I’ve just discovered that my tourist’s guidebook to Rome is a dick. In the ‘Tips for a Lovely Trip’ chapter there is a section titled ‘Female travelers’, and it says:
Women can expect street harassment from local men, although rarely in a threatening way.
Dear Mr Tim Jepson, author of the Rome City Pack: you are a fuckstick and I deeply regret spending my money for your book.
imagine selkie hannibal only instead of putting on his seal skin he takes off his human suit
pretty sure this is canon tbh
Today on Not Really Important Things That Still Piss Me Off:
makeup is literally just a bunch of pigments intended to be put on faces. There is no actual, proper reason why I, and everybody else on this damn planet, shouldn’t wear red lipstick or raccoon eyes at 8 in the morning. I’m a legal adult, and damn if I haven’t earned the right to put whatever I want on my face. I’ll say it again: I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT MAKEUP RULES, BECAUSE THEY’RE SHIT. I’ll wear whichever colours I want, whenever I want, I’ll wear strong/weak/no makeup whenever I want, and I’m sick of hearing shit about this.
And I’d say the same goes for formal situations, too, but I might just break somebody’s brain with that.
YES. You have no idea how crazy those folks were - Prešeren is considered to be the greatest poet in the history of Slovenian literature, he’s the author of our national anthem, and there’s an entire cult of literary critics wanking over his sonnets. Thing is, he was nuts, and I mean that in the best possible way. He did write high-quality poetry, in form and subject, but he also wrote a fuckload of poetry that mocks a lot of important political figures of his time (he lived 1800-1849), and some unbelievably dirty pornographic poetry (the most epic one is about penises growing in a field outside of our capital city, and how citizens come with baskets and pick them, and fuck themselves with them until they go crazy; it has like 100 stanzas). He and his colleagues (including Matija Čop, the linguist and the man I’m speculating he was in love with), who were basically the Slovenian Beatniks of 19th century and are now considered literary revolutionaries, formed a Society for Destruction of Alcohol. Meaning that they wandered around the city and drank themselves into a stupor and caused such riots that the city mayor forbade drinking in public places before 6 in the afternoon. No, I’m not even making this shit up.
And when Čop died, Prešeren wrote an epic poem (the standard publication is about 100 pages) that opens with a sonnet ‘To Matija Čop’, in which he speaks about the pain of loss and ruined hopes and his only consolation being the reunion after death. The epic is about a pagan general and his beloved maiden, torn apart by the war between the native Slavic tribes and early Christians. The maiden converts and becomes a nun while the general loses the war and escapes. When they meet again, they can’t marry because of her holy vows, so he consents to being christened so they can be together in heaven. This work is considered the height of Slovenian literature and it’s still the longest and most complex poem written in Slovene.
Subtle. REALLY subtle.