The most potent blorbos are the not the hottest or the most pathetic, they’re the ones who share your particular neuroses but in their world those neuroses are significantly more justifed
Sonja Vordermaier, Streetlampforest, a collection of 30 european streetlamps from different origins and times, Mangfallpark Rosenheim, talking place at the horticultural show Rosenheim 2010.
Using the bathroom in general is a human right and should be enshrined as such and I’m not joking. Too many groups of people are denied bathroom breaks or the use of bathrooms entirely–disabled people, blue-collar workers, children, homeless people, prisoners, students, the elderly. I’m surely missing other groups. Not using the bathroom when needed can cause serious, long-term damage, not to mention death. Free, clean, accessible bathrooms should be available everywhere. It’s fucking cruel to deny someone the use of the bathroom, regardless of the reasoning. I’d rather every student in the world goof off and every homeless person make a mess and every worker “steal company time” than let one person suffer because they’re denied the right to fucking pee in peace.
Since the TERFS have found this post, I want to be explicitly clear:
THIS POST INCLUDES TRANS PEOPLE.
In fact, it was an egregious mistake of mine to not explicitly include trans people in my original post. Trans people are whatever gender that they say and they especially deserve access to clean, safe bathrooms. TERFS are exactly some of the fuckwads that I’m against in this post: you shitty bastards will harass people in bathrooms and pass laws denying trans people their basic rights to use the bathroom in peace and then whine that people rightfully see you as cruel.
TERFS fuck off.
Since @andhumanslovedstories and @vaspider reblogged this post just recently I’ve gotten an influx of new followers. Just to be crystal clear, here is what I believe and here is where I stand. Terfs and other exclusionists are not welcome here.
I lived and worked in a lighthouse at a previous job. There was a thick line painted in a circle around the shack where the fog signal was kept. The line represented how close you could get to the fog signal without experiencing physical harm in the form of eardrums shattering or worse.
Even in the house it was LOUD. Probably the loudest thing I have ever experienced but at a normal, predictable interval. You would begin to time your sentences with little pauses with the rest of the lighthouse crew so you would talk like this while making your………..HORN…………. tea and then carry on talking because you knew when it would go off. It rattled the walls and the dishes in our cabinet.
At least one girl had died there. They kept photos of her everywhere “in honor of her sacrifice” because she had decided to take the winter watch alone and died in a storm where bounders the size of mini vans had been lifted out of the ocean and left scattered across the island, to say nothing of the ice chunks. People weren’t allowed to be alone on the watch after that.
One day a dead moose washed up on shore and it took my entire crew all day but we managed to rig up a line to hang it up to dry because we thought having a moose skeleton in the house would really spice the living room up a bit. It did. Weird shit happens when six of you are left alone, like ALONE ALONE, no cell reception, no wifi, just a radio to contact the real world and not a lot of reason to do that. People don’t go on lighthouse jobs if they want to stay connected, I’ve found.
That said Id do it all again, I really do treasure those days
you know you could’ve just said “no they don’t have wifi” and that would’ve answered the question
ALT
