However it originated, though, the usage of “because-noun” (and of “because-adjective” and “because-gerund”) is one of those distinctly of-the-Internet, by-the-Internet movements of language. It conveys focus (linguist Gretchen McCulloch: “It means something like ‘I’m so busy being totally absorbed by X that I don’t need to explain further, and you should know about this because it’s a completely valid incredibly important thing to be doing’”). It conveys brevity (Carey: “It has a snappy, jocular feel, with a syntactic jolt that allows long explanations to be forgone” “It has a snappy, jocular feel, with a syntactic jolt that allows long explanations to be forgone”).
But it also conveys a certain universality. When I say, for example, “The talks broke down because politics,” I’m not just describing a circumstance. I’m also describing a category. I’m making grand and yet ironized claims, announcing a situation and commenting on that situation at the same time. I’m offering an explanation and rolling my eyes — and I’m able to do it with one little word. Because variety. Because Internet. Because language.
shout out to people who are scared to call others out, whose hands shake when they try to explain what’s wrong, whose throats threaten to close up with thoughts of ‘what if i’m just overreacting’, whose hearts are pounding out of their chests because they just stuck their necks out for their beliefs, who have lost friends and respect and safety for aligning themselves with causes
how long must we wait for a lesbian disney princess
or what about a prince who throughout the entire movie you think he’s going to be the love interest but in the end it turns out he’s gay
or how about a lesbian princess
Everytime someone asks for lesbian representation someone will try to turn it to something else, a gay guy or a girl with no love interests etc. Every fucking time. As soon as you say “lesbian” someone is already gearing up to derail the conversation and change the focus to something else. Why is this considered so much to ask, why every other person has something else to propose as an alternative?
As for the people who say how about both a gay prince and a lesbian princess at the same time and other people think they’re together but they’re not and we find that at the end. How about no?
How about not making a story about a lesbian princess revolve around whether a guy wants her or not and whether others think they should be together? How about not revealing the lesbian princess’s sexuality at the end as a surprise? How about making the story about the lesbian character and what she wants and what she’s after and maybe the love interest she’s trying to win over and not take attention from her to give it to a male character and his perspective. Male characters have a bad habit of taking over female characters’ story arcs. It’s like writers can’t help themselves. How about a storyline for a lesbian character that doesn’t involve romantically a male character at all, not even as a beard or to show that she’s really a lesbian? Can’t we really imagine a story for a lesbian character that doesn’t include a guy in a protagonistic role challenging or reinforcing her sexuality and taking over her screen time? Does a lesbian character need a male character to prove her sexuality by not being attracted to him? How about a lesbian princess saying she looks for the girl of her dreams and we just believe her and the story is about her and her adventures?
"Cishet white males don’t understand-" you know what, maybe we do.
hey guys cishet white males understand a lot of things. examples
how to play call of duty modern warfare
how to play call of duty black ops
how to play call of duty modern warfare 2
how to play call of duty black ops 2
how to play call of duty ghosts
and those are just SOME of the call of duty games that cishet white males understand
this just in: it’s perfectly okay to be a total asshole to someone just because they’re a white guy
wow good morals not hypocritical at all A++ good job everybody round of applause
our apologies, allow me to amend the statement. cishet white males also understand
this is exactly what i mean when i say that most people on this webstie dont give two shits about equality. they just want to be on top. “its ok to make fun of people as long as theyre cis, white, and or male!” shut the fuck up you ARE ALL FUCKING TODDLERS GROW UP
i’m sorry sir did i forget a game? was it assassin’s creed? it was assassin’s creed, wasn’t it. once again, i apologize
Apologies in advance for the really serious post, but I think I’ve actually made my point pretty well in the text below and it’d mean a lot to me if you’d read it. Trigger warning for rape and sexual violence.
“when the boys pull your hair and push you to the ground
I promise not to tell you that it’s because they like you.
when the teachers call home to tell me that
you pushed them to the ground after you
I’ll take you out of school early and buy
you your favorite ice cream.
when you get older and the boys
try to touch you when you don’t want to be touched
I’ll look at you like the sun when you come home
with anger in your fists.
they all tell you not to fight fire with fire
but that is only because they are afraid of your flames.
when the boys yell after you like hyenas
you yell back, baby.
I will not teach you to be afraid of your anger
so that you look for it in others.
I will not make you be the better person
because you already are.
you wanna fight ‘em? fight ‘em.
don’t you dare apologize for the fierce love
you have for yourself
and the lengths you go to preserve it.
when the boys try to tell you to soften up
I hope you make them bleed with your edges.
I hope you remember that you are not theirs
that their disappointment in you is not yours.
when the boys come to your door with pretty words and
I hope you show them the anger in yours.
I hope you show them just how strong your mommy
thinks you are.
I hope you show them the animal they can’t always
see in their own reflection.
when the boys come with the intention of hurting you
my advice will always stay the same, my darling:
give ‘em hell.”—when the boys come | Caitlyn S. (via alonesomes)
why is the bad girl in high school movies always the popular preppy cheerleader why cant we have a movie where the villain is the nerdy girl who thinks shes superior to everyone else because she watches doctor who and drinks tea and is “not like other girls”
We live in a world where it’s more acceptable to dislike yourself and openly say “I am ugly” rather than actually appreciate yourself and openly say “I am attractive” because how dare you feel good in your skin and say it out loud, what an awful human being you are, you can’t walk around thinking you’re good, you piece of shit.
“One day, he’s going to know. He’ll know your birthday, your middle name, where you were born, your star sign, and your parents names. He’ll know how old you were when you learned to ride a bike, how your grandparents passed away, how many pets you had, and how much you hated going to school. He’ll know your eye colour, your scars, your freckles, your laugh lines and your birth marks. He’ll know your favourite book, movie, candy, food, pair of shoes, colour, and song. He’s going to know why you’re awake at 5am most nights, where you were when you realised you’d lost a good friend, why you picked up the razor and how you managed to put it down before things went too far. He’s going to know your phobias, your dreams, your fears, your wishes, and your worries. He’s going to know about your first heartbreak, your dream wedding, and your problems with your parents. He’ll know your strengths, weaknesses, laziness, energy, and your mixed emotions. He’s going to know about your love for mayonnaise, your dream of being famous when you were five, your need to quote any film you know all the way through, and your fear of growing older. He’ll know your bad habits, your mannerisms, your stroppy pout, your facial expressions, and your laugh like it’s his favourite song. The way you chew, drink, walk, sleep, fidget and kiss. He’s going to know that you’ve already picked out wedding flowers, baby names, tiles for the bathroom, bridesmaid dresses, and the colour of your bedroom walls. He’s going to know, get annoyed at and then accept that you leave clothes everywhere, take twenty minutes to order a Starbucks, have to organise your DVD’s alphabetically, and check your horoscope… just incase. He’ll know your McDonald’s order, how many sugars to put in your tea, how many scoops of ice cream you want, and that you need your sandwiches cut into triangles. He’s going to know how you feel without you telling him, that you need a wee from a look on your face, and that you’re crying without shedding tears. He’s going to know all of it. Everything. You, from top to bottom and inside out. From learning, from sharing, from listening, from watching. He’s going to know every single thing there is to know, and you know what else? He is still going to love you.”—Anson (via perfect)
In the Deep South, God is a cotton king,
Trussed up in plantation whites and powdered over smooth
with a little bit of talcum from Momma’s compact.
He’s the Georgia dust that gets on everything, in everything,
Caking the soles of bare feet
sifting through cracks in church pews,
and catching in your lover’s eyelashes.
In the Deep South, the Devil is a beautiful boy
who swears and cheats at billiards on Sunday.
He is the one who reaches up your skirt,
pulls out the prayers your were saving for someday
and lights them on fire with his tongue.
He will sing hymns while feasting on your forfeit heart,
call you blessed while peeling away dignity like stockings,
then drag you out in front of the church to be stoned.
In the Deep South, the Holy Spirit is an old woman
with hands brown and gnarled as the nuts she boils
and a voice soft and dark as the Appalachian sky.
She is the swamp kingdom matriarch children are sent to
when sins need to be wished away like warts,
the presence of whom straightens the spines of wayward souls
and coaxes a “Yes Ma’am” from the devil’s own.
In the Deep South, Jesus is a mixed-race child
with drops of destiny mingled into his blood
and the names of the saints tattooed along his spine.
He has his mother’s bearing, one that wears suffering nobly,
and baleful eyes that speak of the sins of his forefathers.
The word of God flutters from his mouth like butterflies
with bodies baptized in tears and wings dipped in steel.
In the Deep South, angels drink too much.
They sashay and guffaw and forget to return calls.
They tell white lies and agonize over what to wear.
In the Deep South, angels look very much like you and it,
and they cling to each other with dustbowl desperation
and replenish their failing reserves of grace with ritual
in the hopes of remembering what they once were,
what wonders they once were capable of performing.
“Don’t stop until you’re satisfied. You want an explanation? Ask. You want to be successful? Work. Don’t settle for results you don’t want. Don’t stop until you’re satisfied.”—(the best advice a teacher has ever given me)