Stuck in My Craw!

If sentient bullets have gone rogue, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Welcome to a new intermittent King of States! series, “Things That Are Stuck in My Craw.”*

First, the Setup!
A cop pulls the trigger of his gun. The bullet that exits hits a 12-year-old boy, who later dies of his injuries. A police report helpfully explains that “bullets were fired.”

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Effed-Up Shit, To Hell In a Handbasket, Warning: Strident Feminism Ahead

“We have to love each other. You hear me? It’s up to us.”

My friend-who-I don’t-keep-in-touch-with-as-much-as-I-should Charmaine Chua posted this story on Facebook earlier today. I read it, threw up in my mouth a little, read it again, and threw up a little more.

I asked her if I could share it. At the risk of causing you to throw up in your mouth as well, here it is.

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Building teh Interwebz

Blogs are Dead; Long Live the Blogs.

Lately, I feel like I’ve read a lot of tweets and, ironically, blog posts, about how blogging is dead. Like newspapers, I suppose; we all know how hard it is to find one of those now. Although I’ll gladly take a blog or a copy of the Sunday New York Times over a future where plutocrat robot overlords beam 140-word communications directly into my brain from the wifi-enabled microchip that’s implanted in my wrist. (I assume that or the Sunday Times are the only two options, yes?)

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It's 3AM; I must be lonely.

I am shocked at Buzzfeed’s lax editorial standards.

There’s an article on Buzzfeed at the moment about the improbably-named Benedict Cumberbatch, who appeared in a fashion magazine wearing a t-shirt declaring, “This is what a feminist looks like.”

(Yes, I sometimes look at Buzzfeed articles that have been shared on my Facebook wall. Yes, I still use Facebook. Shut up.)

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Effed-Up Shit, It's 3AM; I must be lonely.

Happy Columbus Day! If you’d like to celebrate with me, meet me tomorrow at the southeast corner of 21st Street and 5th Avenue, 10AM. We’ll pick a direction to walk in, enter the first store we come across, and take whatever the hell we want.

Discovery! So exhilarating.

If anyone tries to stop you, just shove ‘em out of the way.

Aside
It's 3AM; I must be lonely.

TERRIBLE IRONY: By the time you finish paying off your educational debt, you are too old to engage in drunken shenanigans on a weekend when you’re already exhausted from moving to a new apartment, and you settle for a nice dinner out at your favorite Jersey red sauce joint and a good milkshake. I mean, I like a milkshake as much as the next debt-free gal, but COME ON. Twenty-three-year-old me weeps.

Higher education: at what cost?

It’s like 10,000 spoons, when all you need is a fifth of gin.

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