alright you guys have posted some pretty bad jokes on here but not one comes close to this doozy
brace yourselves
so there’s a far-off place that consists of a perfectly triangular lake surrounded by land, with three kingdoms on the three sides of the lake. the first kingdom is rich and powerful, filled with wealthy, prosperous people. the second kingdom is more humble, but has its fair share of wealth and power, too. the third kingdom is struggling and poor, and barely has an army.
the kingdoms eventually go to war over control of the lake, as it’s a valuable resource to have. the first kingdom sends 100 of their finest knights, clad in the best armor and each with their own personal squire. the second kingdom sends 50 of their knights, with fine leather armor and a few dozen squires of their own. the third kingdom sends their one and only knight, an elderly warrior who has long since passed his prime, with his own personal squire.
the night before the big battle, the knights in the first kingdom drink and make merry, partying into the late hours of the night. the knights in the second kingdom aren’t as well off, but have their own supply of grog and also drink late into the night.
in the third camp, the faithful squire gets a rope and slings it over the branch of a tall tree, making a noose, and hangs a pot from it. he fills the pot with stew and has a humble dinner with the old knight.
the next morning, the knights in the first two kingdoms are hung over and unable to fight, while the knight in the third kingdom is old and weary, unable to get up. in place of the knights, the squires from all three kingdoms go and fight. the battle lasts long into the night, but by the time the dust settled, only one squire was left standing – the squire from the third kingdom.
and it just goes to show you that the squire of the high pot and noose is equal to the sum of the squires of the other two sides
Month: May 2015
This really struck me.
Ms. Marvel #6 (2014) // Marvel Comics
Ms. Marvel (Kamala Khan)
Story: G. Willow Wilson, art Jacob Wyatt
This was one of my favorite outfits from the second trade. She is so fucking stylish!
To say she was suffering would be quite the understatement. Having agreed to participate in the drug trial which promised to net her a tidy little sum of money for what seemed to be quite an erotic experience, she had no idea that it would become this torturous.
While she fully understood that a drug would be administered to entirely debilitate her, rendering her unable to move, she did not expect this level of stimulation. When they had told her that they wanted to test her levels of sexual response while under the drug, she thought they’d meant some light touching and fondling for a few minutes; now that she’d been here for over an hour, she realised just how wrong she was. Trapped within the near motionless prison that was her own body, she was only able to moan; no matter how much she tried, she could not scream out and beg for them to stop torturing her pussy with stimulation. Repeatedly the woman in charge of administering the stimulation finger-fucked her dripping wet opening and massaged her pulsating clitoris without relenting for even a moment. It hadn’t taken long for the tormented girl to realise that the drug not only inhibited any motion, it also prevented her from being able to climax. The rushing tide of orgasm seemed to ceaselessly push against the barriers of her sexual need for release to no avail, just constantly building without respite, making her body and mind feel ready to explode, unable to cope nor control it.
The test would be over once the drug wore off, which would be when her orgasm could finally tear free from the shackles of her drug-induced denial. It would be an orgasm that, once it arrived, would be enough to make her pass out, though sadly for her, it would be nearly another hour of tortured longing before such wonderful, much needed release.
Content created by: PleasureTorture
Image source from: Hegre-art
Fashion is one of the very few forms of expression in which women have more freedom than men. And I don’t think it’s an accident that it’s typically seen as shallow, trivial, and vain. It is the height of irony that women are valued for our looks, encouraged to make ourselves beautiful and ornamental… and are then derided as shallow and vain for doing so. And it’s a subtle but definite form of sexism to take one of the few forms of expression where women have more freedom, and treat it as a form of expression that’s inherently superficial and trivial. Like it or not, fashion and style are primarily a women’s art form. And I think it gets treated as trivial because women get treated as trivial.
Fashion is a Feminist Issue: Greta Christina (via vogueltalia)
I feel like this about lingerie and specifically the value people place on lingerie (which is very often women’s work). The devaluation of things associated with women and women’s labor is reified in garments that are almost exclusively seen on women’s bodies. There’s this overwhelming sense that the labor associated with sewing, say, a bra is valueless, and that the laborer should be willing to work for free…or at least for inhumanely cheap wages. Culturally, I think this devaluation also ties into a lot of other things (for example, in America, puritanical Protestantism and its suspicions of the body, and, globally, the taken-for-granted exploitation of people of color), but I’ve just been idly pondering the way lingerie links up with many other conversations. And that’s not even getting into all the other expectations surrounding lingerie and how women are penalized for not conforming. Lift your breasts, but don’t wear push-ups. Wear underwear, but make sure it’s invisible. And so forth and so on. (I’m on my phone, by the way. Please pardon any typos.)
Holy fuck, do I want to rock a party in this.
