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November 4, 2025: Donald Trump's Nigeria Temper Tantrum, BRICS and Deportation Policies with a big Twitter Feud Going On
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I thought i was the only one here that does this. I also take note of members who might be retarded later and make edits of their selfies. It's a fun hobby.
Stepping into the shower, I begin scrubbing my face. My fingertips scan over patches of facial hair, beneath the lip, nose, and some on the chin and cheek, as if I was reading a brail message encoded on my face. It’s been a few days since I’ve shaved those random areas, which got worse when I took testosterone in 2022. The sheer volume of facial hair removal sessions, electrolysis and laser, means that it won’t grow back properly, at least not for now. Turning off the shower, I wrap the towel around my body, hiding the breasts and lack of male genitalia as I walk back towards my room. Navigating disorganised drawers, I catch a glimpse of my naked body from the large cupboard mirror. It’s curvy in a way that it shouldn’t be, and not quite in proportion either, like a crushed hourglass. My eyes scan downwards, and as soon as they meet my lower torso, the examination stops. It’s too early in the morning to think about this shit.
In the kitchen, I’ve carved out a little office space, where I’ve worked solidly at home for the last three years. Lockdown was a nightmare, I know, but not for me. I get so much more done working in my own space, away from the noise and bright lights of the office. After an hour of going through my morning work routine, I’m pulled out of focus by a sharp sting, which normally happens after sitting down for an hour or so. It’s my pelvic region. It’s worse than usual, some days are better than others, but today is one of the bad ones.
Normally the warmth of the shower in the morning, is enough to relax the urethral passage, making using the toilet a little bit easier, but again, not today. I’ve been sitting on the toilet for about five minutes, and nothing is coming out, though not for the lack of trying. I begin psyching myself up, almost preparing the muscles to open, knowing that the final push will sting a bit.
A dribble begins. Okay, we’re in business. Do the pelvic exercises like the nurse told you and relax your bottom half, whilst slowly breathing outwards. The tiny stream slightly increases in velocity, allowing for a short-lived burst to emerge, before turning itself off like a tap. Inpatient at the sudden stoppage, I forcibly press the muscles trying to squeeze out the final drops, but that too isn’t enough. It still hasn’t stopped though, it’s just coming slowly. Again, as I was taught, I began rocking back and forth, side to side, attempting to empty any lingering urine. I’m confident enough to stand up, whilst holding some toilet tissue on the area, knowing more dribble will occur.
Upon returning to my desk, only thirty minutes pass before the sensation of a full bladder hits me again, and I go back and repeat the routine. By mid-day, I’ve done this several times, and no matter how careful I am, the dribble never seems to end and my underwear needs changing already.
I feel bad for the ones tricked into this eugenics movement hidden by virtue signals.
www.independent.co.uk
nypost.com
I just use pirate sites and watch everything free.
this book was pretty enjoyable, but i think my main issue is that due to baer writing most of this on ketamine, it comes out as incomprehensible garble
i did enjoy her insights as a trans individual, especially since i won’t be able to relate, and i loved peering into her mind. but this book was a tad too “stream-of-consciousness” for me to love. some parts were a slog to read, which saddens me because i was really excited to read this :(
i will say though that this book had some beautiful quotes & ideas, it’s just so insane. like i know the whole point is that it’s about baer’s trans experience and that experience is intertwined with ketamine but my god did this need proof reading & editing at a lot of points
...
not any good from a literary perspective, which she very self-consciously acknowledges within the text. it is in general unbearably self-conscious yet self-obsessed, endless rambling observations that to a transsexual of many years do not seem so fascinating. but everybody thinks they're a genus early transition. neurotic scatterbrained blog posts cobbled into a book. that it had no writerly distance from it's subject prevented it from being a compelling depiction of the time of her life she's describing, or any of the personal flaws she obsesses over in the book; if baer had sat on these diary entries for a few years or more, maybe she could have done something with them like elif batumans "the idiot" or imogine binnies "nevada". i read the book because i read a smart review by her, so she can actually write and maybe she will eventually do something like that. i hope at least some of the early transition people who read it think she is as cool as she does and this book is helpful to them in the way she virtuously professes the intention that it might be
trans girl suicide museum
Literary Nonfiction. LGBTQIA Studies. Edited by Clare K…www.goodreads.com
I would like to also remind the audience that photoshopping women in pictures of magazines was a big no-no for years.
The tranny doesn't even capitalize his name right for some reason, and his stunning and brave magazine cover looks like somebody's instagram mirror selfie. This is evidence for society's decline.
