“It appears you and that boy had a severe breakdown in communication, which led to your being sexually assaulted.”
Jesus fucking Christ, Abby. Whoopsie! Looks like a line got left out, Abby. I’m sure what you meant to say was:
Of course you don’t; not for me. But just in case…
I recognize that white dudes generally do not feel a need to protect me, avenge my honor, or care if I’m sexually assaulted at all; after all, I’m a hairy-legged, unabashed feminist. Shrieking harridans are not high on the damsel-in-distress-o-meter.
There was an egregious typo in a column you recently published on your website. In the forward-thinking and insightful piece “Drunk Female Guests are the Greatest Threat to Fraternities,” you accidentally spelled “Entitled Sexist Frat Brothers” as “Drunk Female Guests.”
I was coming online to write a post about something totally-non-dander-raising, but made the mistake of first pausing to read the New York Times’s piece on how Hobart and William Smith Colleges bungled a student’s rape report.
Nothing at all. If you’re tempted to say something to me, close your eyes and pretend you’re looking at a not-fat person. Would you say anything to that person? If not, don’t say it to me.
That would be a short and boring blog post, so I will expand.
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.
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.
I bought an apple yesterday, intending to eat it this morning. I like apples cold and crispy, so I left it by the open bathroom window. Then I decided to shower, so I moved the apple to the bedroom window. In the night, it was too cold to keep the bedroom window open, so I shut it, re-opened the bathroom window, and moved the apple back there. This morning, I forgot to eat the apple. As I was getting ready to leave for the day, I heard a gust of wind roll the apple off the sill, but I was running late and promptly forgot about it.
And that’s why there’s an apple in the bathtub of room 909.
UPDATE! When I returned to my room tonight, the apple had been neatly replaced on the sill.