andro-saurus:

violentxfemmes:

kirkwa:

And This Is Why You Shouldn’t Get Sick In America

Many believe that the US healthcare system is the best in the world. Not so according to the World Health Organization’s ranking of the world’s health systems. The US doesn’t even rank in the top 25. It ranks 37th and is the most expensive in the world. I would argue that even if we had the best healthcare system in the world, what good is it, if no one can afford to access it.

Most companies are buying 60/40-policys for their employees these days, but even if you are lucky enough to have good insurance with 80/20-policy coverage, that 20 percent your responsible for can drive you right into bankruptcy as easily as the 60-40 policy given the cost of healthcare.

Insurance cost have been going up dramatically in the last two decades, long before the new Affordable Healthcare Act has taken affect, in some cases as much as 35% per year.

But have you noticed the latest trick the insurance companies have roll out?

Yes, Higher Deductible… most averaging $5,000 per year, per person, but I have seen some as high as $10,000 per year. For those of you that are wondering, this tactic is specifically designed too stop you from using your insurance. It reduces the insurance companies out of pocket liability by shift costs onto consumers, especially those dealing with chronic illness such as diabetes and arthritis. Consequently, because consumers can’t afford the deductible they will avoid necessary care to save money.

Although insurance companies are a problem, the real crocks is the healthcare system it self. A corrupt and bloated system desperately in need of reform!

This is absolutely ridiculous.

I live in New Zealand. My mum had a heart attack when I was 13, she was in hospital for at least 3 months and our government pays for most of our bills so I think my parents only had to pay around about $500 - 1k. With the option to pay it over a period of time.

Like????? Does the America government even give the slightest fuck about the people that live in their country???? Honestly.

No. They don’t.

(via onewhositswiththeturtles)

(via giidas)

(via ayonoi)

nuclearnyx:

my anaconda don’t want none

unless you DEFEAT THE HUNS, SON

image

(via tobyrosetta)

smashy-smashy-eggman:

gabrielsaunteredvaguelydownwards:

do you think impressionists ever imitate people they find sexually attractive  when they masturbate and essentially sweet talk/ dirty talk to themselves?

Okay, so for like a full minute I thought you meant like the Impressionist movement. So I’m picturing Manet pretending to be Monet and that gets his rocks off. I hate being an artist.

(via theradicaldame)

coldswarkids:

edwardspoonhands:

thelegendofkungjew:

doxian:

d-dinosaur:

rknjl:

newvagabond:

NO “TELEPHONES”. TALK TO EACH OTHER. FACE TO FACE ONLY. WRITE A LETTER. SEND A TELEGRAM TO YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 1860. LIVE.

NO ‘WRITING’… TALK TO EACH OTHER. THROW A ROCK AT YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 10,000 BCE.  LIVE.

URGGA. ROU GRAAURH. RUH.
<SMACKS HANDS ON WALL WITH PAINT.>

NO ‘HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS’ …USE YOUR REPTILIAN BRAIN
EAT YOUR MOM’S CORPSE SHE DIED TO PROVIDE YOU WITH SUSTENANCE
PRETEND YOU HAVE JUST AROSE FROM THE SEA
SURVIVE

NO “MULTICELLULAR TRAITS”….. USE YOUR SYMBIOTIC MITOCHONDRIA
REPRODUCE ASEXUALLY, YOU’RE YOUR OWN PARENT
PRETEND IT’S 2BYA
EVOLVE

NO “LIFE.” USE FUNDAMENTAL PHYSICAL FORCES TO FORM SPHERICAL OBJECTS REVOLVING AROUND ONE ANOTHER IN SPACE. 
FUSE HYDROGEN INTO HELIUM USING GRAVITATIONAL PRESSURE TO PRODUCE HEAT AND LIGHT. 
PRETEND IT’S 4.5BYA.
STABILIZE INTO EQUILIBRIA

NO “MATTER”.  EXIST IN THE VOID WITHOUT PURPOSE OR MEANING.
THERE IS NO “YOU”, ONLY THE VAST CONCEPT OF NOTHING.
TIME DOES NOT EXIST.
BE.

coldswarkids:

edwardspoonhands:

thelegendofkungjew:

doxian:

d-dinosaur:

rknjl:

newvagabond:

NO “TELEPHONES”. TALK TO EACH OTHER. FACE TO FACE ONLY. WRITE A LETTER. SEND A TELEGRAM TO YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 1860. LIVE.

NO ‘WRITING’… TALK TO EACH OTHER. THROW A ROCK AT YOUR MOM. PRETEND IT’S 10,000 BCE.  LIVE.

URGGA. ROU GRAAURH. RUH.

<SMACKS HANDS ON WALL WITH PAINT.>

NO ‘HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS’ …USE YOUR REPTILIAN BRAIN

EAT YOUR MOM’S CORPSE SHE DIED TO PROVIDE YOU WITH SUSTENANCE

PRETEND YOU HAVE JUST AROSE FROM THE SEA

SURVIVE

NO “MULTICELLULAR TRAITS”….. USE YOUR SYMBIOTIC MITOCHONDRIA

REPRODUCE ASEXUALLY, YOU’RE YOUR OWN PARENT

PRETEND IT’S 2BYA

EVOLVE

NO “LIFE.” USE FUNDAMENTAL PHYSICAL FORCES TO FORM SPHERICAL OBJECTS REVOLVING AROUND ONE ANOTHER IN SPACE. 

FUSE HYDROGEN INTO HELIUM USING GRAVITATIONAL PRESSURE TO PRODUCE HEAT AND LIGHT. 

PRETEND IT’S 4.5BYA.

STABILIZE INTO EQUILIBRIA

NO “MATTER”.  EXIST IN THE VOID WITHOUT PURPOSE OR MEANING.

THERE IS NO “YOU”, ONLY THE VAST CONCEPT OF NOTHING.

TIME DOES NOT EXIST.

BE.

-teesa-:

9.2.14

(via s-k-apegoat)

I could talk about the PE teacher in my town who was asked to resign due to his harassment of female students, who was then hired as a school bus driver for a rural route with both primary and high school students. I could talk about how, from the age of seven, I refused to wear skirts or dresses, and from the time I entered high school at 10 to when I moved at 16 I always wore bike shorts or CCC shorts under my dress, because he was not particularly subtle about the way he looked at us – and those bus steps are high. I could talk about how this was common knowledge and was never denied by any authority figure we ever raised it with, but rather we were just kind of brushed off. I could talk about how, sometimes, I was the last person on my bus in the afternoon and I was never quite sure if something bad would happen to me, even though for a long time I probably couldn’t have articulated what it was that I feared.

I could talk about how I spent ten years of my childhood believing it was perfectly normal and acceptable for a seven year old child to stop wearing her favourite clothes because a grown man she relies on to get to and from school from a relatively remote location gets a thrill from looking up her skirt.

I could talk about the art teacher at my high school who used to run his hands up and down our backs, right along the spot where your bra sits. Considering most of us were fairly new to wearing bras in the first place, this was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. I could talk about how he used to get just a little too close for comfort in the supply room. Nothing overt, nothing nameable – just enough to make you drag someone else along with you if you needed a fresh piece of paper or you ran out of ink. I could talk about how the odd comment or complaint that was made was completely handwaved, that we were told to be very careful about what we were saying, that we could get someone in a lot of trouble by “starting those kinds of rumours”, and did we really want to be responsible for that?

I could talk about the first time I was made to feel ashamed of my body, at twelve or thirteen, getting into a water fight with my stepfather and uncle in the height of summer. I could talk about my grandmother completely flipping out, talking about how disgusting it was, how grown men should be ashamed of the way they were behaving with a girl. I could talk about how she then spent the next few hours trying to convince me I was being somehow victimised, while I was mostly confused about what had taken place – it took me a long time to work it out. I could talk about the unvoiced but ever-present fear for months afterwards that my grandma would bring it up again, that she would bring it up in the wrong place or to the wrong people and that my uncle, a schoolteacher, would suffer for it.

I could talk about how that destroyed what had been a fantastic relationship with my uncle, and how, ten years later, he still won’t hug me at Christmas.

I could talk about being called a frigid bitch and a slut in the same breath in high school. I could talk about multiple instances of sitting in a big group of friends, hearing someone trying to get into someone else’s pants, starting off sweet enough but quickly descending into emotional manipulation and thinly veiled abuse. I could talk about the time I went off with someone willingly enough and being followed by someone I considered a friend, someone who would not leave no matter how many times I said “no”, who only went away when the person I was with said that he “didn’t feel like sharing”.

I could talk about the family friend who always made me feel a little bit off for no discernible reason. The one who if I was left alone in the room with him, I would always find an excuse to leave. The one time I expressed this, I was told I was being a drama queen, and that I needed to grow up and stop being so precious, that one day I was going to have to deal with people I didn’t like and I might as well get used to it. I could talk about how he never did anything untoward, never gave me any specific reason to feel unsafe – but years after I last saw him, when he was found guilty of four historical sexual assault charges, one of rape and three of indecent assault on girls under twelve, I was, for reasons I still don’t entirely understand, completely unsurprised.

I could talk about my boyfriend justifying his rape of me with “you could have fought me off if you really wanted you, you slut”. I could talk about how, when I tried to tell people, I was told I was being a nasty, spiteful, vindictive bitch. I could talk about how selfish it was of me to say such things, that he’d overcome such a hard life and was going to go on and make something of himself, who the hell was I to try and stand in his way?

I could talk about how my response to being raped was to sleep with anyone and everyone because I rationalised that if I never said no, then no one could force me. I could talk about how I have been told time and time again, by people who should know better, that this is a sign that I wasn’t really raped at all.

I could talk about how, when I finally worked up the courage to make a formal complaint of sexual harassment against my boss, I was asked why I had let it continue for so long, and what I had done to make him think his behaviour would be welcomed.

I could talk about how when a much later boss got me completely wasted at my leaving party, to the point where I couldn’t walk, and fucked me in a back alley, he waited until I was sober the next morning to tell me that he had a pregnant wife, because he heard through the grapevine that I was very strict about not sleeping with married people or straight women, and he thought I should “learn my place” and realise that I’m “not such a high and mighty bitch with a moral high ground after all”.

I could talk about these things, but I very rarely do. Since I was seven years old, I have been told that my body is not my own, that my consent is not my own, that my feelings of discomfort are not my own. I have taught myself to suppress my gut instinct upon meeting people. I have been taught to smile, to be polite, to suck it up if I feel unsafe. When I complain, I have been told I’m being irrational, oversensitive, and selfish. The underlying message is, how dare I try and ascertain any kind of control over my own body?

I should talk about it. But I don’t actually know whether I can.

— An anonymous guest post on The Lady Garden. This is the reality for so many women. #YesAllWomen (via takealookatyourlife)

(via kagoashes)

b-sim:

GACKT Characters

Bonus: 

(via ayonoi)

tastefullyoffensive:

The best costume spotted at Disneyland’s 10k race today. [adamlc6]

tastefullyoffensive:

The best costume spotted at Disneyland’s 10k race today. [adamlc6]

(via s-k-apegoat)

moonblossom:

221cbakerstreet:

qwanderer:

thisisevenharderthannamingablog:

girl-farts:

kingcheddarxvii:

notviolet:

Chris Pratt Interrupts Interview To French Braid Intern’s Hair

SHUT THE HELL U P

this man has gone too far

damn

Where does Marvel FIND these people?

Imagine - Chris Pratt and Jeremy Renner show up to your door the night of prom and your parents are like WHY DO YOU HAVE TWO DATES AND WHY ARE THEY SO BIG AND BEEFY AND INTIMIDATING but Chris is just like “Nah I’m hair” and Jeremy raises his hand and says “And I’m makeup”

surprisingly well done

If this doesn’t result in an AU where Hawkeye and Star-Lord decide to retire and open a salon together, I don’t know what we’re all doing with our lives.

(via s-k-apegoat)