universal pictures really dug themselves into a hole with the “minions flock to the biggest villain on the planet” thing because there’s no way to deny that minions must have worked for like, fascist italy or the mafia… but they made their bed so now they can lie in it
minions are directly responsible for every war crime and atrocity in human history
ok but it gets better (and by better i mean more horrifying)
which means the filmmakers conveniently avoided having the minions work for hitler, but in the process imply that, had they been around, they totally would have
#DontJudgeChallenge goes terribly wrong for teenage Farrah Marshall of Pinellas Park, Florida when the teen attempting to do the YouTube challenge. The challenge calls for participants to mark their faces with “ugly markings” using make up or markers designed for the skin. Once the participant appears on camera with the undesireable, the participant then transitions into a more attractive person. The challenge has been heavily shared on social media and has been performed by thousands of people.
Unfortunately for Marshall, the challenge did not go as planned. The teen used a Sharpie permanent black marker and colored her entire face pitch-black. When the teen tried to wash the marker off of her face, the color would not fade. The teen then dialed 911 and was rushed to Northside Hospital. According to Marshall’s mother, Sarah, she will have to undergo skin graft surgery, removing skin from her back and buttocks to replace the skin on her face. “It’s truly a tragedy. Now her face is black forever all because of a stupid challenge. I hope kids learn from her mistake” says Sarah.
Sarah has set up a GoFundMe account to raise money to help her daughter fund the cost of surgery. Because Farrah will be having cosmetic surgery, it is unfortunately not covered by her health insurance.
I’m assuming the blackface meant the ugly part and then she would transition to a pretty white girl or sumting? Well that backfired and God is good.
you know what’s always bugged me? when a character is faced with some magical two headed being or some shit and one always lies while the other tells the truth and to figure out which is which the character’s like “which one of you is the liar” or something like bruh literally all you gotta do is be like “what’s two plus two” one of them’s gonna say four and the other one is gonna say 83 or some shit. there you go. answered. go on with your magical quest to defeat david bowie.
Listen up feminists and LGBT activists! Yes, you who worship the holy trinity of “sex, gender, and sexuality” in your educational literature! Yes, you who suddenly discovered transgender folks sometime during the 1990s and decided that, for their sake, it would be super important to draw a clear distinction between “sex” as a biological, bodily fact and “gender” as a mode of social identification!
You’re doing it wrong.
Sex is not “what’s in your pants.” Sex is not chromosomes. Sex is not hormones. Sex is not biology. Sex is neither a penis nor a vagina. Sex is not breasts, nor is it chest hair, prostates or ovaries.
I’m a transgender woman. For the next few months at least, what’s in my pants is a penis. I have a prostate gland. I have a Y chromosome.
“Aha!” you say. “So your sex is male but your gender is female! That’s what makes you transgender.”
Wrong. Try again! “Sex” is a social decision made at the moment of birth (or earlier if your parent[s] get a sonogram). We only assign children a “sex” because of gender, because we feel the cultural imperative to sort people into two dichotomous populations based on the presence or absence of a tiny bit of flesh. “Sex” is gender in doctor’s clothing: nothing more, nothing less.
Yes, we have bodies. Yes, those bodies have characteristics. Yes, those characteristics have gendered meanings in a cisnormative world. But this “sex” you keep on looking for, that you incorporate into your ostensibly trans-inclusive curriculum? It. Doesn’t. Fucking. Exist.
The only people who need to know details about my body parts are my doctors and my lovers. Do you fall into one of those two groups? No? Then you don’t need to know what’s in my pants! You don’t need to know what my chromosomes are. You don’t need to know my estrogen levels (although they’re quite high, thank you very much).
All you need to know is that my name is Samantha, I use she/her pronouns and I pee behind the door with the dress on it. Guess what? We can teach people all of those things without them knowing anything about my body.
In fact, you should just quit talking about “sex” altogether. Try using “assigned sex” to talk about doctors’ decisions and the ways in which those decisions affect peoples’ lives. But quit trying to act as if we can empirically sort bodies into two categories that pre-exist gender norms. We can’t. And you’re hurting precisely the people that you think you’re helping with your convenient sex/gender split.
“Sex” is gender in doctor’s clothing: nothing more, nothing less.
