Im Getting Really Tired Of The Wise Serene Pacifist Trope In Fiction. Every Committed Pacifist, Prison

I’m getting really tired of the wise serene pacifist trope in fiction. Every committed pacifist, prison abolitionist, antiwar activist, etc I’ve ever met in real life has been vibrating with compressed rage at all times. Do you know what it’s like to believe deeply in your heart that doing harm to others is wrong and the goal of society should be to alleviate suffering for all people and live in the United States of America? IT’S NOT FUN. Show Us The Pissed-Off Pacifists. 

Ok yeah the guy from twilight is batman now but that has nothing on the fact the kid from high school musical went on to play ted bundy

God this is endlessly entertaining

Do I need a Star Wars blog?

the difference between how ranking officers and troopers feel about Vader is so fucking funny because both groups' opinions revolve around the same fact: his shadow rank. Officers hate it because the have NO idea where he exists in the military structure, if he even does, and who they should report him to when they're having a problem. Worst, they can't even get around that by sorting out the problem themselves because Vader a) obviously doesn't respect them; b) can't even be fought because his witch ass will just toss them across the room. And it drives them NUTS. The officers uniformly hate him, even more because there's not shit they can do about it

mean while in the barracks, trooper ET-8888 or whatever is regaling EVERYONE with the story of how just that morning she watched Vader send Wullf Yularen crashing through a plate of transparisteel, and they all agree on the spot that if Vader asked, they'd all blow him

God you know you’ve transcend when you find posts that you have screen shots of on your Pinterest

Here it is: how I got Horrible Histories banned from my school.

Sit down, I’m going to tell you a story.

Imagine a little girl, a 4’9” fifth grader with dimples and twinkling blue eyes. Oh, look, she’s going to the school library. Perhaps she’s going to rent Little Women, or read On the Banks of Plum Creek by Laura Ingalls Wilder!

Five minutes later, she exits the library holding a large stack of books called “Horrible Histories.”

And she’s thumbing through one called “Angry Aztecs.”

Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Yup, that’s me! The only history geek in a fifty mile radius. Living in Bumhicksville, Nowhere (name changed, but very accurate) is pretty terrible, and going to school at Caucasian Christian School of Goodness (again, a name change, but an apt description) is even worse. I snapped a bit while I was attending, due to the lack of permissible self-expression, but horrible histories were my guiding light.

Flash forward six months.

Our teacher wants us to do a history project about an ancient civilization. Since our curriculum is Eurocentricism.JPEG, most kids pick the Greeks or Romans (and completely skip over all of the good stuff, like orgies and gladiator fights) in their presentations.

I choose my favorite ancient civilization:

The Aztecs.

My teachers knew I’d been reading Horrible Histories, but what they didn’t know was that I’d also been avidly reading all about Aztec mythology. I walk up to the front of the class, pull on a turquoise skull mask, and raise my arms to the sky.

My teacher goes sheet white.

I give my presentation and skip nothing. Nothing. Every detail of the sacrifices, every dirty, disgusting part.

It all culminates when I point to the calendar.

“It’s May!” I shout, my little girl voice rising an octave. My teacher looks like she’s about to phone the police. “The Aztecs called May Toxcatl.”

No one moves or breathed. I continue blithely.

“Toxcatl was a month dedicated to the worship of the god of the night, Tezcatlipoca.” I’m still going. Everyone is afraid. Marie, one of my classmates, looks like she’s about to cry.

“They’d dress a brave warrior as the god all year, and at the end-“ I pull the red streamers out from behind my display, shouting: “They’d sacrifice him!”

The kids shriek as the streamers of “blood” roll out across the floor.

The principal walked in, hearing the commotion, just in time for me to really get into character and shout “BLOOD FOR THE GOD OF THE NIGHT!”

And that’s how Horrible Histories and all mentions of the Aztecs were banned from my school.

Terrific

Like can we summon this m