Dear Hillary: An Open Letter


Dear Hillary Clinton,

I’ll get right down to it, I want to like you.

The idea of a woman holding such power is exciting and while the desire is present, I can’t like you even a little bit. It’s not because you stayed with your cheating husband or because you fairly received the nomination against my preferred candidate, Bernie Sanders; I simply don’t like you because you’re sketchy as f***.

It’s too bad there is not a more eloquent way of wording that, but nothing sums it up better.

I would love the opportunity to be petty and ask about the odd Kim Jong-un inspired wardrobe you rock or about the snaky relationship you have with Debbie Wasserman Schultz, but there are other things that have been weighing on me that seem to be more pressing.

Your Media depicts you as the safer of the two candidates but I’m not sure that’s true. I’ve been wavering for some time now, trying to like you, and occassionally these ideas creep in to deliver frightening thoughts, like:

Maybe Donald Trump is less risky.

[How my friends look at me when I say that.]
You, Hillary, scare the flip outta me and to be honest I don’t even think it’s personal, in general, sketchy people make me uncomfortable.

The video that everyone is talking about makes me especially uncomfortable.

I wasn’t expecting to watch you stammer and ultimately get drug, calves-on-pavement, into a vehicle while secret service calmly swarm to protect your privacy. Their somber faces seemed to give it away  – that was protocol. In the event that you start acting wonky, they know exactly how to proceed and that’s sketchy.

I have to assume that while you’re resting up that there’s plenty of time for you to check out the latest rumor that started circling around regarding your possible body double?

To that, Secretary Clinton, I ask you to prove that it’s not.

That is how much I don’t trust you. I’ve started to actually believe conspiracy theories; you’re making me feel crazy! These people pointing out the differences in your attire, wrinkles, nose, ears and fingers make more sense to me than pneumonia.

When all is said and done, know that I tried.

I did my best to look past the primaries, those damn e-mails and the Blackberry’s that were smashed with hammers…

…But, I can’t.

I don’t even know what’s real, what’s staged or where this country is headed. If you’re elected into office, or not, please don’t hold this against me.


Dear Brock Turner


Ahh, freedom. Feels good, doesn’t it? While majority of America (and maybe even the rest of the word) loathes your miserable existence, I can’t help but wonder how you spent your first night home.

Are you scared? Do you fear for your safety? What do you think the chances are that people in your neighborhood want to assault you? While you are walking down the street I hope you are afraid and can feel the eyes watching you.

I hope you feel victimized.

The reality of it is though, you will never know the true meaning of that word.

I read your statement and it made me sick to my stomach. Rich, white male privilege seeps out of you; tell me, did you come up with that on your own or did your lawyer help you? I wonder if while you were penning that piece of garbage if you felt any remorse. You do not get to blame ‘party culture’ for stealing a woman’s sense of self. That night behind a dumpster, you took that from her. The fault is yours, and yours alone.

You are the problem.

You did a good job of painting a picture of an innocent kid from Ohio who was culture-shocked by the college lifestyle, except you were tripping on acid, enjoying the highs of marijuana and drinking alcohol long before you arrived at Stanford. Did you believe that’d be kept under wraps? There is no help available that can cure you of your arrogance and messed up rational.

While you fear the protesters outside your house, there are women afraid to come forward about being sexually assaulted all over the country. Your many disgusting choices and Judge Aaron Persky’s less than honorable six-month sentence is why assaults are kept secret.

It hardly seems worth the effort, tears and pain of re-living the trauma when our justice system seems to  care more about you, the rapist, having the ability to finish college; the same party-culture place you blamed your actions on.

After your words, I read hers and cried. I felt her statements ooze with not only immense sadness but with an equal amount of power. Her will to take back what you took from her is greater and more substantial than any story that helps you sleep at night.

According to him, the only reason we were on the ground was because I fell down. Note; if a girl falls down help her get back up. If she is too drunk to even walk and falls down, do not mount her, hump her, take off her underwear, and insert your hand inside her vagina. If a girl falls down help her up. If she is wearing a cardigan over her dress don’t take it off so that you can touch her breasts. Maybe she is cold, maybe that’s why she wore the cardigan.

[victim impact statement]

I hope that someday you have a daughter and nothing bad ever happens to her. I simply want you know that there are men like you out there – waiting for her to be too drunk to consent. Watching her stumble across the room at a party, perceiving her as an opportunity.

Rot in hell,


Perception Frame

I don’t have a fancy camera, I’ve never taken a photography class and I believe Instagram can make anyone a photographer if they want to be. (To be clear, that is not to discredit advanced photo takers.)

I can’t help but feel that the blue sky is different from each perspective. The sky above is just as pretty – yet I feel the like driftwood yearns to be on the other side… cause it’s always greener over there.

[On a farm in Hammond, Wisconsin]

Want to participate in the weekly photo challenge?

Each Friday, The Daily Post provides the theme, create a pingback and check out the rest of the submissions!

Properly Ridiculous Politics

This one time I wrote a post announcing a new blog that would house my political rants and raves. Gosh, that was an exciting thought…

…Aaaaaand then I fell down a rabbit hole of conspiracy theories.

I don’t want to wind up dead because I got a little too analytical. Not that I think this blog would be so wildly successful, more that I’d just rather not start down a whirlwind of political madness that makes my head spin.

It can’t be healthy.


For everyone asking, this is where I’m at with politics at the moment.

I wrote a post that covered a plethora of [nasty] things I trust more than Donald Trump. If you’d like to see the list of things I trust more than Hillary Clinton, Click Here.

It’s all the same.

The 2016 election has already brought me to both the highest of highs and lowest of lows. Congratulations United States Government, I’m officially back to believing my vote actually doesn’t matter anymore. Call me a conspiracy theorist, call me crazy… but there’s something much larger than the American government pulling the strings. There are people whose wealth hold such a significant strength that it is beyond your imagination. You and I? We can’t compete with that.

I’ll place my vote this coming November and I’ll watch the coverage,  beyond that, I will not be committing any further enthusiasm towards politics.

I’m over it.

Seriously, STFU: Ellen is Racist


I was pretty quick to click on the link painting Ellen DeGeneres as a racist. Ellen?

Um, what kind of cry baby world are we living in?  She’s implying that he’s super fucking fast. I, too, would love to be able to get shit done at that speed, it’s quite impressive.

Let me remind you, we’re talking about Ellen here. If Seth Rogen ran that race, posed for a smiling picture at 3,246mph – she’d post a picture of herself riding him too.

See what I did there?

I hope she’s not outraged, I mean, that could imply that she likes men… if you want to get nasty with it.

She’s a comedian, telling jokes in an easily offended world – not a racist.

Seriously, STFU.