An Open Letter, Effed-Up Shit, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

Hey, gym? How long would it take you to redecorate if you hung a dick pic and a single bodybuilder complained?

This is an actual email I had to send to my gym. I don’t want to be driven back into the grasping arms of New York Sports Club or, god forbid, Crunch, but I will if it means I get to lift weights without having to stare at porn.


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Building teh Interwebz, Goings-On

This thing that I edited is in an actual printed magazine. You probably don’t have a subscription to the Harvard Business Review so you can’t read the whole thing, but you can trust me: it’s really good, and packed to the very brim with correctly-deployed semicolons.


I even snuck in an em-dash; so there.

Effed-Up Shit, Goings-On, Jesus H. Christ

New York: The City That Never Shuts the Hell Up

I travel a lot. I get stared at a lot because I am tall, and, oh yeah, fat. I’ve been stared at in a variety of foreign countries on several different continents.

Once, in Vietnam, I attracted an entire class of high school students who lined up to have their photos taken with me one at a time.

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Building teh Interwebz, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

Women in Tech: A PSA

Finally, a man willing to speak truth to matriarchal power candidly answers the question: why are there fewer older women in tech?

(PSA for the PSA: you might want to make sure you’re not near any breakables before reading. If you’ve recently eaten, please wait at least half an hour.)

Hold on to your lunches!

It's 3AM; I must be lonely., Jesus H. Christ

And forgive the Bearded Lady, Amen.

Did you know? The patron saint of carneys is also the patron saint of murderers. His name is Saint Julian the Hospitaller, and he once hallucinated that a deer told him he was going to kill his parents. (FYI, he did kill his parents. Don’t worry, though: he was really sorry, and did penance by building a hospital by a river to care for sick travelers. He also “rowed travelers across the river,” which sounds like another famous ferryman, not that I am suggesting anything untoward.)

The carney/murderer thing can’t be a coincidence is all I’m saying, and I thought you should know. I love a goddamn saint.

An Open Letter, Building teh Interwebz

To whoever’s in charge of viral marketing at the toy company that just left a bunch of spammy comments here: your work is, perhaps, slightly misdirected. Although I don’t doubt that many King of States! readers enjoy a good plastic dollhouse, there are likely other blogs where you could more profitably focus your spammerfic efforts.

Also not appropriate: spam from “Women Against F-Bombs.”

Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

Half the time when it comes to being raped by a stranger, the woman knew something was wrong but didn’t run because she didn’t want to be rude or overreact. If society has managed to socialize out of us our most basic root survival instinct for something as trivial as the appearance of politeness, it can sure as fuck socialize men out of raping.

Preach, Urello.

Do you drop a deuce in public whenever you feel like a taking a shit? I’m guessing no.

It's 3AM; I must be lonely.

Everyone take a deep breath while I tell you about the best TSA experience I’ve ever had.

Let’s take a break from wishing bodily harm on rapists and rape apologists to consider how fantastic my hair is: it is curly, it is bouncy, it is kooky and spoingy and wonderful, and it got me pulled out of the security line at Newark Airport today so a female agent could give me a top-of-head-specific pat-down. MY HAIR IS SO HOT IT’S DANGEROUS, Y’ALL.

There, don’t you feel better? I know I do. Now let’s all get a good night’s sleep and pretend that last post never happened.