OMG FUCK YOU YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT DISNEY MOVIES WERENT CREATED FOR YOU THEY WERE CREATED FOR KIDS SORRY IF THEY DONT MEET YOUR EXPECTATIONS FUCK YOU
Once upon a time I was babysitting my 12 year-old cousin and I took her to the mall for food and window shopping. This was around the time Enchanted came out so of course the walls were lined with Giselle. Not that I particularly minded, Enchanted was a good film.
So at any rate, I was casually browsing some of the outfits they had out and pick out this pink sparkly dress meant to be Aurora’s. I said, “Hey, Destiny, why don’t you wear this for Halloween?”
I should note I was just joking because this was the age where she was rebelling against dresses but rather than to comment on that she simply replied with, “That isn’t for me.”
I thought she was talking about the fact that I was holding up a dress so I pressed on, “Aw why not? C’mooon! I’m sure it’ll look great on you! Oh we could get you a nice tiara and sparkly heels-“
But she shook her head and went, “That’s only for white girls.”
Of course it was the initial line that took me by surprise, but even moreso was the sheer matter-of-factness that was in her voice. She wasn’t even fazed by it and talked as if was telling me some fact that I must have missed in a memo.
She went on to look at the TV screen but I kept going through the outfits thinking that maybe Jasmine or Pocahontas or Mulan would work, but that wasn’t the problem.
The problem IS that she is the so-called target audience for a store in which she found nothing for her and she accepted it as a fact.
The problem IS that all of this princess stuff isn’t FOR her.
The problem IS that I went through this revelation when I was her age and I thought that it would have ended a long time ago.
The problem IS that they rejoiced in Tiana only to get three more non-POC princesses.
And the problem is that all of this will CONTINUE to be and I just don’t know if I would be able to stand watching my two year-old niece realize this herself.
Because we’re Mexican, we’re mixed, we’re African-American, but most importantly we’re not white.
So you know what? No. Fuck YOU.
Because I WAS a kid. These princess movies WERE created for me, my cousins, my niece, and damn near every other little girl I have know in my lifetime.
And we were NEVER a part of their formula.
We are NEVER going to be a part of their formula.
I’m sick of this shit. I want to see this shit change and I’m not going to sit around waiting for it to change.
I am going to raise hell and I will bust my ass through school and I will get my degree and I will get into the animation industry and I will fight my absolute hardest to help in the change because if there’s one thing I never want to see again is a kid questioning why movies refuse to acknowledge their existence.
So you sit the fuck down and you shut the fuck up and you go through hearing this shit from four different kids and then you see if you can get off your fucking ass and say that shit to me again.
dude it’s so weird how when you’re a kid, socks were like the worst thing you could get on christmas but now it’s like hell yeah please give me some socks i own like two and a half pairs my feet are so cold
“Although most boys figure out how to bring themselves to orgasm by age thirteen, half of girls do not have their first orgasms until their late teens, twenties, or beyond. Teenage girls widely agree that they get the message loud and clear that masturbation is something boys do, but girls do not, cannot, or should not. The cultural focus on intercourse tells young women to expect they will begin to experience sexual pleasure once they have sex with a man (whether or not they are even interested in sex with men). Nearly all teen boys, on the other hand, experience sexual pleasure long before they get their hands—or other body parts—into a partner’s pants. Despite the massive advances in women’s equality, young women’s sexuality is stuck in a surprising paradox. Young women are sold provocative clothes but are not taught where to find their own clitoris. Many girls give their boyfriends oral sex, but are too uncomfortable with their own bodies to allow the guys to return the favor. It is still a radical act to say that women need and deserve access to information about their own sexual pleasure—not just about the risks and negative consequences of sex.”—(via benedictsmith)
The Doctor’s dilemma in [The Waters of Mars], as in so many of the best of Davies’ episodes, was a moral one. It wasn’t a problem that could be solved by being clever or using the sonic or the TARDIS to fix everything. There was no winning scenario—the Doctor had to choose the best of two bad outcomes and it hurt to watch him do it. It made us hurt for him, which made us love him all the more. The Doctor knows what fixed points in time are, so can he refuse to save Pompeii? Should he have prevented the Dalek race from ever being born? Was it wrong to destroy the Racnoss, or was it just wrong to take steely pleasure in it? Was it wrong to depose Harriet Jones? There’s a moral question like that underpinning all the best of Who.
There’s very little of this exploration in Moffat’s Who, which creates an Eleven who is that arrogant, dangerous Time Lord Victorious from the end of “Waters of Mars.” He doesn’t have moral dilemmas, he’s not bothered about the consequences of his actions, he doesn’t even pause long enough to worry about the people who might get trampled under his feet or feel bad when innocent bystanders end up as collateral damage. Consider the particularly nauseating example of the solution to the Silence infestation of Earth in “Day of the Moon”: humans being hypnotoaded into being weapons of niche destruction. Perhaps it’s a testament to the vividness of his storytelling, but think about what Moffat has created here: in that world, thanks to the Doctor, every time you or I turn around we might feel a compulsion to splatter open a skull. There’s very little to love about a character with so much power who wields it so carelessly.
Part of what’s so maddening is that Moffat often has the opportunity to explore the moral dilemmas right in front of him and refuses to do anything with it. If there’s a consequence to the Eleventh Doctor’s behavior, Moffat’s hiding it inside a strangely constructed Rubik’s Cube, and we’re no longer convinced he isn’t more interested in playing with the puzzle than finding what’s inside.
”—For Whom the (Cloister) Bell Tolls, Or Why We Hope Steven Moffat’s ‘Doctor Who’ Is An Island - TVBacon [x] (via youholdthewater)
The 50th made me so mad that I want to curse Moffat to a life where every time he goes to put ketchup on something that thin ketchup water comes out instead. The whole bottle. Ketchup water. No ketchup. And everyone just sits there asking him why he’s complaining, Ketchup is great. He’s always loved ketchup. He’s crying tears of fucking ketchup water with crappy-ass fries, for the rest of his miserable life. Because that’s what trying to watch Doctor Who feels like now, and I want him to feel my pain.
I curse you to ketchup water forever you son of a bitch.
Oh my god this is the most accurate comparison ever no seriously bless you you’re a genius let me hug you
[Once you get this message you must give five random facts about yourself and then pass it on to your favorite 10 followers ^-^]
Okay here we go
1. I’m a dog person, always been, the bigger the dumber the better
2. It is my intention to delve even deeper into the Doctor Who fandom by watching Classic Who episodes; I’ve already watched the Eighth Doctor movie and downloaded the novels on my Kindle. I’m already ashamed of myself. I’ve managed to stay clear from Star Wars, Star Trek or Lord of the Rings as nerdy obsessions up until now, only to fall into what’s probably the worst of them all.
3. The first fanfiction I’ve ever written is a Jrock Gackt/Miyavi RPS, and I’m STILL not even sorry.
4. My favourite kind of food is Chinese
5. Visiting Pompeii and the Sahara desert are the two most powerful experiences I’ve ever had