Karishma > Recent Status Updates

She followed his line of sight to the duel oozing on the linoleum. She
frowned. “I suppose your friend should come too.”

Don’t let the skinny fuckers upset you. They’re just mad because they’re
hungry and have no asses.

As long as you don’t get arrested for eating anyone else, you should be ne.

One by one the others introduced themselves. The vibe was friendly but
awkward, everyone clearly distracted by the elephant no longer in the room.

Because fat isn’t something you wear, like a piece of clothing. When you live
with it long enough, when it’s a part of who you are, that shit goes all the way
down.

One by one the others introduced themselves. The vibe was friendly but
awkward, everyone clearly distracted by the elephant no longer in the room.

A glass case displayed
a handful of weapons used by the inhabitants of Erromango, an island oof
modern-day Vanuatu, which British explorer Captain Cook had attempted to land on and, after being driven owith violent force, claimed was inhabited by
“savage cannibals.”

On a good day it was irritating; on a bad day, he craved
violence. The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know that an apple was healthier
than a Snickers. His problem was the Hunger that didn’t care.

Did they really think he didn’t know that? Or did his doctors simply think he
was incapable of understanding, that the vessels of his brain were too gummed
up with accumulated fat for the information to reach the processing centers of his cerebral cortex?

Lizette called over her shoulder as she walked back to her room, “Just
remember: when the apocalypse comes, the skinny bitches starve rst.”

Sebastian, my first real boyfriend and an asshole of the highest order.

He couldn’t help snorting at some of the
stuLizette shared on social media—claims that, far from undesirable, to be fat
was a good thing, a beautiful thing, a thing to be celebrated if not actively striven
for, health concerns be damned.

He wished it were only that easy, but his feelings about the body positivity
movement were complicated. It was one thing, he felt, to ask society to make
room for fat people, to treat them with as much compassion and respect as
anyone else. But the movement as Emmett understood it wanted to take fat
acceptance to a new level of delusion.

But that’s something I’ve
learned in the years since I left the ranch: you cannot change people who
refuse to be changed. You can only love them.

Why only Natalie is receiving repercussions... what about other people who were involved?

I have become—hear me when I say this—a
good motherfucking Christian woman. I do not, anymore, ask questions of
my husband that he does not want to hear, and my husband—oh yes, a very
good Christian man—does not tell me things I do not need to know.

If only my husband had raped our producer. If only his stupid little son had raped our stupid little
producer. If that had happened, it would’ve been over with and forgotten in
two weeks. But a predatory woman? Unthinkable. A good Christian mother
and wife who (allegedly!) found other women attractive? Who took what
she wanted without asking?
Kill the witch. Burn her.

Liars. Every Christian woman I ever met had been a big fat lying
bastard. Lord have mercy on their big fat lying bastard souls.

Though of course it can’t be rape, what’s happening here. There’s no
such thing as a husband raping his wife

An impossible thing to imagine, what might happen if my husband ever
paused and thought about the governing law of his own starry universe: his
wife might as well have been a farm dog, for all the rights she had. Even the
sweetest, stupidest man can grow cruel and cunning when he learns a thing
like that.

The
manosphere, he called it, a phrase he’d mentioned in my presence before,
which always sounded to me like an amusement park for grown men.
Welcome to Manosphere: Where the Men Go!

It’s always the helpless and
beautiful ones who are kidnapped, sure—but it’s also the helpless and
beautiful ones who are saved.

Language fails to describe how this feels. Depression, the very concept
of it, falls flat in the face of this experience. The best word I can come up
with is purgatory, and even that feels a bit too tame.

In the kitchen, I set the bowl on the counter then pulled a sauce baster
out of the drawer.

America hates women. What a comfort to remember.

Would a headline like that ruin a nascent political career? Assuredly not.
America didn’t care one iota about morality when it came to politicians. If
anything, we expected them to be a little sleazy. It might improve the odds
for my coddled husband in the heartland

“He could be perfect for politics someday,” Doug said, ignoring his wife
entirely. “It’s actually one of the few positions of power where it benefits
you to underthink. If you don’t think too hard, you never get rattled.”

The only warning my mother had given me for this period of my life had
been that Caleb might not find me attractive after the baby was born. “It’s
only natural,” she added, “it’ll pass.” This was the latest iteration of a piece
of advice she’d given to my sister and me for years. Men are like babies—
their needs are not negotiable.