Who deserves to feel the pain of anti-Asian violence? Who deserves to take up space with their rage? As a mixed-race person, am I allowed to be here? Do I belong?
A story of workplace abuse: “Saftey words are for Pussies!” read the misspelled Roy-Lichtenstein-does-BDSM faux pop art painting displayed in the office of the Anonymous Sex Toy Company. "Safe, Sane, and Consensual" was the company motto. None of the men running the company understood those slogans were incompatible.
In the past five months, incidents of women getting threatened, hurt, or killed at their American workplaces appeared on national news. On November 12, the NY Post outed a paramedic as a sex worker, resulting in a barrage of threats. The exposure also jeopardized her job. On January 6, we saw Congresswomen hide in their offices in lockdown while gallows were being erected for them outside their work building. On March 16, we learned that six women in Atlanta were killed when a mass shooter came into their place of work. It’s clear from these incidents that the prestige, location, or salary of a woman’s job has no bearing on how safe she is at work. When society normalizes gender-based violence in the home, it also normalizes gender-based violence in the workplace.
When battered women "move on," sometimes, we "start over" in a new home that's, in many ways, a reconstitution of our old home. We might not be sharing walls or a roof with the piece of shit who fucked us up but the weapons he used remain. Weapons like a bed. They don't look like weapons. They look like ordinary things. That's what's so frightening about them.
Every time we’ve passed this shop, regardless of direction, this particular rockabilly is stepping out for a smoke. The rockabillies are calming. Their vintage etiquette is so precisely mannered that I know I can rely on them for consistency.
Curious wanderers exploring downtown Hattiesburg, in Mississippi, beware: the smallest museum in the state—perhaps, in the country—is hiding in plain sight.
My hot girlfriend in a stolen bikini on Hollywood Blvd, and other Christmas favorites: a series of Christmas photos from Geoff Cordner and Myriam Gurba
Sometimes, it sucks to be a body. Other times, it’s fun. Lingerie is one of those gifts that makes being a body fun. Putting it on is to swaddle yourself in ribbons, bows and straps that speak on your behalf. They assert, “Bitch, I’M the gift, a gift to MYSALF.”
A Conversation with Writer, Musician, Dancer, Filmmaker, Performance Artist and Legend Brontez Purnell: "My dad would always try to make me go fishing and there was a time a couple of years ago where I really wrestled with the idea of writing the erotic adventures of Huckleberry Finn... Scott O’Hara clued into my writing when I was younger. There's a picture of him where he has this huge hard-on and a skateboard or whatever. I read his memoir when I was 18 or 19 and the writing was like, “And then he separated my glistening cheeks and I achieved nine orgasms.”
One of the things I fantasized about was growing tall. My family does produce statuesque Mexicans so I believed that this goal was attainable. As a result of early childhood caffeination, I topped out at five feet. Tasteful Rude, however, is the manifestation of another early dream.
Love and libertarians don’t mix When I watch Congressional hearing after Congressional hearing, featuring multimillionaire and billionaire tech CEOs who try to justify their roles in destroying our democracy, decimating fair labor practices, and violating the rights of their consumers, I often sit back and consider my dating life. The two might seem unconnected but, […]
In the same way that I believe the protests must riot and must loot and must burn shit down, I believe we have a right to defend ourselves. Not just to defend ourselves, I believe we have a right to riot and loot and burn shit down when it comes to these fucking fascist predatory fucks who are in home and on the street.