Tuesday, December 16, 2014

Tuesday Reading

Tight Fist Tip #52: The Supermarket Bulk Produce Scam
Which one should you get? (Note that these are both store brand, so probably literally came out of the same field.) Well, without looking at the prices, any reasonable person would probably think that if you want to eat a lot of carrots, you should buy the bagged one, since buying in bulk is generally cheaper (my last post not withstanding). And if you don't want a lot, it's probably better to buy the loose ones, so you don't waste money on spoiled carrots. But let's take a look at the prices: the loose carrots cost $.79/lb, and the bag of carrots costs $1.69 for a bag. And the bag weighs...1 pound.
Read More at The Tight Fist


5 Ways to Reduce Chemicals in Packed Lunches for Grown Ups!
Lunch is such a pain of a meal to plan. I think it’s actually worse to pack my own lunch than Charlie’s. I do my best to make a good one for myself, but I still slip up. I went through a phase that I bought several gluten free microwave meals because it was so hard to find time to make my lunch in addition to the kids’ in the morning. When my tummy wasn’t happy with those meals, I had to revise my time-saving strategy.
Read More at Fed Up With Lunch


Opening Up, Closing Down
by Miri Mogilevsky
I hate talking about myself, whether it’s positive or negative. I hate feeling like I need someone’s help to deal with emotions. I hate wanting someone’s help to deal with emotions even when I know I don’t need it. I hate the first time I tell someone I love them and I hate many of the subsequent times too. I hate it when people know that I miss them. I hate being visibly upset around someone, which means that if it’s at all possible to leave, I leave. I hate expressing any emotion besides joy and anger (which I rarely feel) to anyone. I hate it when someone says things to me in an attempt to build intimacy but I don’t know what to do so I say nothing. I hate when people notice emotions I didn’t intend to share. I hate when they tell me this as though it’s going to somehow endear them to me. I hate that there’s nowhere I can cry without being seen or heard by someone.
Read More at Brute Reason


Moron NTE
obviously, i think it is, and that it is from that place of understanding that one must speak of NTE/NTHE (near term extinction/near term human extinction) and this is where i speak from now.  to their credit, NTE “activists” arent really activating for/toward anything, believing that it has been too late to DO SOMETHING for decades now — this is the foundation of their belief system in fact, that self-reinforcing feedback loops have been set in motion and cannot be stopped, and that the changes happening now are not linear but exponential.
Read More at Femonade


The Insufficiency of Cock
Tuesday’s lover fucks me forever. Slaps my tits too hard, like in the movies made to be watched and not repeated, not necessarily, not without the foreplay they DIDN’T show in that movie, but he doesn’t know better, or maybe he does, but he’s in a hurry. He won’t come. Not this way. I could fuck him til tomorrow. I could fuck him all week long and he wouldn’t come this way. He won’t come from my mouth, either, and I’m not encouraging someone with this kind of staying power to go anywhere near my ass. He thinks it’s great, for me. We go, and we go, and he’s never satisfied, never able to let go, get off, cuddle. I get bored of thrusting. My legs get tired, we switch, he sweats on me, we switch, it stops feeling good if it ever really did, and he looks at me the whole time, gauging pleasure, clawing for validation. I moan. Of course I do, but I’m apathetic about it. He’s giving nothing of himself but his prick, so caught up in his head. Later, he’ll think or he’ll say that it must’ve been the fuck of my life. I must’ve been wowed. I mean… he lasted two full hours. My skin will sting from having too much of someone else all over it for too long, and from friction and from sweat in quantities I can’t imagine producing, and my cunt will be raw and I will look at him with a cynical eye and say sweetly, “Yes, god yes, of course,” because what else is there to say that wouldn’t just make it worse?
Read More at Little Miss Obdurate


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