By the way, my name is Stocking, I spill venom

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Sometimes you need

something and you don’t know what it is, but you know something isn’t right in your life. There’s a sadness in your mornings. You walk around all day and can’t quite focus; you’re in a fog that never seems to lift. You look in the mirror and don’t feel like your usual, bodacious self. You think your eyes look sad; your smile, forced. You feel tired, sluggish—you think maybe your hair isn’t as shiny as it once was. Your friends invite you out on a Friday night and you accept but when it comes to getting ready, you stand in your bedroom in a towel for twelve minutes straight before finally deciding that your bed and a Civil War memoir are better companions tonight. You forget to put deodorant on in the morning. You cry for no reason on your commute home. You are overcome by a melancholy that is destroying your whole life.
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The words that we couldn't say

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I think though,

keep your finger out of it for now, or — if she's reeeeally into the first part — after a little while of that you can ask if she likes Digital Underground, and then if she's like "Humpty Dance?" you can be like "I want to stick my finger in your ass," 'cause she definitely didn't get the joke, and you want to be sure before you tickle someone's ivories (I don't even know, anymore, what we're talking about) that they know what you're about to do and are on board with it. Because, penetration, you know? I mean, do you want a chick to stick her finger up your ass without making sure that's something you're into first? Also, I am 100% asking you that question, please someone answer that question! But (butt) yeah, I think if you just ease into it, give her a chance to communicate in one way or another that she's into it or not, and then go with that, then you're all set.
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Telling women they

should be happy to fuck you based on statistical data wasn't helping anyone get it wet, so fortunately a passive-aggressive study came out recently to help women help themselves, helpfully. A study that tells us why successful, professionally inclined women might have a hard time trying to date hot successful guys and why they should settle for unattractive nerds who feel entitled to desirable girlfriends despite possessing nothing desirable in any way themselves.
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Happy Halloween

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Basically, all women

are prostitutes who sell our pussies in exchange for a feigned expression of love. We’re supposed to want this because, shit, I have never figured out why. Because women are delusional, I guess, and will accept fake love in exchange for sex. Which makes me wonder---if women can round up a man pretending to love us to get access to pussy, then why can’t we simply pretend a casual encounter was a tragic love affair that ended because he was shipped off to war and died? Put that ability to delude yourself to work!
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Missing Missy

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Singing Eggs & Spermless Babies

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Sarah Maple

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But I’m here,

as a feminist blogger, to take pity on you and not to run you off reading my blog so that you can spend more time serving your man drinks off a tray that you’ve strapped to your back to bring him on all fours while naked.
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You just don't

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