’s assumed you’re not doing “it” right. How you are a puzzle to be fixed.  I’m not saying that my concerns are more important, it’s not a competition, but fucking hell, none of you have the right to dismiss my concerns.

You want to try to understand?  Ask us.  Ask more than one of us (respectfully. We don’t have to parrot our sexual histories to justify ourselves to you).  You’d be fucking amazed at the variety under our little umbrella.  How some ace folks are poly.  How some are into kink.  How some are in relationships with allosexuals (that’s our term for you) and are happy. How some are sex-repulsed, others are sex-neutrals, and others are porn watching smut peddlers (…that would be me).  How some aces don’t mind having sex with their bodies for a myriad of reasons that have jack all to do with “sexual attraction”. How difficult it is to date when you’re demi or gray-A or ace.

There is nothing more disheartening than to hear people who expect their sexualities to be respected and honored making a joke out of us.  My sexuality isn’t a joke. It’s not a failure to fuck properly. It’s not abstinence. It’s not society telling me that “good girls don’t”. It is, quite simply, a lack of sexual attraction.

Sounds weird to you? Okay.

You know what sounds weird to me? Oral.

How to Be the Perfect Welfare Recipient

(Quick little blogger’s edit: If you think I’m going to allow your tired ass, shamey, or deliberately ignorant comments to see the light of day, think again.  If it’s trash, it goes in the trash. I’m not hosting a debate here.)

Hello, Dear Taxpayer:

Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to speak too loudly.  Should I stand to the side?  I wouldn’t want to take up too much room.

I *ahem* receive welfare, and I feel terrible about it. I don’t make enough money to support myself, so I have to steal yours to make ends meet.  I’m sorry.  So very sorry.  

Every day I sit at home and think with gratitude about how you other hardworking Americans work long days to earn me my pittance.  I wouldn’t want to go outside and have you see me.  I wouldn’t want you to know I exist.

Oh wait? You want me to get a job?  Alright.  I’m so sorry, but the wages are so low that I have to beg for a little of your money still.  I’m so, so sorry! Please forgive me!

When I shop, I do it carefully.  I wouldn’t want to mismanage the money you gave me.  Do I buy prepacked processed food and seem wasteful, or do I buy fresh cuts of meats and veggies and good stuff and look frivolous? Please, Dear Taxpayer, tell me what I should buy to make you less angry about my thievery of your precious tax dollars. 

The things I buy with the cash benefit (I’m sorry! I need more money to spend on things that aren’t food!  Please don’t hate me) are simple and basic.  No name brands.  I’m sorry, is that not good enough? How about Dollar Store brands?  Nope, nothing that might not fall apart or break within months for me.  Thrift store outfits all the way.  I wouldn’t want to look too rich in your sight.

Joys?  I have no joy.  I am poor.  I do not deserve joy.  Occasionally eating outside of the house?  Why would I waste your money like that?  Gifts from friends and family who are doing better than me?  Nope, I won’t accept a single one because I am poor and do not wish to be seen with something that is “too good’ for the likes of me.  All of the nice things I may have owned before I needed to put my hands in your hardworking pockets?  Gone.  I threw them all away.  Any children I may have foolishly had while on poor? Gone. A temporal vortex swallowed them the second I applied for benefits.  What was I doing having sex while poor anyway? When you see me, I want you see someone who looks as poor as you think I should.  What choices should I make for my life, Dear Taxpayer?  Please tell me.

Because it’s all about you, Dear Taxpayer.

Hold please, urge to barf passing.

Now that we’re back to me, where the fuck do people get off trying to talk about welfare while knowing fuck all about it? Seriously.  I’ve been in several Facebook “discussions” in the past three days about government assistance and it’s like Groundhog Day minus Bill Murray and less funny.

So, allow me to tackle some of those shit excuses for arguments here, where I can be an uncivil as I please:

“I grew up poor and lifted myself up by my own bootstraps and so should everyone else!”

– You want a cookie or something? Congratulations, you’re better than everyone, you special snowflake you.  Now what will we do with those who aren’t as super-dee-duper awesome as you are?

“People shouldn’t have kids they can’t afford!”

– Mm-mmm that’s some good Just World fallacy! Now, what exactly should we do for the kids born to people you disapprove of that are alive right now? Also, telling people not to fuck has never and will never work.

“People are selling their food stamps for drug money!”

“People live their entire lives on welfare!” 

“Illegals get welfare all the time!”

– I’m just gonna lump all of these into the “Hi, I’m stuck in the 80s.” Update your bullshit, please. Also, and I’m gonna put this in bold and all caps: SNAP IS FOR FOOD.  ONLY. Stop saying otherwise, you ignorant shits.

“Welfare is so easy to get!”

– Says someone who has never had to sign up for it.  Bank statements, paychecks, royalty statements, landlord statements, copies of utilities, the personal information of every person you live with, whether they are getting the benes with you or not. And that’s just to sign up.  Then you have to cough it up again every six months.  You can’t work too many hours or you lose it.  You can’t get married (if you’re broke and your intended isn’t), or you lose it.

Tell me again how easy it is?

“I saw someone use an EBT card and they had an iPhone/a nice purse/a tattoo/new shoes/a nice weave/something I don’t think they deserve!”

– First of all, fuck you for trying to judge based on one look. Maybe it hasn’t dawned onto you, but people in cooperative societies manage to get their needs met in a lot of different ways.  Maybe they had that fancy object before they got poor.  Maybe they got it for free with one of those “sign your soul over” data plans.  Maybe the purse is a knockoff, or traded babysitting or something for someone to fix their hair/do their nails (oh, and nice racist dogwhistle, btw).  Maybe that tattoo is getting paid in installments.

Or maybe, and this might hurt your feelings, but I don’t give a shit, when that cash assistance money hits their account, it’s none of your fucking business how they spend it.  Does your boss have a say in how you spend your check?

I know, I know, “But I earned my money.  Poors didn’t earn theirs!”

And? The state, the social worker who had more access to their financials than your nosy ass does decided on the amount to give, not you.  It’s their money.  As long as they’re not breaking any of the rules attached to it, they can spend it however the fuck they want.  Basic household supplies, clothes and shoes, make up, a nice aftershave, a cup of fancy coffee, a .99 phone app, whatever.  It is ours to save or spend.

Poor people aren’t some cast offs living where needs above food, clothing and shelter are different.  Not making enough to make ends meet doesn’t mean we check out of all the good parts of being human.  I’ve heard people piss and moan about seeing someone using SNAP for a birthday cake for a child.

A motherfucking birthday cake for a kid.

Because being poor apparently means you get no joy (and being born to a poor family means you’re just shit out of luck).  No temporary comfort.  Nothing that makes you feed good in a world that is shit and even more so when you apparently are too poor to exist without some ignorant motherfucker peeping in your shopping cart for shit your not “supposed” to have.

There is nothing easy about being poor. If you think otherwise, you try it.  If that’s too scary for you, then climb the fuck off our backs.

Double Storify Saturday!

…published on a Sunday, because I’m sick, y’all.

First off, let’s go to the sidewalk with a round up of the past two weeks of clinic escorting. I didn’t get out because of sick this Saturday, so I shared the tweets of the ever awesome @LouClinicEscort , who gets a larger crowd anyways.

Next up, something crawled up my back and it’s name was “complaints about political correctness“.  This had me so going that I was tweeting in bed about this shit.

Enjoy!

Linky Roundup!!

Haven’t done one of these in a while, and since I’ll be getting all geared up for a trip to Chicago next week, here’s a list of stuff that has inspired, infuriated, and just plain pissed me off:

Unisex Makeup is now a THING! And it works pretty damned well on stubble!

Street Harassment turns deadly Again. But really, fellas, tell us more about why we should take time out our day to entertain your need to inform us about your boner.

Matthew Klickstein puts his foot in his racist mouth, gets his event at NYCC canceled Insert whining about “free speech violation” that usually happens when people decide they don’t want to associate with asshole anymore.

Olivia gives a well-deserving flipped bird to those who want us to “Get Off Your Phone”

“Students for Life” attempt to shut down Sex Week at University of New Mexico And they have to do this with the same nonsense as showing up to a SouperSalad and pitching a fit because they don’t have a Thanksgiving turkey dinner with all the trimmings on the menu.  You want a week dedicated to abstinence?  Start one yourself, you lazy fucks. Until then, we’ll be over here dealing with the reality of college students having the sex.

Here’s a double dose of We Hunted the Mammoth:

‘JudgyBitch” banned from Twitter. It’s like a person just can’t go around blatantly slandering people (or ‘sharing’ blatant slander without bothering to look into it)

Another woman is driven from her home thanks to more threats  Her crime? Sharing a meme that shows the GamerGaters for the children they are.  And then someone decided to prove the meme correct by throwing a disturbing tanty.  GGer’s want to clean up their image?  They can start by condemning shit like this, instead of clamoring to defend their ‘good’ name.

Now, right now, this weekend, there is a 4-day rally happening in Ferguson.  Catch the beat by beat on Twitter, and #staywoke

ANNNND lastly, apparently 40 Days of Bullshit (I’m sorry, “Life”) happens twice a year, and we got ourselves a fucking crowd showed up and showed out in front of my clinic.  Between myself and fellow escort Brianne, we collected enough witness for me to make my first Storify.  Enjoy our pain!

Alright, that’s it for now.  I might have a new blogpost before I head out for Chicago, maybe not.  You’ll see!

Too Easy

Once upon a time, when I was a little Chill Girl fresh from the clutches of my home, I joined my college’s improv troupe, Let’s Try This! It was an amazing experience. I learned stage presence, I learned I HAD a stage presence.  I learned how to be funny, or maybe I should say, I learned that I was pretty funny.  It helped that I was surrounded by some pretty talented folks.

Guess which one is me?
Go on, guess!
Here’s a hint: I’m not the fluffy dog. Though I have been known to be a bitch sometimes AY-YO!

Improv isn’t a competition, this isn’t some Last Comic Standing shit.  The ‘rules’ are simple and diverse: Don’t Deny what your partner(s) are bringing into the scene; Don’t just ask questions (i.e. don’t leave your partner(s) to do all the work); Make your partner look good; Tell a story.  It was on everyone on stage to make the scene work.  Giving up or getting mad because the scene wasn’t going your way ruins everything.

There was something else I learned, that was specific to my former trope.  We had a ‘no scatology during shows’ rule.  Because we were college students performing for other college students, and our short form games required audience suggestions, we tended to hear some of the same suggestions: “blowjobs!” “poop!”, “sex!”

Host: “I need a location!”
Audience Member (usually a guy): “Proctologist’s office!”

Host: “I need a situation!”
Audience Member: “Late to an orgy!”

…and so on.  Here’s how we handled those suggestions and why:

Host: “I need a location?”
“The gynecologist!” (apparently just yelling “vagina” was just not classy enough?)
Host: “Come on, that’s one’s too easy.  Give us a challenge!”

It was too easy.  It’s too easy to make funny out of sex and bodily functions.  KIDS find bodily functions insanely funny.  We wanted a challenge.

I took that lesson with me, stuck deep into my conciousness, and it didn’t reappear until I started getting involved with social justice for the second time (the first time around left me very cold, with white progressives trying to tell me what I should find offensive).  I discovered the concept of Punching Down vs. Punching Up, and that gendered insults were no bueno (unless you’re taking it back).  That lesson came roaring back, “oh yeah, calling this terrible conservative woman a bitch isn’t funny.  It’s Too Easy.”

And my worldview then expanded.  I love comedy, grew up watching Comedy Central (where my love of improv was first planted in the British version of Whose Line Is It Anyway?), but as I grew up and realized these concepts, I found a lot of stand up, well, easy.  The “Take my Wife Please” type jokes, the “Men are so stupid” type jokes, the allusions to rape and domestic abuse, the “marriage is a load of suck” jokes, “Non-White people are so weird!”, Too Easy.

Then my tastes for comedy shifted with my more progressive leanings.  Did that mean I stopped enjoying the greats like Carlin, Robin Williams and the like because some of their gags were problematic? Nope. I recognize the problem, sometimes even skip certain tracks. But I still consider the greats to be comedy greats, especially when their off stage personas were just as progressive.  As much as Joan River’s stand up made me laugh, I considered her to be a terrible person off stage, which many, many examples that you can very well look up on your own.

Heck if a comedian REALLY wanted to be all edgy and shit, try defending rape culture.  How about a joke about how awesome your wife is? Point out how racist the cops are.  Yeah, it’s not an easy laugh to go for, but it can be done.  I’ve seen it.

So now, I punch up, I miss the easy insult, I avoid the obvious.  Fewer ‘bitches’ and ‘cunts’, more ‘assholes’ and ‘shitheels’ and various combinations where I can use the term ‘douche’ (hat, canoe, bag, cake, weasel…).  Hell, someone used “shitfrigates” and I’m making it a point to use it until it is part of my vocabulary. I am a lot more vulgar, yes, but my insults are sharper, more likely to get a notice.  My mind gets a good stretch as I stopped using various forms of “-tard’ in my vocab in place of other words that lack the splash damage.

Does it feel like I’m walking some sort of PC mindfield of stifled creativity?  Oh hell no.  This is awesome.  I like the challenge, and the more I do it, the easier it gets.

It’s not that hard, folks.  Get creative.  Stop going for the easy shot.  Don’t be a hack.

And that goes double for harassers and abusers. Even their shit is too easy.  Oh, I’m a nigger and a bitch and too ugly to fuck and should be raped.  *Yawn* Dude, I’ve got chronic depression.  I’ve thought shittier stuff about myself before breakfast on a really bad day.  Oh, the best you can do is “haha, you’re a woman! And black! And you do not please my boner!” Oh noes, I’ll cease being all of those things immediately, @womenmakemeangry69. That’s kindergarten shit.  I don’t even know how to respond to such nonsense:

“You’re a cunt!”

Me: “Well, you’re a butt, and your parents dress you funny and also you smell like cheese.  So there.”

And trust me, writing that line took more thought that any number of bigoted insults.