Just your typical Marxist-Leninist anti-revisionist woman
Happy May Day, Comrades!
I hope you all had a fabulous day sharing the fruits of your labour, throwing off the yoke of the capitalist oppressors, and getting your political freak on. We can all take a lesson from this young Comrade from the Cascadian city of San Francisco. When it comes to sharing the fruits of her loins (do girls have loins? not sure) with deserving and pure-hearted Comrades, she eschews the profit-ridden sex marketing machine known as Online Dating Sites and instead goes with a free listing on the website from Comrade Craig. If you’re inspired to answer her posting, please remember it’s not the size. It’s from each according to his ability.
Ready for kinky fun? – w4m – 23 (San Francisco)
age : 23body : averageheight : 5’7″ (170cm)ethnicity : Whitepolitics : Marxist-Leniniststatus : single
I am an attractive Marxist-Leninist anti-revisionist woman who is totally dedicated to the building of a revolutionary cadre party to overthrow capitalism and imperialism. But I have a sexy side for which I would probably be denounced by my comrades if they knew about it. I am looking for a degenerate Trotskyite, anarchist, or a member of the revisionist Communist Party who accepts the concept of peaceful coexistence to put me in my place. Tie me up and recite passages from The Revolution Betrayed by the social-fascist Trotsky. Slap me around and call me an evil Stalinist. Make me get on my knees and accept your left-deviationist cock. I love petit-bourgeois intellectuals the most, because then it gets a little Fifty Shades of Red for me. This is all NSA and drama free.
See my details below. I am DDF. Normally I don’t do drugs because they are a symptom of a crumbling bourgeois society, but I am 420 friendly when it comes to this because I want to be corrupted by a hot ultra-leftist pot smoking degenerate pervert. I am so horny just thinking about it. Please no Maoists. And if you have only read the Communist Manifesto, no. I am not into FDCKs.
The quiet streets of Northern Canadian town Miramichi were terrorized recently by a roving, uncontrollable beaver, according to a recent story in the CBC.
“The damn thing was lost, it was going down the street. We didn’t do anything, we showed up and seen what it was,” said Sgt. Ed Arbeau from the Miramichi Police Force. Local resident Jim O’Neil realized quickly you don’t try and back up a wild beaver.
“Slapped [her] tail on the driveway, slapped [her] front feet on the ground. [S]He came on,” he said. “So I backed up to try it again and jeez [s]he got quite aggressive.”
Arm yourselves! Gather your families! Pad your ankles and reinforce your doors, at least up for the first 18 inches. THEY are coming.
According to the Guardian, a gang of Chihuahuas took advantage of the absence of their guards to smash a window with an iron bar, fleeing into the darkness and desolation of the surrounding moors. THEY lurk, even now.
A nationwide hunt is under way for five chihuahuas, including a Crufts champion…
Valenchino Chihuahua Xena, who was named Best Puppy in Breed at Crufts 2014, [escaped] with four other dogs from a house in east Yorkshire on Thursday.
[Keeper] Mal Hilton said he and his partner Lucy Hilton have been devastated by the [escape] of Xena, her grandmother Angel and her mother Io, as well as two others called Pandora and Evie…
Normal chihuahuas sell for around £500.
Wait. What? There is, obviously, no such thing as a “normal Chihuahua.” That is what you call a contradiction in terms.
The recipe for an iconic queen:
1- Flamboyant name
2- Fierce persona
3- Defining outfits
4- Personalized hairdo
5- A trademark feature
6- One hell of a PR teamI then realized that it takes that same exact effort to make a leader.
A rush of images containing Hitler’s mustache, Bin laden’s headgear, Obama’s campaigns, Saddam’s narcism crossed through my mind. It got me thinking that behind every “great” man, there’s a queen.Like drag queens, political/religious leaders are expected to entertain, perform and occasionally lip-sync a public speech.
But unlike drag queens, the fame hungry leaders don’t know when to take their costumes off.
The NeverEnding Story is a childhood classic with a neverending potential for discussion. Last week, we discussed how it’s all Artax’s fault that the generation that saw this as children turned out to be completely fucked up. Stupid horse! If you’d just stayed cheerful in the Swamps of Sadness (what, they don’t have bubblegum pop playlists in Fantasia?) you’d have made it out alive, a generation would not have wasted their adolescence pretending to be Fiona Apple and Trent Reznor, and Atreyu would have saved the world a helluva lot faster, you goddam waste of alfalfa!
Emo pony doesn’t care about your sugar. Life IS lumps, sweetie.
This week, we bring you the last thoughts of the late Artax, emo basketcase and (formerly) living proof that man’s best friend is a dog, not a goddam equine.
I’m feeling pretty crummy, if I’m honest with myself. And sort of…melon…what’s that word? Melatonin? Melancholy, that’s it. Boy, I gotta start doing the crossword again, my vocab’s gone to shit.
‘Course I never was the sharpest nail in the horseshoe.
Is the mud getting deeper or is it just me? It is just me. Atreyu! I’m, like, four feet tall all of a sudden. What the heck?