Dismantling the Patriarchy in Videogames: I recently realised that I actually think all PIV is rape.If I use my...

misandristgamer:

I recently realised that I actually think all PIV is rape.

If I use my definition (weaponization of the penis), then consensual intercourse still falls under that. Even if you like it. Even if you have an orgasm. You can’t consent to being assaulted, after all. The physical consequences of…

An Example of Idiocy, and things you should keep to yourself. Also, an example of why people don’t take you seriously.

Basic Tenets of Adulthood I

Marriage is between two consenting adults of either gender, regardless of combination. Stand with our gay/lesbian/bisexal brothers and sisters, and support Equal Marriage! Call your congressman today! Marriage is not an exclusive institution presided over by only those of abrahamic faiths. It is arrogant and ignorant for adherents to christianity to claim that they hold the monopoly on morality, when they clearly oppose basic human morals with seething anger.

thentheysaidburnher:

Radical feminism needs to examine heterosexuality the same way we do BDSM. Most radfems seem to agree that there can be no true consent in BDSM because of our patriarchal culture informing all of our decisions and preferences. BDSM is a hyper-aggressive sexually hierarchal microcosm of heterosexuality. 

But we cannot stop the critical thinking there. It’s imperative that we view heterosexuality in similar terms. Heterosexuality and by proxy intercourse is harmful to women for a multitude of reasons, and learning that it is unavoidable is extremely harmful to girl children.

For those who are heterosexual and choose to be with men, please do think this action is feminist. It’s not. I’m of the mind that any sexual interaction with the male sex class is implicit encouragement for the continued oppression of women. This is radical, I’m aware. But women as a class cannot consent under a patriarchy. Individually, women can only make informed consent, which is like saying, ‘I know he could beat me, rape me, or kill me, and statistically speaking it’s likely he’ll do one of the three, but I want to be with him anyway.’ That’s fine for you. It’s not fine for everyone else. It’s not fine for our next generation of girls who need to see women standing alone and women standing with women.

Heterosexuality is not feminist. It’s a method of keeping women unnecessarily bound to men to provide sex, free labour, and children to be indoctrinated into more of the same.

This person is a fucking idiot. Presenting a rational argument against this person is futile, as they will not listen to reason.

A Worshiper At Random VI- Hallelujah! (Part 2)

Respite Care- The best example of systemic negligence towards children on behalf of the state (dependent upon which state it may be sanctioned by).

Upon my return to my first respite home, I was a distraught individual. having just experienced the trauma of “disrupting” a foster home, I was a scared individual. I had just lost a fairly good setup, and at the time, I could not understand why. My childish ways, according to a consensus of social workers, therapists, and my former permanent foster parents, were enough to warrant a permanent ejection.

Having knowledge of my respite foster mom (hereafter referred to as “Mary”)’s ways, I attempted to steel myself for a few brutal weeks of excessive boredom paired with copious amounts of extra hard chores around the house. Seeing as how I was the only foster child placed into the home on a “punishment” basis, I was given the sole responsibility of keeping the house clean. I had to clean the kitchen, the bathroom, and sweep both living room sections. Well, I thought it best to jump right in asking how I could help around the house. My logic was “if she sees that I’m willing to help, perhaps I’ll gain free time!”. Not surprisingly, the elderly black woman known as Mary was not too fond of me walking into her house with a Game Boy Advance that had a red Pokemon game cartridge protruding from it. It was quite promptly removed from my possession, and put into the basement, along with all of my non-clothing belongings. I was, of course, forbidden from entering the basement. It was actually in my best interest not to look at it too hard either.

Residing in the house with me were the two other foster kids, Jamal and Billy. Jamal was a fairly large 17 year old fellow with a penchant for Ludacris, which was popular at the time. Billy, a 15 year old obese white kid, was his lackey of sorts, and followed in his footsteps with regards to trends that he enjoyed and whatnot. Also present was Lionel, Mary’s 40-50 year old son (as best as I can remember). Lionel was a very quiet fellow, and very rarely appeared outside of his room. And, of course, Mary was there. Mary was averyelderly black woman who was as southern and Christian as they come. so dedicated was this woman to Christianity that she even had a preference for the translation of the bible from which she authoritatively quoted scripture: The King James Version. According to her, it was the only version of the bible that was the “correct” translation. I tended to agree with her, seeing as it was the first one put into English, and not paraphrased from another English translation for easier modern-day reading, as the New International Version is.

-CONTINUED IN PART 3-

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A Worshiper At Random VI- Hallelujah! (Pt. 1)

During my stay in my first foster home, I was afforded a unique opportunity. Due to my negative behavior, the social workers and foster parents that facilitated my existence decided it best for me to have a bit of a “change of scenery” for a weekend.

I am aware of the fact that it is unwise to identify one’s self on the internet. However, for the sake of this story, it is important to note that I’m a white guy. In addition, after reading this story, please keep in mind that I bear absolutely no resentment to anyone based on their race or culture.

As I stated in a previous post, I was placed into a foster home where the parents were adherents to the doctrine of the Church of God. Also stated was my misbehavior, which led to my eventual ejection from that home. However, prior to my removal, I was placed into a “respite” foster home during my stay. Basically, respite homes are designed to give foster parents a weekend off from their kids. In this scenario, it was designed to also teach me a lesson about “how good I had it” at my home. That particular bit of respite care lasted for one weekend. After a rocky few weeks back at the second permanent foster home, my departure from it was decided. I was placed, as a stopgap measure, back into the aforementioned respite home. This lasted for a period of two weeks.

-CONTINUED IN PART 2-

Thoughts At Random III- Worship Music

“Some glad morning when this life is o’er,
I’ll fly away.
To a home on God’s celestial shore,
I’ll fly away.

I’ll fly away, Oh Glory
I’ll fly away. (In The Morning)
When I die. Hallelujah, by and by.
I’ll fly away.”

The preceding excerpt was from a very popular hymn used across many different denominations of Protestant Christianity.

The premise of this part of the song is not based on simile, but upon very strong metaphor. Simply reading the lyrics without knowing anything about Christianity, and basing your interpretation upon that, would do a disservice to the meaning behind it, and would be quite immature.

However, it would be fun!

So, your life is going to end in the morning. This much is made clear early on. In this way, at least, you won’t be interrupted by death. You can take care of your business before bedtime, knowing that if you must die the next day, your affairs are in order. How very convenient! Not only that, if you make it to noon, you know you’re good for the rest of the day! How reassuring is that?!

Airfare isn’t cheap these days, nor are vacations. Now imagine both wrapped up into a free package. Not even our friends over at Wheel of Fortune could give away a prize this good!

Have you ever been to Sandals resort? It’s nothing compared to those celestial shores. At what earthly resort can you not only be amongst the stars, but at a beach as well? And you get to fly there! I tell you what, that’s a great deal.

By and by the way, I will, in fact, fly away, at some point in the morning.

“When the shadows of this life have gone,
I’ll fly away;
Like a bird from prison bars has flown,
I’ll fly away (I’ll fly away)”

Apparently, life, which cannot cast a shadow, has gained that property. Rest assured, however, that the shadows that it has decided to cast will be gone at some point. Beauty part is, you get to fly away when that happens.

Onto a minor simile the author moves, comparing the departure from this life to a release from prison. If this life is prison, then is actual prison considered Administrative Segregation? I do believe xzibit would run such an institution.

(insert repeated chorus about taking flight in the early hours of the day)

“Just a few more weary days and then,
I’ll fly away;
To a land where joy shall never end,
I’ll fly away (I’ll Fly Away)”

Alright, so at this point, we can gather that we’re going to die within the week. That might be reassuring in certain scenarios, but realistically only when that scenario leads to the shores of stars and such. I can’t wait to die soon, so that I can fly away from the prison that is earth, land upon the shores of entire celestial bodies (of water), and all the while know that it will happen in the morning. I have plenty of time to prepare tonight.

It will certainly be a glad morning.

It’ll all be o’er soon.

A Worshiper At Random V- Amen, Brother!

Upon entry into my first foster home, I was regaled with the presence of one unmistakable presence: nerdiness. I was the proud pseudo-child of a public works employee and his wife. The Public Works employee, Dennis, was heavily into movies and video games. Given the fact that my 12 year old self had just discovered video games not too long before this series of events, the presence of someone else who appreciated what I did made my transition into living there very easy to bear.

Dennis had a Sega Genesis, and a few awesome games. He introduced me to many of the things that I enjoy today in that realm, such as Might and Magic, Shadowrun, and he even introduced me to Lord Of The Rings. He would read The Hobbit to myself and my foster brother each night, upon request. It was enthralling, and served to further make me feel safe in the home. I honestly saw myself staying with this family forever.

Dennis also had something else: his Bible. Also in his inventory was a strong devotion to the holy document, and a membership to a local Church of God. All of these items, when forged together, allowed him to become quite the follower of Jesus.

Cheryl, his wife, was an absolute sweetheart. She also helped me feel welcome in the home, and was just as active in the Church. Attending church with them was something entirely new to me, as their denomination was different than any I had encountered. As many of you know, the Church of God is known for having charismatic beliefs. They believe in the laying of hands, speaking in tongues, and baptism in the holy spirit. However, Dennis’s church was different. They did not engage in those practices, and were quite similar to a Baptist church, with one exception. During the sermon, the preacher would make really good points sometimes. Whenever one of those really good points was made, exclamations were made in the form of “Amen, Brother!” and “Preach it!”, and other similar short phrases of praises. This was the extent to which they “expressed themselves” in church.

Being a young Christian, who had just become immensely comfortable in a new environment (to an almost alarming degree), I was eager to get involved. I had always been a curious person, begging for information about everything imaginable. In that foster home, church mattered to me to a great degree; even possibly to the greatest degree it ever had since my early childhood. I was eager to learn everything. I was even eager to join the church. I was still a member of the Baptist church back at my natural family’s home. I remember excitedly calling my grandmother back home, asking if I could change churches.

My grandmother was happy that I was “growing in Christ”, but was hesitant to endorse the idea of me changing so quickly. I remember thinking, “Surely Dennis will want me to join his church. Everyone likes having new members in their club.” However, my naivety was quite obvious in this situation. Dennis would always tell me to hold off on it, and wait for him to explain things to me. He said he would have to be “in the spirit” in order to teach me about the bible and the church.

Amid the endless hours I would spend behind a Sega Controller, or with my hands atop a mouse and keyboard fighting Goblins in Enroth, I was always pushing for Dennis to be “in the spirit”. I hungered for answers, and the ability to say I was part of the church. However, that was one quest I would never complete.

Due to what was referred to as my horribly bad behavior both at home and in school, my foster family grew quite tired of me. The trouble at school was quite severe, even to the point of me being suspended multiple times. It eventually led me to be sent to alternative school, while in that home. I cannot honestly recall what, in the home itself at least, angered them so. However, I remember a young guy named Preston entering the home as a “respite child” (basically someone who stays for just a few days). He and I never got along, and from what I could gather, Dennis and Cheryl didn’t care for him either. However, my behavior and character were such that Preston was awarded my room, and I was relegated to the couch. Such was the situation until my social worker came to pick me up, along with my things. I had been removed from the home for my behavior. Preston had been given a permanent bed, in my old room.

My spiritual quest, along with all hope of acceptance by a foster family, faded away to a high degree around that time.

(Again, during even the most difficult of these times, I was still never in doubt of the Lord God above)