Anybody else remember this episode? In it, a female villain called Femme Fatale is stealing millions of dollars in Susan B. Anthony coins. Naturally, the Powerpuff Girls go to stop her. She then convinces them that men are all horrible because female superheroes aren’t as well known as male superheroes, even asking Blossom to name some to where her only answer is Wonder Woman.
They start acting bitter, refusing to do chores when the Professor asks and even telling the Mayor to save the town himself. Ms. Bellum and Ms. Keane talk to the girls and basically explain that being mean to guys won’t do anything and that isn’t the kind of message feminists should put out.
They proceed to beat up Femme Fatale while giving her a history lesson about Susan B. Anthony, the story where she voted and was found guilty because women couldn’t vote back then, but when the judge wanted to let her off easily because she was a woman, she forced them to take her to jail. The girls handle her and the lesson is that misandry will not stop misogny and we all should just respect each other.
And it fell on Tumblr’s deaf ears.
To the point where many among the sort of person depicted in this episode point out that Lauren Faust later regretted writing the episode. What they conveniently leave out is the fact that it was because of all the death threats she received from that sort of person.
If you want to kill yourself, kill what you don’t like. I had an old self that I killed. You can kill yourself too, but that doesn’t mean you got to stop living.
Archie’s Final Project. Dir. David Lee Miller. (via mycrofd)
Today’s Gender of the day is: Drake Contemplating The Meaning Of Life After Not Quite Touching Nicki Minaj’s Butt
Wishing I were bigger than these moments,
smothered in hands, passing through my old bodies,
shedding a luscious fur that drips from my shoulders
like a whore in a girlie magazine, wishing I were greater
than desire, so over its poesy whatever, wishing you hadn’t
left me in June, wishing you were here, kissing me goodbye
in the porch light. It’s a sweet montage, we’re laughing ugly
and smiling at each other,the night expanding like a lung.
So we drive with all the windows down,
grinning into the blue, legs crossed, not both of them mine,
the car sliding down the road like a streaming blotch
on a reel of film. Lying on Sol’s couch, soft and molted,
palming my phone, your phantom weight on my stomach,
trying to send this, hoping at the very least to startle you into love,
not love with me, but love as a verb,
hoping you’ll see the bullshit in that sentence,
regretting this already.