Brown rice soaking in ACV and salt.

Lately I’ve been really into learning traditional ways of preparing food to maximize the nutrient availability, and that’s led to me reading a lot of what I would term kind of “hippie mom” blogs to get methods for soaking grains and nuts. I say “hippie mom” with no disrespect whatsoever, as if I ever somehow decided to have a kid, I would end up falling into that category. Anyway, after reading a recipe on one such blog and absentmindedly straying into the comments, I started clicking into the “about” page and kind of fell down a hole. The blog was a Christian-centered blog; Biblical scripture was featured throughout the author’s description of herself and she described receiving her husband’s permission to start her blogging endeavors. I wasn’t really bothered by this, because although I am no longer practicing, I was raised in a Christian family, went to a Christian elementary school, and religion when used positively gets the high sign from me. I actually thought her story was kind of endearing, in a wholesome kinda way. No shade intended.

But then I clicked on a link to a blog post about a Christian singer coming out as gay, and I was sad. I was hoping she might be one of those free-love type Christians, but she is not. I got to thinking about how to communicate with people who hold beliefs that are so fundamental in an effective way.

The whole impetus for the blog post was that a Christian singer had said he was coming out to be honest with himself, or something to that effect, and that God would want him to live a live where he was his truest self. The author took issue with this attitude, and the trend towards tolerance in Christianity in general, as he (it was a guest post) mentioned that he was disappointed to see Christians applauding his decision to come out. He basically said that Christianity is about denying yourself, and since homosexuality is sinful behavior, the singer should have stayed in the closet and been grateful for his wife and children. He also said that after all the interview requests and fanfare over his coming out dried up, the singer would feel empty and alone because he had turned away from God. So, I’m guessing that means he believes any out queer person is actually deeply unhappy and just deluding themselves.

This is a really self-fulfilling belief system, and it’s difficult to think of a way to persuade someone to embrace supporting the human rights of queer people when they have this setup. I realize that one interpretation (hell, maybe even the right one) of Christian mythology is that humans have free will, but we are corrupted by sin and our moral compass is pathologically flawed. Therefore, we must surrender to the moral compass of God, because, you know, he’s perfect. Since God doesn’t really talk to us (except, arguably, in our heads), we have to go by what’s in the Bible. And the Bible says homosexuality is a sin, in this interpretation.

Now, I have wagered on science and my own intuition and the beautiful spirituality of the observable (and unobservable) natural world. So I don’t believe that the Bible is the word of an all-mighty God that is passing out tickets to a placid paradise only accessible upon my departure from this material realm. Therefore, I don’t believe that my own moral compass is irreparably damaged by an original sin. And I know that my own moral compass spins wildly when I watch the human rights of any group violated, when I see violence perpetrated against them by the state and society, and when I see them isolated and targeted as a group to vilify and demonize. I want for all people to experience love and light in their lives, to live the fullest, most authentic life they can in this world, and to know true equity in our society. I don’t care who you love, what gender or lack thereof you claim, what the color or size or age of your skin is, how much money you have or owe – you deserve that as a living organism on this planet. We are blessed to see this planet as it is today, not by a benevolent or arbitrary deity, but by odds. We shouldn’t squander this life, not because of the possibility that there might be a greater reward in the next life, but because of the probability that there isn’t, and this life is all we have together, here, on this planet, with all this beauty.

But if you’ve surrendered your own moral compass to a deity that may or may not be there, I can’t appeal to you with this argument. Even if you felt a twinge of wrongness when considering the struggles of queer people, you could chalk that up to a manifestation of sin. I imagine that for some, a beloved family member coming out as queer or trans can sway them. Familial ties are much stronger than the abstract tie you have to some random gay person you see on TV. But for so many, as evidenced by the high rate of teen homelessness in the queer and trans community, even familial ties don’t shake their faith in their own lack of moral compass (to be frank). How can these individuals be convinced to support social change that includes equal rights for queer folks and other oppressed minorities, when you can’t use empathy as a weapon?

“Weapon” is a little dramatic, but usually when you’re making a persuasive argument for the humanity of another, you can appeal to the heart of the person you’re making the argument to. In the case of those who have ceded their morality to a higher power, however, since empathy is emotion, empathy is to be distrusted. Our emotions are sinful, because we are sinful. So regardless of whether or not one personally feels bad about the oppression of another group, or even feels it’s wrong, if it’s God’s will for that group to suffer and be marginalized, it’s pointless and even detrimental to one’s own salvation to intervene. And, again, the Bible says, in this interpretation, that homosexuality is a sin. For this straw population I’ve constructed for the sake of this essay, no amount of empathy is going to change what the Bible says, or what they understand that to mean in terms of the social position of queer folks in the world.

I talked to my mom a bit about this subject, because she is a Christian, and my deceased grandfather, who I adored and deeply respected, was a pastor for his entire adult life. I wanted to know what she thought he would have said if I asked him about this stuff, because I grew up feeling that he embodied what Christianity could be at its best. Unfortunately, by the time I was mature enough to be willing to listen to his wisdom about Christianity without argument, he was at the end of his life and not in a mood to have the kind of conversations he so frequently had, and loved, when he was younger. It turns out my mom feels the same regrets about not having those kinds of conversations with him! Because she knew he tended towards the Republican end of politics, she avoided talking to him about how he reconciled his love for all humanity and his kind, redemptive nature with some of the policies of the GOP and some of the verses in the Bible. If we were unwilling to have that hard conversation with my grandfather, who was a relatively reasonable person to talk to about controversial topics, I can only imagine how many families go through their lives without ever challenging each other’s beliefs and trying to understand them. I’m not going to say it’s this kind of situation that led to the election of the current President of the United States, but it’s sure the kind of situation that led to people being shocked his election was even a possibility.

I digress. This has been a long, windy road to conclude: I’ve realized I can’t save them all. I am going to have to accept that there are going to be some folks who will only be brought into a more just and loving society by force. It sounds counterintuitive, but is nevertheless true. Some people are just going to fight us tooth and nail and never concede or give up.

Still, it’s hard to accept that it’s possible we could all agree that soaking our grains is good and making kombucha is amazing, but not agree that we’re all equally divine and worthy of each other’s love and acceptance.



Delegates hold up signs and cheer during first day of the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Monday, July 18, 2016. (AP Photo/Carolyn Kaster)
Delegates hold up signs and cheer during first day of the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Monday, July 18, 2016. (AP Photo/Carolyn Kaster)

Trump successfully leveraged white fragility to become the Pied Piper of bigots, leading the members of the Republican Party, who are so inclined, away from the clutches of the establishment and into a brighter future, where white supremacy is secure and the dream of American exceptionalism hasn’t been tarnished by the reality of American imperialism. Since scrutiny of the policies put in place by Republican politicians reveals their ineffectiveness at relieving the burden on white working-class and poor Americans, as well as their ineffectiveness at eliminating the “minority threat,” rank-and-file Republicans were easily convinced that their party has failed them. Indeed, it has. The GOP has been playing a shell game with its base, attempting to distract their base with the shiny toy that is white supremacy. Now, it is no longer effective—and not for reasons that are likely to be beneficial to the rest of us.

[Read more at Bitch Magazine.]

If you told me back when I was 16 and deeply in love with writing that I’d go out of my way to avoid writing as much as possible at age 36, I’d never have believed it. But here we are, and it’s been almost a year since I wrote anything other than essays for class. It’s not like I haven’t had anything to say. On the contrary, I almost feel like I’ve been hoarding rants. I think the issue is that writing, like so many of my other hobbies, was spoiled for me once it became work. Like, once I started using writing as a means to generate income, I stopped using it as a means to express myself or relieve stress. Maybe I sub-consciously view any activity that produces capital as diametrically opposed to creativity, and I definitely associate work with stress in general. Not that either of those beliefs are necessarily valid on a rational level, but that hasn’t stopped me in the past.

Anyway, I don’t really want to get into a long-winded essay on what I’ve been doing in the past year or devote several paragraphs to navel-gazing musings on why I’ve been avoiding writing/the Internet/social media. I’m gonna take advantage of the popularity of lists on the Internet and just lay out the above-referenced information in bulleted form (minus the navel-gazing):

  1. In 2015 I started college full-time for the first time since I was 16. Yes, I went to college at 16. No, I didn’t graduate (clearly) and a bunch of fuckshit happened, so I really didn’t have any credits to my name when I started back. Now, I only have a year left before I get to transfer to university and I’m pretty stoked about that. My major has changed three (3!) times since 2014. I started as a psych major and quickly switched to being an English major, then I fancied myself a math major, and now I’m leaning towards sociology.
  2. Because of the aforementioned return to school, I haven’t really had a ton of free time, which means I chose to avoid social media because it’s just a huge time sink and tends to upset me in general. I really can’t with the ignorance that occurs on Facebook, y’all. I can handle Twitter in small doses, but I’ll probably never go back to Facebook or Tumblr. It’s just too much.
  3. I also cut out writing because I had so much homework. I use the past tense because it’s summer now so I’m just getting high and binge-watching Supernatural with the man. I mean, I do productive ish too, but I’m not gonna lie and say 80% of my time isn’t devoted to those two activities or something resembling them.
  4. Since it’s summer, I decided to fire this thing back up and maybe get some writing in. There’s plenty going on to be fired up about right now, what with it being election season. And with America continuing to be the paragon of racist imperialism it always is, I’m entirely set to help fuel the Internet outrage machine.
  5. I’m realizing I can’t sing “This Is How We Do It” and write a coherent post at the same time for some reason.
  6. I think the existence of this list frees me up to write about ish that has nothing to do with my absence. So I’ll be doing that from here on out. Until, of course, there’s another lengthy break between posts, which will require me to produce another list.

P.S. This campaign is giving me life, so I titled this post in its honor. Bruh. BuzzFeed ain’t shit, and they’ve been making money off content aggregation (stealing) forever.

sister soldiers

Y’all, my article on Black women activists and police brutality from the Law and Order issue of Bitch Magazine has been posted online. You can read the full essay @, and hear me reading an abridged version of the essay on Bitch’s “A Protest is Not a Riot” podcast here.

Here’s a snippet of the full essay:

This past year, we’ve learned the names of men we should have never had to know. Eric Garner, a 43-year-old man who died in an NYPD chokehold while repeatedly saying “I can’t breathe.” Michael Brown, an unarmed 18-year-old shot six times by police officer Darren Wilson. Tamir Rice, a 12-year-old shot and killed two seconds after police officer Timothy Loehmann arrived at a Cleveland, Ohio, park in response to a 911 call about a child waving a toy gun. Their names have become synonymous with police brutality against Black Americans, and their recent deaths have highlighted the pervasive racism within American law enforcement. A new Black liberation movement is in the process of formation, spurred by collective outrage over anti-Black police brutality.


Last month, I had an abortion.

I’ve been a strident advocate for a woman’s right to choose since I was a pre-teen, and it’s still difficult for me to say those words. So many assumptions about my life can be made on the basis of that admission, and the shame is real. For White women in American society, the shame of having an abortion is mainly centered on their individual behavior. For Black women, our behavior reflects on Black folks as a whole, specifically other Black women—so the scope of the shame is much wider. An unintended pregnancy can call your responsibility into question, and regardless of your age, the specter of the stereotypical Black teenage mother casts a long shadow.


Plus Size Revolution?

After a lot of soul-searching and introspection, I’ve come to the conclusion that being welcomed into the fashion industrial complex is not entirely the kind of progress I want to see in the fat acceptance movement.

Now, I love clothes. I mean, I LOVE clothes. But I’m also personally invested in intersectionality and the idea that all liberation movements are entwined. So when I see us desiring to buy into the mindless capitalism and consumption of clothing that’s marketed to thin folks, I get frustrated. Insisting that fat folks’ money is just as good as thin folks’ money, so therefore we should have equal access to the same sweatshop-produced clothing lines offered by multinational corporations who use their profits to subjugate marginalized folks around the world? I don’t want that kind of revolution. We’re fighting to starve the multi-billion dollar diet industry of its ill-gotten profits, but falling all over ourselves to hand cash over to these companies? Naw. I don’t feel like we’ve made any type of substantive advance in the treatment of fat folks when H&M comes out with plus-size dresses for us to conspicuously consume. I haven’t yet heard of Southwest Airlines making a fat person buy two seats but later refunding one because they found out the fat person was wearing a shirt from ASOS on the flight. And surprisingly, when a dude yelled “fatass” out his car window at me the other day, my cute Forever 21+ skirt didn’t cause him to follow that statement up with “nice skirt, though–really validates your existence!”. Or maybe I just didn’t hear that last part, what with the Doppler effect and all.

With most fashion being made by underpaid, abused workers in “developing” countries, it’s not actually that great overall when companies decide to make more of it, just in bigger sizes. Like most people, I don’t always buy sustainable, ethically-produced clothing, so I can’t get too high on my horse about it. And it’s not like I’m going to be able to only buy clothes from Etsy sellers who make custom sizes or start making my own clothes. I just feel like when you’re in a movement fighting for revolution you have to be more discriminating about what you consider progress, what you consider revolutionary. I don’t consider more of the same oppressive business practices revolutionary. I want part of this movement to be us fighting to dismantle the fashion industrial complex. I want “fatshion” to mean fashion we create as a fat community, or fashion based on inclusive, ethical business practices brought about by activists effecting change. Of course I’m excited when there are new clothing options for fat folks, and I’m not faulting anyone else who is too. Everyone likes looking “good”. But we know “good” is entirely subjective. Our society is centered on aesthetics, which is another thing we need to be working to change–because marginalization by lack of “attractiveness” or even “stylishness” is one aspect of many, many types of discrimination against underprivileged groups. If we didn’t have the cultural push to appear normative, we wouldn’t be willing to accept this kind of “progress” with a smile.

I have complained about the lack of fashionable options for plus-sized folks. But at this point, I’m done buying into corporate pacification of the fat acceptance movement via throwing us a size 20 Rachel Pally bone. And I’m not going to spend any more time and energy on “activism” to demand inclusion within an industry that continues to thrive on exclusion. Exclusion based on class, based on location, based on able-bodied-ness–and still based on size, because most “fashionable” plus size lines stop at size 24. There’s a whole lot of people above size 24. High-end designers trade on unobtainability, so I’m not really holding my breath for say, size 22 Chanel, either. It’s kind of another way to divide us, really, especially across class lines. When you can’t afford jack, it can make you feel crappy when you see your fellow activists wearing the cute new dress from ASOS that cost what your weekly food budget is. It’s hard to focus on the prize (like being treated with respect and dignity, or not being discriminated against in hiring) when you see the immediate spoils going to those with class privilege. So you take your eyes off that prize and start spending time fighting to get cheaper fashionable clothes. Meanwhile, society is fighting a war against your existence.

This is a really complicated issue; I’m not going to pretend it’s not. I’m just at a point in my activism where I have to start reconciling all the things I know to be wrong with how the world operates, all the ways I contribute to others’ oppression, and how my actions square with my internal radical politics. I want us to think about these kinds of things as a movement, just as we need to think about intersectionality, and as we need to think about rejecting the politic of desirability. When it comes to consumption, we may not need to eat less, but we definitely need to focus on buying less. At the least, we need to think about why we feel assimilation into the fashion industrial complex is a goal we’re fighting to achieve, and how that goal can end up hurting us in the long run–because by making assimilation our goal, we are implicitly accepting society’s power to enforce normative beauty standards, which is one of the main things we’ve been attempting to subvert.

[This was written in 2012 for my blog Sex and the Fat Girl, but never published for reasons.]

The idea of Black women being called on to impart their essence into a white woman in order for her to become empowered is laughable, when you consider the fact that actual Black women are systematically disempowered in American society. Yet when viewed in the context of the social construction of an essential Black culture, and white folks’ subsequent appropriation of said culture, it makes total sense. Why not pick and choose the most desirable aspects of what you’ve created and incorporate them into your own identity? Why not then shame the people whose culture you stole, reconstructed, and marketed back to them for engaging in those same activities? Why worry about the historical significance of your actions when nothing other than the protests of those occupying a lesser social status compel you to do so?

[read more at Bitch Magazine.]
Photography by Olivier Fermariello.
Photography by Olivier Fermariello.

Representations of nudity in Western popular culture are rarely inclusive of “physically disabled” or “non-normative” bodies. If nude disabled bodies are represented at all, it’s usually in a medicalized, Othered context–case studies of the “disfigured” or collections of outrageous pictures of “freakish” bodies. Our cultural relationship with physical disability is contradictory; we’re trained to look the other way when clothed non-normative bodies enter our field of view, but we’re encouraged to gawk at nude disabled bodies on display for our entertainment and wonder. Exposure to positive portrayals of disabled bodies in the nude isn’t something that most people in Western culture experience without seeking it out. So it’s no surprise that our attitude towards nude disabled bodies as a society is generally a negative one, since of course, our culture’s attitude towards disability itself is rarely positive. Institutionalized ableism serves to marginalize non-normative bodies and keep empowering representations of them, nude or not, from becoming part of mainstream visual consciousness.

Because our Western society values the concepts of “strength” and “self-sufficiency” so highly, a disabled body is judged by its perceived lack of either. Disability is seen as weakness, and is not only socially undesirable but undesirable sexually, and in a sex-saturated culture desirability is a large part of a body’s worth. For men, from whom society demands unwavering strength, this is a harsh blow to their ability to express themselves sexually or to be seen as a sexual being. Inferred weakness or helplessness in a man shifts the gaze of desire onwards for a great many. Women are given more license to be viewed as helpless or weak, however, if any disabled body is shaped in a way that is radically different than what we’re taught to see as normal, it’s deemed “disfigured” and any value it has is primarily based in its usefulness as a specimen or as an object for fetishization. Rarely are we treated to the bodies society calls “disfigured” being presented as desirable in a non-exploitative manner. Thus for many people, seeing a nude disabled body can bring up negative emotions, feelings of disgust, fear, pity, etc. Disgust because we’re so trained to view bodies through a narrow lens of normalcy, we can’t imagine a body that looks radically different than the bodies we’re told are “normal” could be anything but “disgusting”. Fear because our response to anything unfamiliar or that we don’t understand tends to be a level of fear, and pity because our culture drums it into us that living in a body that isn’t “normal” and is harder to operate couldn’t possibly be worth it. The concept of “normal” is, of course, incredibly flawed. Western values dictating that worth lies in productivity lead us to devalue bodies that don’t live up to our idea of how a body must function in order to be productive. All of this cultural training skews the lens through which we view a nude disabled body.

This worldview on disability leaves little room for productive discussions of disability and nudity with everyday people. When portrayals of nude disabled bodies are relegated to the Discovery Channel’s “Extreme Bodies” or TLC’s “The Woman With Giant Legs”, there’s no opportunity to discuss how disability justice must include sex and body-positivity. There’s no back-and-forth about why society presents disabled bodies this way. But disability activists and artists are and have been working to create positive representations of nude disabled bodies in both a sexual and a non-sexual context that actively challenge the societal construction of disability and open a dialogue on how we determine a body’s “worth”. Tanya Raabe, a disabled British artist, has painted a series of portraits, many nude, of disabled people’s bodies in a collection entitled “Revealing Culture: Head On”. Holly Norris’ “American Able” series of photographs spoofs American Apparel’s use of nudity in their ads and challenges their lack of inclusiveness of non-normative or disabled bodies. And Jim Ferris’ “Uncovery to Recovery: Reclaiming One Man’s Body on a Nude Photo Shoot” requests a discourse on disability and the performative nature of gender via the presentation of a queer disabled man’s nude body.

Although our sex/body-positive work surrounding disability should not necessarily be aimed at having nude disabled bodies be validated by mainstream society as desirable, the body-positive principles of affirmation and celebration of all bodies dictates that we must work towards having disabled bodies represented equally in mainstream media and accepted as natural variations of body type. A “disabled” body, as any other body, can be used to express sexuality and personality, can give affection, can lay damp and naked on the bed letting the cool fan breeze dry it off. Disabled bodies can dance, can skinny dip, can feel stress deliciously melt away when a lover lays their hand upon it. All that, just maybe differently than yours can. And differently than another disabled person’s might. Our work, as always, should be focused on highlighting the commonalities between bodies and lovingly appreciating the differences–functionally and aesthetically.

[This piece originally appeared in Corset Magazine.]

Damn, y’all. It’s been almost a year since I’ve written anything. A lot has gone down since that last post, personally. I’ve kind of come full circle, back to where I was when I first started this blog–jobless. I stopped writing because of the craptastical job I got to save me from my previous state of “not getting money”, so since I don’t have that job anymore, I figured I might as well take another stab at this writing ish.

It’s kind of ironic because last month, I decided to delete my old Twitter account, shut down my old blog completely, and kind of disappear off the face of the Internet. Seemed like a good idea, since I wasn’t writing online and I figured I wouldn’t be able to start up again. About a week after I did all that is when got laid off. Again. Now, I had been planning to not be working full-time by the time spring semester started in January so I could attend school full-time. I did not plan to accomplish that by being laid off (although, to be real, I saw the demise of that company coming a mile away). Welp. Sometimes we have to swerve off the freshly paved highway of life onto a rocky ass dirt road lined with stank cow farms to get where we’re going.

Last time around I decided I was going to occupy a particular niche, but I’m done with that. I realized that I really can’t be limiting myself to one topic, because that discourages me from writing. So, the blog is back to what it was in the beginning: a mishmash of the personal and political, with a dash of salt.

Well, maybe a heaping cup of salt. I’m old now.

Anyway, that’s why the name and location of the blog changed. I found that some people were turned off by my chronic turnt-upedness, so I’m repping for the ratchet feminists out there. Because, you know, turn down for what?

I’m actually way better off now than I was in 2010 when I started this. I got my brain right, I’m finally living with my man & heavy in love, I’m older and wiser, and I’m healthier in general. I’m more grateful for what I have and what I don’t. I say things like what I just said and don’t roll my eyes afterwards as if I just saw an inspirational quote posted on Facebook. Oh, and I realize I need to not be on Facebook because that sends my sodium level sky-high. But I can handle Twitter. On Twitter, at least the ignorance has to be limited to 140 character bursts. So I recreated my Twitter account and I’m starting from scratch.

This is finals week, so I’m busy with all that until after Saturday. After that, though, I have some articles for Bitch in the works, and I’m going to try to update this thing more often than once a year. If you want to check on me, follow me on Twitter or click the “subscribe” link.

Catch y’all later.


thirstySo. I’ve been spending a lot of time on Twitter lately.

Before I get into this, I will go ahead and say that this rant is specifically targeted at straight cis men. Let me also say that I am all for having standards regarding who you will or won’t date and who you you will and won’t fuck. Although I personally keep my standards for the latter relatively realistic, I’m not going to shade you solely for having some insurmountably high standards if you can swing it.


I see way too many dudes spending valuable tweeting time lamenting the fact that no one will fuck them, and then laying out these laundry lists of the qualities they expect a potential sex partner to have for them to be acceptable. Seriously, dudes, if no one is offering, what you will or won’t accept is irrelevant. You can sit back all day and talk about “chicks gotta have _______ for me to hit it” but if chicks who don’t have ______ aren’t even looking at you, it’s really just kind of sad that you sit there describing how you’re gonna be turning down all these invisible women. Especially when you, I, and your mama know damn well that if a chick who didn’t meet whatever bullshit standard you came up with acted even slightly interested in coming near your sexual organs you’d drop trou without thinking twice.

It’s funny, but it’s also really annoying and somewhat offensive because so often it’s rooted in some body snarking monkey shit. Whenever I see some marginal dudes squawking about their standards I think about a conversation Snarky’s Machine and I have regularly about “commensurate levels of attractiveness”. Basically, you can’t eat at the Four Seasons on a McDonalds budget. So why you think you, who I have not yet seen on the cover of GQ, are going to be able to pull a chick that belongs on the cover of Maxim, I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re gonna be living a long life full of not ever having sex. Ever.

For your reference, my previously referenced standards for sex partners are basically threefold: 1) you need to have a face that is attractive to me, 2) you need to smell good and have good hygiene, and 3) you need to be like, at least an inch taller than me including my hair. I’m 5’6″, by the way. This is anyone. And I’m attracted to a lot of faces you wouldn’t think one would be attracted to. Often it’s really about chemistry, and since I don’t do one-night stands but I’m down with being fuck buddies, it’s also about personality and am I cool with you being in my house long enough after we bone to maybe use my bathroom and have a glass of water after you get dressed.

It’s not really that if you relaxed your standards, women would flock to you in droves, because they probably wouldn’t. But it’s a bad look, especially when your criteria are so heavily based in fucked up societal beauty standards. Women sure as hell aren’t going to fuck you once they hear some of that ignorance coming out of your mouth. Or coming off your keyboard. Whatever.

But you know what, do you. You want to eliminate 70% of the fuckable population, fine. I ain’t mad, do your thing, papi. Maybe one day you’ll find your black unicorn, and you can both laugh at my ass for having sex all these years and not being celibate and saving myself for that mythical Tyson Beckford lookalike who’s deep into fat chicks.

Uh yeah. I’d rather be fucking.