A Collection of My Favorite Reactions to the Removal of Confederate Monuments

They took down all the Confederate statues in Baltimore, and according to some people, it’s like they’ve totally re-written history! Without being able to see monuments to the Confederacy, I’ve already started to forget what the Civil War was…and it’s only been 10 hours! A true Soros funded conspiracy.

Anyway. Let’s dive in. .

LOL is this account really just Stephen Miller??

Ah, yes. It’s like how we will never forget the Holocaust because of all the statues of Hitler in Germany, or how we’ll never forget 9/11 since they erected a giant Bin Laden statue over the Pentagon.

I’m so confused. Does removing the statues cause everyone to forget history or not??

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Bonnie. Seriously. What the fuck are you saying? Are you angry that us libtards did not, as kindergartners, demand the removal of these statues? Or are you saying that when you learned about slavery as a child, you thought it was okay? I think marching around in the dead of night (or anytime!) chanting “Jews will not replace us” is rude and disrespectful to our nation. Also, this comment was posted on an article about Baltimore removing their monuments — so is that last line a threat to the mayor?? Tsk, tsk.

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Y’all, I swear I made that Soros joke before I found Rhonda. Honestly, I’m writing this in real time as I find unhinged comments. Do you guys think Rhonda would be willing to relocate to Charleston, South Carolina? She could date the guy who threatened to kill me!

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TARE IT DOWN!

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Augustine, my man. I will personally pay for your transportation for you to come to MLK in DC and start ripping down the street signs — especially if you can get Malcolm X Blvd, too. You’re gonna fucking love Barry Farm, and I’m sure everyone living there will love you too — promise.

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“I have already stopped going to Baltimore, but now that these statues are gone, I will no longer be going to Baltimore.” Karol, I think the black people are why you stopped going to Baltimore years ago.

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This one is a real wild ride, but it does explain the mindset. See, unless you’re there, then you can’t know what happened! Having statues makes you feel like you are there! So that is how we can learn history. Obviously.

Ugh, right? How can you remove our heritage of racism?! Unbelievable.

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I wish like hell Obama was really running our government.

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You Love Your Curvy Wife? Well, I Love My Small Dick Husband

I love this man and his small penis. As a young woman, I was often mocked by my friends for my attraction to guys who weren’t well endowed, ones who bought big lifted trucks and worked out all the time. Ones the average (basic) bitch might refer to as “overcompensating.” Then, as I became a woman and started to educate myself in biology and how the media marginalizes small penis men by portraying a very narrow and specific view of penis standards (thick, tall, straight), I realized how many women have bought into that lie. For me there is nothing sexier than my man: small dick, big truck, and occasional steroid user. His shape won’t be featured on YouPorn (or maybe it will!), but it’s the one featured in my life. There’s nothing sexier to me than a man who knows his shortcoming. This sexy man I married doesn’t really fill every inch of his jeans, but he does fill every inch of my heart. Women, rethink what society has told you that you should desire. A real man is not a porn star! Boys, don’t think you have to fully fill a certain mold to be desired or loved. There is a woman out there who will love you for who you are, exactly as I love my man; a man who is okay with me backhandedly complimenting him on the internet.

Stephen Miller is Your Smug, Gaslighting Tinder Date

Stephen Miller’s exchange with Jim Acosta on Wednesday was horrific, yet familiar.

Women know Stephen Miller. Stephen Miller is that asshole you meet on Tinder, who wants to send you a message so he can let you know your pictures from the Women’s March are really sexist against men. The kind of guy who says, “WELL ACTUALLY,” or, “let me play devil’s advocate here,” before blatantly insulting you and your intelligence. The one who says your name in a way you can almost see the your name in italics (and maybe all caps) coming out of his mouth — over and over. He’s the guy who walks up to you at a bar, hits on you in the most obnoxious manner possible, asks you questions, and proceeds to spin your basic beliefs into a web of bullshit. He’s the smug jerk who pretends to not understand phrases that are commonly used in the vernacular. Instead, he takes every comment you say completely literally, and suggests you are the dumb one for speaking like a human and not a robot. He’s the kind of racist asshole that he makes you out to be a racist monster — and all you said was, “Hey, I think that black lives matter.”

“Well, actually, Manda, it’s pretty racist that you even see race. Manda, why do you have to bring race into it? And that just shows me, Manda, that you are being racist against everyone who isn’t black, and you’re racist against black people, Manda, because you’re acting like they can’t take care of themselves and need a slogan. And, Manda, just to play devil’s advocate, but maybe cops kill black people more because more of them are criminals.” [insert self satisfied smirk]

Clearly, I’ve been tricked into a first date with a Stephen Miller or two. You live, you learn, you more obsessively Google first dates, swipe left more, and life goes on.

Except we can’t just swipe left or abandon our seat at the bar to get rid of him — because insufferable Stephen Miller is a top White House advisor. And life can’t go on for everyone — Miller might have pretended to not understand that Acosta was using hyperbole when he asked if the English requirement meant the US would only admit people from the UK or Australia, but don’t be fooled: that is Stephen Miller’s wet dream.

It’s truly remarkable how many interviews and statements given by or about members of this administration sound frighteningly similar to things sexual harassers or abusers say to women.  If only we had had some kind of clue, indicating how horrible a Trump presidency would be….

 

Dear Conservative Male Snowflakes: I’m Sorry My Dating Profile Hurts Your Fragile Male Ego

Men, I am begging you: please stop using dating apps as debating apps.

I am a single, liberal, feminist woman, and I’m not interested in dating a man who isn’t likeminded. Instead of accidentally going on a bunch of first dates with Trump voters, I’m pretty clear about my opinions on my dating profiles. I have a website where I sell anti-Trump t-shirts, with proceeds benefiting organizations directly impacted by his policies. Not only do I wear the shirts in two of my photos, I clearly state “I own AbortMikePence.com,” the site I sell the shirts on. I don’t bring this up because I want to debate politics, I bring it up because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life defending things I believe to be important to my partner. Not being liberal is a deal breaker for me.

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Oftentimes on OkCupid, I’ll get a message from an angry man who wants to explain to me why he hates “O’Bummer” and why I’m an idiot, but Bumble is pretty safe — after all, we can’t message each other unless we’ve matched. Or so I thought.

Last month I went to a wedding in Charleston, South Carolina. While I was there, I guess Bumble showed my profile results to people around me — because three weeks after I got home, I noticed an email from one of my potential matches.

Apparently, some poor little conservative male snowflake found my Bumble profile to be the most offensive thing he had ever seen. Since this angry man could not message me on Bumble, he went to my website and got my email. He then made a fake email account so he could send me the following novel:

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There are so many things wrong with this message, but I’d like to draw attention to the line “I am just waiting for the day I get the go ahead to grab a rifle. Because a peaceful resolution will not occur. You parasites are a plague.” Look, I’m not an expert — but I think the man who is so enraged by a stranger’s 300 character Bumble profile that he has to go through hoops to email her probably shouldn’t have a rifle.

So I’m sorry, Mr. NOT a beta male. I’m sorry if I hurt your little fee-fees with my preference to date men who are not like you. After all, I am just a nasty shitlib woman, living a lie. My only regret is that, yes, indeed — TrumpsRussiaTies.com is taken.

 

Maybe if I was Braver, Maybe if I was Stronger: A Comey Rewrite

On January 27th, Donald called me at lunchtime. He invited me to dinner that night, saying he was going to invite my boyfriend too, but decided to have just me this time, with my boyfriend coming next time. It was unclear from the conversation who else would be at the dinner, although I assumed my boss’s boss would only invite me to a dinner with others.

I was wrong. It turned out to be just the two of us. Donald greeted me with a large smile and showed me to my seat, as though this was normal behavior for a boss and his employee. Despite presumably having access to a lot of table settings, two high backed chairs were placed next to each other at an uncomfortably small oval table. Half a dozen white roses were placed in a vase, with a trio candelabra next to it. I couldn’t help but notice how close the petals were to the flame. Other than quickly walking in and out to serve us our food, waiters made themselves scarce.

Donald started by asking me if I wanted to keep my job, which I found strange because I have worked here for years and I also like being able to pay my rent. I assured him that yes, I intended to stay in my position. He said that a lot of people would like to have my job, and he would understand if I wanted to walk away.

My instincts told me that a one-on-one setting meant the dinner was, at least in part, an effort to have me ask to keep my job and create some sort of inappropriate relationship between the two of us. That concerned me greatly. My mind started to race: I wondered when the waiters would return to the room, and where Melania was, and my eyes briefly landed on the candelabra, as I instinctively began to check it for sharp edges.

I replied that I loved my job and intended to stay. And then, because the set-up made me uneasy, I said he could always count on me to tell him the truth.

A few moments later, Donald leaned forward. His voice husky and breathy, he whispered, “I need loyalty.” His eyes dropped from my face, down to my chest, and back up. “I expect….loyalty.”

Time stood still. Panic rose up in me. I could feel every atom in my body shaking; I was on high alert. I willed my cheeks to not turn red, and I mashed on my tongue with my teeth. But I didn’t move, speak, or change my facial expression in any way during the awkward silence that followed. We simply looked at each other in silence. The conversation then moved on, but he returned to the subject near the end of our dinner.

Near the end of the dinner, Donald returned to the subject of my job, saying he was very glad I wanted to stay, adding that he had heard great things about me from my direct boss, his good friend Jeff. He then said, “I need loyalty.” I replied, “You will always get honesty from me.” He paused and then said, “That’s what I want, honest loyalty.” It is possible we understood the phrase “honest loyalty” differently, but I decided it wouldn’t be productive to push it further. The term – honest loyalty- had helped end a very awkward conversation and my explanations had made clear what he should expect.

As I mentioned, Donald was my boss’s boss. I returned from the dinner shaken, and not knowing what else I could do, decided to document my experience in a memo. I hoped that he would not ask any more favors of me, and that I could avoid being alone with him in the future.

Hey, White Women – We DID Vote For Trump!

Like many others, this past weekend I went to the Women’s March on Washington. During the two months of Facebook discussion leading up to the march, I watched as white feminists were introduced to intersectional feminism for the first time. I wasn’t sure how white feminism and intersectionality were going to mesh, but I think that the now viral “White Women Voted for Trump” sign carried around by Angela Peoples was perfect.

In an interview with The Root, Peoples described the response to her sign: “Most [people] were saying ‘Not this white woman,’ or ‘No one I know!'” And it was at that point anger and frustration bubbled up inside me, to the point that I had to take a break from reading for a minute.

“Not this white woman” and “no one I know” are such bullshit things to say. People were bussed in from all over the country to come this event! I live in the blue af DC metro area, and I know dozens of white women that voted for Trump. If no one you know voted for Trump, either people are afraid to be honest with you, or you live in a ridiculously homogenous bubble.

There’s no one weird sect of my white friends that chose Trump; they range from people I went to a small private elementary school with to former University of Maryland classmates. Almost my entire fucking family voted for him! I’m also one of the most vocally pro-BLM white people that I personally know, and I have been flooding my newsfeed with “hands up, don’t shoot” since Ferguson’s unrest, and a countdown to Trump’s reign starting from “Mexicans are rapists.” I’ve written for Cop Block, I write for liberal immigration lawyers, I have ripped apart both criticism of Baltimore’s uprising and praise of O’Malley on local and national platforms. I have lost work contracts and friends over my militantly pro-black, pro-woman opinions. And even with all of this, people still casually tell me they voted for Trump. Not only would it never cross my mind to give a negative response to a sign someone on my side is holding, but come on. If people tell me they voted for Trump, then I know they told other people. “Yup we sure did, and I know a fuck ton of them that I’m trying to work on,” is the most truthful response.

After Freddie Gray died, I gave up a travel heavy contract I had to write a book about the social, racial, and economic history of Baltimore and how these things culminated in the death of Freddie Gray. Because here is the thing: plenty of people who look like me would rather listen to me tell the history of the black experience in Baltimore instead of listening to, you know, black people. I am a white woman, and consequently I still benefit from white privilege.

So white women! Don’t step on people’s toes or put words in their mouth or act like you understand another’s struggle as though you’ve lived, but DO acknowledge that we benefit from the color of our skin. Take time to learn, and then act as a facilitator to help bridge communication between your fellow white feminists and the vast array of other types of feminists that exist. Don’t get distracted or bitter about signs pointing out that white women don’t show up to protest when black women are shot by the police, or by signs that show the actual statistics of who vote for Trump. Those things are accurate, and you don’t get to be salty with someone for delivering an accurate message.

I am here to share facts and data to help people begin to grasp the challenges faced by those who are less privileged than they are. I am NOT here to defend my fellow whites to communities already marginalized by white people. So what if someone thinks I might be a Trump voter because I’m white? Boo. Hoo. Hey, I’m gonna guess it fucking sucks more to have cops think you’re an armed threat just because you’re black.

Let’s not make #NotAllWhiteWomen the new #NotAllMen. White women benefit from white supremacy, and we need to acknowledge that. Otherwise we are just like the guys who think that sexism and the patriarchy are real, but THEY aren’t sexist so they aren’t part of the problem.

Touched by an Angel: Lessons from Mack Major

Are you a single lady? Have you dated a string of asshole men? I have some good news for you: Mack Major is here to give you some solid life advice! Stop being a fucking slut so God can send you a good man, you stupid whore.

When you get the chance today: go home, empty out your favorite drawer (you know the one I’m referring to)

The one full of cash? The one full of favorite underwear? The one I keep my designer denim in?? Please, Mack! Help! I don’t know which drawer.

And throw every last one of your sex toys away.

Wait. What?? I’ve been keeping all the wrong things in dresser drawers. Dammit!

In fact, don’t just trash them: take a hammer and utterly destroy it. Lest you be tempted to retrieve them from the garbage can.

Let’s just take a moment to think about this logically. I can’t say I’ve ever hit a dildo with a hammer, but it seems like you’d really have to swing at it pretty hard. Like look, Mack. Where are we supposed to do this? If I’m swinging my dildo destruction hammer around my kitchen all willy nilly and I bash in my floorboards, can I sue Mack for his lack of direction? What if I don’t have good aim with a hammer? Isn’t a hammer kind of phallic? Am I allowed to hold hammers that don’t belong to my husband?

If you’re storing movies on your computer, take your computer somewhere safe and clean off  your hard drive.

I will consider donating all the money I have to any church if I can have someone explain to me where I can find a “safe space” for porn removal. Also, Mack. Bro. RedTube. YouPorn. Does Mack even know about the internet???

If you have books in your collection that stir up lust and drive you to pleasure yourself, dump those books too.

Let me start with this one: “Your stature is like that of the palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit.  I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree;  I will take hold of its fruit.’ May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine,the fragrance of your breath like apples,  and your mouth like the best wine.”

Oh wait. That’s the Bible. Shit.

Anything that causes you to sin is not coming from you alone. You’ve more than likely opened a door in your life to what the old timers would call a spiritual husband. People who come from a voodoo or an old southern hoodoo background know about spirit husbands.

Surely Mack is making a joke here. I’m guessing he’s trying to show how ridiculous it is to not take personal responsibility for your sins, so he’s brining in voodoo to drive that point home. Right??

These are actual spiritual entities that become attached to a woman through ungodly sexual and spiritual activities.

Motherfucker say what???? Is Mack just trolling us??

Spirit husbands won’t share you with any other man. They will however share you with other women (hence the proliferation of lipstick lesbians and bisexuality among females today). But they will drive all decent men from your life, forcing you to remain alone until you die.

The first time I read this, I had to go check and make sure this was a Christian blog. I just checked again — don’t worry, it’s definitely some type of Jesus centric garbage. I guess it’s okay to believe in spirits and voodoo when you’re trying to terrorize young women out of their sexuality. Ladies! Repent or you will be a lipstick lesbian who dies alone — the worst of all our fears. Without men, we cannot be complete!

Many times a spirit husband becomes attached through fooling around with the occult. And yes that includes horoscopes too.

I have no idea who Mack buys his drugs from, but if his dealer is reading this and lives in the DC metroplex…holla at your girl. I want to live life on this level. I don’t even know what the fuck he’s talking about at this point.

Perhaps [your spirit husband] climbed on top of you while you slept at night, causing extreme terror as he squeezed the breath out of you. Somebody reading this knows exactly what I’m referring to.

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YES I DO KNOW.

The only way you can get rid of a spirit husband is…to submit your life to a higher more powerful masculine force: I’m talking about Jesus Christ. Jesus’ name carries major weight in the spiritual realm.

What the fuck is this? The spiritual mafia? “Oh shit son you love Jesus? That guy does not fuck around. Okay I’m out sorry bye.”

Obviously, many rational people would think Mack is a crazy person. But this is the internet, where even the craziest of assholes can find camaraderie online.  You know what they say: read the comments on an article only if you hate yourself and/or have a bottle of wine. Guess what, bitches — I have a full bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and possibly a vagina ghost from Satan, so here we go: a quick translation of some of the comments on Mack’s hard hitting think piece.

Thank you for exposing this & tackling an issue that not many are brave enough to do!

“Thank you for creating this bullshit bizarre theory, and tackling women’s issues in a way that demeans us and encourages us to be submissive. Your idea that we submit to a higher masculine force is really spot on! Not many are insane enough to publicly share your opinion!”

This is an awesome read, however, Would you agree that their are other demonic factors that can cause this? Could it be generational strong holds & othet sorts, there are many women who don’t play with sex toys yet still aren’t married.

“I’m so desperate to be with someone that I can’t understand it’s off putting that I attribute my singledom to demons. Also where do I buy these drawers full of sex toys?”

Yes they might have been sold out to spirit husband ,which has married the females children born to the family it goes from generation to generation, it’s even causes marital turbulence, cause miscarriage ,broken homes

“Either I do not understand what ‘miscarriage’ means, or I do not understand how things are inherited from generation to generation. Also, spraying Sprite up my uterus is a good form of birth control, right?”

Wow. Very good read and in light of all the women that I can sense if they’ve been reading fifty shades there is definitely something spiritual going on.

“I masturbate on public transportation while attempting to make eye contact with women holding paperback copies of 50 Shades of Gray. I’m glad to see you agree those sluts deserve it.”