i tried to be funny and it backfired miserably
itâs 2014 itâs time we moved on as a nation and stop reblogging this
every person who reblogs this in 2015 is gonna get their ass kicked by yours truly
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 i tried to be funny and it backfired miserably
itâs 2014 itâs time we moved on as a nation and stop reblogging this
every person who reblogs this in 2015 is gonna get their ass kicked by yours truly

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The whole "but what about making sure artists receive credit for their work?" objection to copyright reform is especially irritating because treating moral rights (i.e., the right to attribution, etc.) as descending from or strictly subordinate to commercial exploitation rights is a uniquely American perspective. Not only are these two things separable, they are in fact separated in the vast majority of intellectual property regimes â it's basically just the United States that treats attribution rights as a strict subset of commercial rights. Hell, the US schema is arguably worse in terms of ensuring that artists are properly credited than nearly any conceivable alternative, as treating the right to attribution as a subset of commercial rights means that the right to attribution can be signed away. There are lots of places where it's simply inalienable!
(Of course, this also goes for US copyright abolitionists banging on about how giving up the right to attribution is a necessary sacrifice â like, no, it isn't. These things are separable. Treating them like the one inherently descends from the other is literally just you guys.)
Wealthy individuals from the Middle East are increasingly using English law to make wills so they can temper the strictures of sharia law, which favours sons over daughters when it comes to inheritance. Charlie Sosna, a partner at law firm Mishcon de Reya, said the Gulf rich liked this strategy as it allowed them to âwork within the spirit of sharia but in a way that achieves what they want in their wealth and successionâ, which can include more equal distribution of assets outside their home country between children. He said he was seeing greater interest in this strategy âwithout a doubtâ. In English law, testamentary freedom means those making wills can leave their assets to whoever they like almost without restriction. By contrast, sharia law, the moral and religious code of Islam, has precise rules about how much relatives receive. A daughter typically inherits half a sonâs portion, for example. However, Hannah Wailoo, a partner at Withers, said she was seeing a shift in favour of a more âegalitarianâ approach. âWe have seen examples of Gulf families with more daughters than sons, or even only daughters, who do want to look globally at how they can make sure that those daughters are protected and their wealth is looked after,â she added. The increasing use of English wills by Gulf families was in part a consequence of their childrenâs growing globalisation, said advisers. Sosna said that âsometimes the next generation is slightly more westernisedâ and might have more complicated marital statuses, for example separations and divorces. He pointed to one client who wanted his wealth to go to his son but under sharia rules, if the son died, the fortune would go to the clientâs wife, from whom he was separated. An English will could prevent this.
We salute our woke Middle Eastern oligarchs đŤĄđŤĄđŤĄ
A related thing that, like, level-zero feminism keeps hitting is that, if women are roughly as intelligent or capable as men (not even saying "the same" here), the distribution means that some families will have competent daughters and incompetent sons/nephews. And they have to decide: "do I do the weird thing and let my daughter inherit my beloved business, or do I let my beloved business fall apart the second I retire?"
as a lover of historical fiction and art about women and horny art and silly art i am so so into this premise. everyone can't stop being like "ohh his is dick made of wood too" it's magic dumbass. i am obsessed with how this sounds like an obscure medieval european folk tale. peter dinklage plays a basketmaker with the power to bring life to inanimate objects for an spinste's sexual pleasure. suspend your disbelief about his cock and have a little fun
and the leading lady is played by a woman whose gay man. perfect movie perhaps
for those who haven't seen the trailer.
#I assume his dick is ribbed for her pleasure and well-lacquered#like yes I assume the wicker guy who is ostentatiously 100% wicker everywhere we can see also has a wicker dick#I also assume a basket-making wizard who can make a whole-ass articulated dude out of wicker in one month#while *also* keeping up with his bill-paying day-job baskets#knows how to make a dick where none of the pokery is anywhere near the jiggery#sorry to everyone who's only seen shitty big-box store baskets that are made out of spite and neoliberalism#his dong is wicker and also perfectly fit for purpose#wicker? I hardly knew her! etc.
beautiful + true tags from @tyrannosaurus-trainwreck
there's already a toy in the works, and Ikea is in on the fun apparently:
Horny people legally cannot consent. Horniness is a clouded state like inebriation. If you are partway through sex and you realize you might've become horny, it is illegal to continue. If you have ever made someone horny, you are a bad person.
I was going to say:
But then remembered there are hyperreligious people out there that say you should never enjoy the act, pray before and after, and only do it for baby purposes. So. The Devil knows ur address

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Where is her award? She stayed in character for that whole thing!
She slipped a tiny bit near the end, but if you didn't know what was going on you wouldn't have caught it. 10/10 high quality spousal shenanigans
she straight up villain laughed!
march moodboard
SPEW though is such an insane plot line in Harry Potter. actually shockingly regressive. if she wasn't an insane transmisogynist I think people would talk about it more because she really did spend two books on how wokescolds ruin slavery for the enslaved. Winky is literally a fucking Mammy
to err is to be human
to err err err err is to be banjo kazooie

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Penda's Fen (1974) dir. Alan Clarke
a song called âdisco infernoâ just came up on my dash and i automatically registered it as âi learn by means of hellâ before i realised the title was actually english and not latin
âI learn by means of hell,â forthcoming rap album from Doctor Faustus
everyone's like wehhhhh why doesn't doctor house gets suuuueeed! like my man. literally every patient he sees is someone that's been trying to find a diagnosis for ages. i could live with a little medical malpractice if it were coming from someone ready to break into my home to look for allergens and not simply half heartedly listen to me before suggesting I lose weight and take ages of back and forth arguing to order a single test
"it's medical malpractice" have u ever been a doctor? most medicine is malpractice. let the man limp around chewing vicodin doing 50 invasive tests please
Once Taub (derogatory) derisively said about a patient with unexplained chronic pain â7 doctors couldnât find anything wrong with him, what does that mean?â and House replied without even thinking âit means theyâre idiotsâ and proceed to work his ass off to diagnose the patient Taub wanted to write off as a faker or something. If a doctor had said that when that patient was ME, I wouldnât dream of suing them in a million years
Edit to add: i dont know what it says about me that i had to look up rouge the bat but can draw hugh laurie from memory
Also House did get sued multiple times, in spite of all this.
The actual most implausible thing about video game writing is that they'll show us a people-pleasing sad sack of a protagonist where everyone around them treats them as a disgusting pervert for no obvious reason, takes everything they say in the worst possible light, and ascribes vile motives to their most innocuous actions, then turn around and insist that this character is a cisgender, heterosexual man.
i love translatorsâ notes. i love seeing a little footnote thatâs like âcompare my good and grass-touching translation to the STUPID translations of smith and johnson, who rendered the passage âxyzâ because their heads are so far up their ass theyâre giving ouroboroses body dysmorphiaâ or âthis sentence isnât translated very well, but thatâs because the author wasnât making any FUCKING senseâ
This is an "annotated" version of a "translation" of Jules Verne's "Twenty-Thousand Leagues Under the Sea(s)." The translation was done by Rev. Lewis Mercier and is the most commonly reprinted English translation. It is also, incidentally, SUPER bad. Just utter dogshit. It's so bad that a modern translator, Frederick Paul Walter, released his own translation and donated it free to Project Gutenberg, because holy shit y'all. I mean hoooooly shit.
Anyway, the entire purpose of the annotated version is to tell the entire world JUST HOW FUCKING BAD Mercier's translation is and to STOP FUCKING REPRINTING IT.

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So what occurs to me is that Baby Boomers/Gen X and Millennials/Gen Z (the cutoffs are a little arbitrary, but bear with me) both grew up in the shadow of extinction, but have had qualitatively different experiences of it.
For the Boomers, the big fear was a sudden, violent catastrophe; nuclear war. US and Soviet ships start shooting at each other off the coast of Cuba; someone, somewhere in the huge and ponderous Cold War military apparatus, mistakes a meteor for an incoming ICBM, and just like that, your world is over. You're always just one bad day away from death on an unimaginable scale.
This fear has never really gone away (and certainly it's had something of a revival, recently), but it went into remission after the end of the Cold War. For Millennials, the overwhelming fear isn't of a sudden catastrophe, it's of a death by a million cuts; global warming. A slow decay growing faster; a downward spiral as everything you love and value crumbles and rots and turns to garbage around you.
When what you fear is a sudden catastrophe, normalcy--"business as usual", abstracting maybe a few reforms of the political systems--becomes a refuge. It could all be gone in a flash, but at least it's here now. It's real, it's solid. You can live in it, while it's standing.
When what you fear is a slow rot, "business as usual" becomes part of the horror. You're not escaping anything; you notice things getting worse around you with every passing summer; even worse, you are--however infinitesimally--assisting in your own demise; slowly and thoughtlessly, you are weaving the rope that will be used to hang you. Normalcy becomes your executioner.