Every day there is a choice: remain stuck in the false allure of the past or embrace the truth of the present. Who you are today is not the same as the person you were yesterday or the person you will be tomorrow. It is important—no, vital—to drink up.

The Day After Yesterday (Sideways, 2004) by Michelle Said.

This has been a stressful week for a couple of reasons (I’ll get to them at some point), but essays like this are keeping me afloat.

Little Red Riding Hood – Red was the name she preferred – was down a dingy, forgotten street in London. She’d just made her first kill. Her mother would be proud, if she hadn’t died of poverty the previous year.
— I wrote this when I was fourteen.

… later on Fred evolved into Bob Arctor, somewhere along the sidewalk between Pizza Hut and the Arco gas station… and the terrible colors seeped back into him whether he liked it or not.
— A Scanner Darkly, by Philip K. Dick

In other words, Newt is an ideal candidate because when an infant pestered him, he hacked it, took it like a man, a pro. If it were Romney? And an infant started fucking with him? You know it would be bad, some pediatric version of the time he sang “Who Let the Dogs Out” to black teens in Florida. “Hello, little organism different from myself. I will now make noises that I believe are comprehensible to your kind.
Does Mitt Romney Have a Soul? (by Wells Tower)

You’re living in the age of the Internet. Your religion will be mocked, and the mockery will find its way to you. Get over it. If you don’t, what’s happening this week will happen again and again. A couple of idiots with a video camera and an Internet connection will trigger riots across the globe. They’ll bait you into killing one another. Stop it. Stop following their script.
William Saletan

George Bush is alive. Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Henry Kissinger and Tony Blair; these are real, life sucking, child killing monsters and this, is Enya. All I’m gonna say is if you’re going to hate, hate positively.
— Steve Hughes, on an audience member claiming to “hate Enya”.

Then, in 2000, one groundbreaking episode of Sex And The City made the Manolo Blahnik demographic sit up and take notice: Heroine Carrie Bradshaw found a new swagger in her step after waxing it off. And once Carrie was bare down there … well, remember when the Sex And The City girls ate cupcakes? Let’s put it this way: There’s now a cupcake bakery on every other corner in upper Manhattan.
The New Full-Frontal: Has Pubic Hair in America Gone Extinct? - The Atlantic

For decades, oodles of people have cited a certain quip given by Master Yoda in The Empire Strikes Back, which reads:



“Do or do not. There is no ‘try’.”



This is an incredibly idiotic statement.

Brett Kelly, “Why Master Yoda Is Full of Crap”

I am not kidding when I say that I find incredibly esoteric and specialized porn to be one of the most life-affirming things in the world. Even… no, especially the stuff that doesn’t do anything for me. Every giantess crush site, every furry vore gallery, every Shintaro Kago shit-and-dissection-fest, every body-inflation discussion group, every set of specialized apron-fetish films, every dendrophile fan club, every time I learn a new word like “boytaur” or “OT3″ or “docking” or “unbirth”… all these things bring me a genuine and unironic joy. These things, these kinks, these flights of imagination, are the impassioned obsessions of real people, everyday people. At least one of your coworkers, at least one of your family members. And that’s not creepy, that’s wonderful. Every one of those weird kinks is a shout of human individuality in a world that wants to reduce us down to buying patterns and demographic trends.
Why I Love Weird Porn | No, Seriously, What About Teh Menz? (via sexisnottheenemy)