this is the boy volcano. you can tell it’s a man because the song says so and also it has no tertiary sex characteristics, it just looks like a volcano. it’s a volcano with a human face
this is the girl volcano. you know she’s a girl because she literally has a pretty human face and long human hair and a high voice. if they didn’t make sure you knew she was a woman you might have thought these anthropomorphised volcanoes were Gay
Pixar’s Umbrella Heteros Short 2: This Time Its Volcanos
This post makes me so mad. You’re all ignorant children parroting whatever bullshit comes your way. The volcanoes are based on the Hawaiian musician Israel Kamakawiwoʻole (better known as Iz) and his wife Marlene. They were made specifically to resemble the couple, you fucking walnuts. This is why we can’t have nice things. You take everything beautiful and try to corrupt it with your shitty politics
This is Iz and Marlene.
He’s not just “that dude with the cover of Over The Rainbow” okay? He’s fucking important. He was a musician, yes, and he was an activist for Hawaiian rights and independence.
He used his music to promote awareness of the second class status of Hawaiian natives created by the tourist industry.
When he died, the Hawaiian state flag flew at half mast. His coffin (but not his body, he was cremated) lay in state at the state capitol building in Honolulu. Just the third person in Hawaiian history to be given that honor. And the only one who was not a government official. Ten thousand people attended his funeral.
He is a big important part of Hawaiian culture and history. So don’t get all social justice warrior about sexuality and gender when this is really about a culture and honoring the memory of people who are important to that culture.
This was DiCaprio’s first major role, and everyone was shocked at the red carpet to discover that he was just acting as a child with a mental condition, that he didn’t actually have one. Which begs the question, WHERE THE FUCK IS HIS OSCAR.
Hi, my name is Cara and I’m a 21 year old woman. Every 28 days, give or take, I have a period. And it fucking sucks. Today, was one of those where I take from the 28 day cycle. I wasn’t due for another period for at least a week, but considering that my period is pretty much permanently irregular, I get to wake up a lot of mornings in a pool of my own blood. Hmm. Lovely.
I then proceed to dump my sheets, my underwear, and my pajamas in my laundry room in a tub filled with cold water, with the hopes that this time I haven’t ruined them permanently.
What next? Well, a shower of course! To wipe off the smell of rotting blood from my body! Squeaky clean and towel fresh I have about a two minute window before the volcano of blood begins to erupt again from my vagina.
What will it be today? A piece of chlorinated toilet paper cardboard with a string that I get to shove up my hole wherein the blood will sit and rot until the next time I can shove another piece of chlorinated cardboard up the same hole? Or, a plastic lined toilet paper diaper attached to my underwear that causes rug burn to my vaginal area when I walk? Well the later requires less coordination, and it is early, so I guess I’ll be sitting in a period diaper today. The best ever.
Of course, I could always just get birth control, and lessen this whole shit. But 1) I can’t afford it 2) I can’t ask my dad to pay for it because, guess what? Just like the men who run my government, my father correlates birth control with sexual promiscuity! Thus, sitting on my rotting blood, undergoing severe cramps that have on more than one occasion caused me to black out, it is! (Not that birth control is such a walk in the park either, our bodies have to learn to deal with the hormones and other chemicals and consequences that birth control entails.)
Then, I get to go to class, where I have to pretend that I am not a leaky faucet of blood and tissue. I get to sit in Calculus, and if heaven forbid, I need an additional pad, I have to be discrete about it, so as not to offend the men’s gentle sensibilities to the fact that I am the one dropping tissues and blood from my body through my vagina.
I once asked a male to take me to the pharmacy so that I could pick up (GASP) pads, or as we like to call it “feminine products” (again, so as not to offend the gentlemen’s overly sensitive natures) and had him equate me talking about my period to him talking about his erections.
ARE
YOU
FUCKING
KIDDING
ME
No.
This is nothing like your fucking erection’s. I don’t derive any enjoyment from this. I can’t mentally control any ounce of this entire process. I can’t masturbate my problem away. My period does not end in orgasm.
It stays. For at least five days in my case. Draining blood out of my body. Causing me severe cramps, making me irritable -not because I’m uncomfortable (which mind you, would be reason enough) – but because my hormones are all over the place, bloating me up to two sizes larger than I normally am, I have to actively fight not to smell like a fish market, and on top of that, you want me to be hush-hush about this? Because it’s icky for you?
And this is not an attack on that one man, this is an attack on ALL MEN who on top of sitting on their throne of gender privilege want me to stay quiet and be content about the fact that five days out of every month I get to undergo this happiest of joys.
And then, these very same men have the audacity to get annoyed because we don’t want to listen to their bullshit complaining about traffic? Or whatever other meaningless story they happen to tell us while our bodies are actively fighting against us? Then we get to be the butt of their tired-ass jokes? Sorry, I am most certainly not sorry.
I repeat NO. I say women come out of the period closet and say, “You know what, this happens to me. Every. Fucking. Month. And it’s terrible. LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY MORNING.” Because the truth is, if I live in a country where Viagra is covered by medical insurance, but birth control isn’t, I can no longer keep denying that I live in a country that is actively waging a war on women. And if I live in a country that is actively waging war on my sex, the least I am going to do is break patriarchal social propriety to inform anyone and everyone of the shit biological process I was BLESSED enough to be born into.
Hello, my name is Cara, I’m a 21 year old woman, and today I’m on my period. Let me fucking tell you about it.
hello yes this is a good post
Im ganna reblog this twice because hell hell hell yeah!!!!!!!!!
I don’t think I’ve ever read anything so accurate.
this is the boy volcano. you can tell it’s a man because the song says so and also it has no tertiary sex characteristics, it just looks like a volcano. it’s a volcano with a human face
this is the girl volcano. you know she’s a girl because she literally has a pretty human face and long human hair and a high voice. if they didn’t make sure you knew she was a woman you might have thought these anthropomorphised volcanoes were Gay
Pixar’s Umbrella Heteros Short 2: This Time Its Volcanos
Or, you know, these two characters could be based off of Israel Kamakawiwo’ole (IZ) and his wife, as IZ’s cover of Over The Rainbow was a huge inspiration for the song.
So there’s the slightest chance that the look of these two volcanoes might be fucking based off these two.
That’s just my take on it.
Mom: Talk to me about your problems
Me: I’m just stressed out
Mom: YOU’RE stressed out??! I SPEND ALL DAY ON MY FEET COOKING AND CLEANING AND NOBODY DOES CRAP IN THISE HOUSE EXCEPT FOR ME, and YOU’RE stressed out? You don’t have any real problems you’re a baby.
AngelMihe 