And if Michael Brown was not angelic, I was practically demonic. I had my first drink when I was 11. I once brawled in the cafeteria after getting hit in the head with a steel trash can. In my junior year I failed five out of seven classes. By the time I graduated from high school, I had been arrested for assaulting a teacher and been kicked out of school (twice.) And yet no one who knew me thought I had the least bit of thug in me. That is because I also read a lot of books, loved my Commodore 64, and ghostwrote love notes for my friends. In other words, I was a human being. A large number of American teenagers live exactly like Michael Brown. Very few of them are shot in the head and left to bake on the pavement.

The “angelic” standard was not one created by the reporter. It was created by a society that cannot face itself, and thus must employ a dubious “morality” to hide its sins. It is reinforced by people who have embraced the notion of “twice as good” while avoiding the circumstances which gave that notion birth. Consider how easily living in a community “with rough patches” becomes part of a list of ostensible sins. Consider how easily “black-on-black crime” becomes not a marker of a shameful legacy of segregation but a moral failing.

Ta-Nehisi Coates, being amazing. (via politicalprof)


Important, always-relevant comic done by the wonderful Ursa Eyer.

“I went through it all on set: I fell in love with a woman, and I watched my life play out on screen. And now, as we are gearing up for the release of season 2, it feels liberating and appropriate to live my life in front of you.”


Sage advice


Sage advice


Dog knows difference between bath and walk.

"In The Dark" - Kurt/Blaine


Early-to-middle-ish!Klaine.  Kurt teases Blaine in a room full of their friends and then gives him a blowjob after everyone falls asleep.

Jude: I see your intergluteal porn and raise you a blowjob!  YOUR TURN.

It’s chilly in the basement, so no one comments when Kurt drags a fleece blanket around them as they settle to watch the recording of their last competition set.

Burt and Carole had said goodnight after making sure that no one had smuggled alcohol in—Kurt had rolled his eyes (“Dad, I’m classier than that—also, that carpet was not cheap.”)—so now it’s just a small group of them, pairs where pairs exist, sprawled out on sleeping bags and pillows and blankets all over the room.

Blaine makes them watch the recording twice at full speed without stops before going through it song by song at reduced speed. It’s important to self-criticize, and he has specific ideas about what they can do to perform better next time.

The New Directions’ patience lasts about as long as the third number. Santana throws a pillow at his head. Puck starts eying the basement window and muttering about escape and the quickest jogging path to the nearest liquor store. Sam is surfing the Internet on Blaine’s phone. Rachel is on Blaine’s side, but she is easily distracted by Finn. One by one, they all check out and stop listening, until finally someone suggests a generic movie choice that they can all agree on, and Kurt flicks the DVD case across the room with a resigned sigh.

"This is what happens when we trap them in a small space without alcohol and ask them to tolerate each other," he says, settling against Blaine’s side.

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oh my god though. oh my god.