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Too Late, Trotsky is part blog, part journal, and completely pointless.Following
Above: “How To Talk To Little Girls” by Lisa Bloom
And now, for my special comment.
Why I Think Being ‘Hot’ is Boring, and Why Thinking Hotness is a Disease is Also Boring
From what I understand from my own experience and from these statistics, fifteen to eighteen percent of girls under twelve are late to school, and because they spend all their time putting on make-up, don’t have time for breakfast.
Twenty-five percent of American women obviously need to realize that Tyra Banks is fucking crazy, and they really should give her the 100 foot radius that the courts decreed.
“Successful college women” is a stupid phrase. There is no “successful college” anyone right now, except for maybe Mark Zuckerberg, and he dropped the fuck out.
Dieting is not a bad thing. Dieting is a good thing, because the definition of the word “diet” is “food and drink considered in terms of its qualities, composition, and its effects on health.” Also known as nutrition. If we don’t successfully manage a nutritious and decent diet, we end up as an unhealthy pile of bones or an unhealthy pile of lard. Either way, dieting is a win-win.
Being hot is boring and takes up too much time out of the day. The cultural imperative for girls, unless I’m not watching enough America’s Next Top Model, is to find someone who you legitimately enjoy being around, fall in love or whatever you want to call it, and sit on the front or back porch with that person and just fucking sit. My impression is that this should be the cultural imperative for everyone.
American women and American men are unhappy because we are valued too much for our thoughts and accomplishments. We should be valued on how long we can sit next to someone we love and be comfortable in knowing that they’ll be there even if neither of you ever say a word.
Maybe this trend has something to do with cultural influences, but from what I can see from my grandmother’s generation, my mom’s generation, and my generation, this has always been an issue. Maybe it is. Maybe I’m wrong. And if I’m wrong, then there’s definitely something I’m missing, and it’s probably the new season of America’s Next Top Model. Which, really, is alright by me.
Just finished reading the chapter on “Hypnopaedia” in the library’s copy of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World Revisited. This eagerly awaited my last page-flip of the chapter.
All glory to the Hypnotoad.
Well played, previous book borrower. Well played.
Hilarious online flash cartoon from the makers of College University.
We live in an age of super.
Superman.
Superwoman.
Superfriends.
SuperCuts.
Super deals.
Super savings.
Supersize.
Superheroes.
Superfood.
Super-deluxe.
Super gas.
Super 8.
Super Mario.
Super lotto.
Superintendent.
Super Soaker.
Super glue.
Super collider.
Super conductor.
Super highway.
Super Bowl.
My Super Sweet 16.
Super fresh.
Supermarket.
Super Tuesday.
Super genius.
Super-sensitive.
Supersonic.
Super K-Mart.
Superstar.
Superhuman.
Super simple.
Supernova.
Supernatural.
Super spy.
Superstition.
Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.
Of course, all of this is completely superfluous and superficial.
When people tell me that “a little bird told them” something, I usually ask what specific species of bird.
If they say a swallow, I ask if it’s of the African or European variety, and if it was carrying a coconut at the time.
The Jerk Store - “Blame”
