This is funny, obviously, but even if you don’t go to the extreme of the example above, this is a separate seat for one person, with a back and 4 legs:
But it’s not a chair. It’s a bar stool.
This, however, are all chairs:
Each one is missing at least one component of the chair definition above.
So like… it’s almost like strict definitions are exclusionary.
Reblog to hit a transphobe with a separate seat for one person
Reblog to hit a
transphobe with a separate
seat for one person
Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.
Reminder that Graham Linehan ruined his own marriage because of his transphobia. He also showed dick pics to women on Mumsnet and he got kicked off. He’s a slimy piece of shit.
Wow. Hit him in particular especially hard with a chair.
adjusting the finely crafted top hat sitting atop dark brown locks, tuxedo mask saunters his way over to a face he’s seen around frequently, yet never got to converse properly with before. even now, with everyone celebrating the festivities, she sticks out like a sore thumb, her expression vastly different from the rest. “hey, pretty girl.” he greets @msuwendy, charismatic grin and all. gloved hand fixes the white mask framing his eyes, noting the lack of drink in her hand.
“don’t you want something to drink? oooooordo you want to dance? i’m not the best dancer but hey, it’s all about the fun.” standing around all dressed up with nowhere to go doesn’t look like a lot of fun, and claude has made it his mission to change that. “my name’s claude, by the way! what’s yours? also that outfit - it looks unique. did you make it yourself?”
OKAY NOW WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? let it be known that wednesday does not go out of her way to seem approachable. no, half the time her face (mom’s sweet features) does enough of that for her. not that it’s anything that she wants. what she wants is to be able to go through a night without being bothered. in utter solitude. you know.
but what she wants seldom align with what she actually gets. and wednesday gets it. that’s tough, that’s life. nothing really turns out the way you want it. but also? ALSO?FUCK THAT. AND FUCK THIS.to the absolute strangerapproaching for what she can only imagine to be an absolute train wreck of a conversation: WHAT IS YOUR DAMAGE DUDE?
— “hey, pretty girl.”
oh you’re kidding. you’re fucking kidding.
“no.” NO? NO!!! ABSOLUTELY NO! “i’m not interestedin any of that.” she speaks briskly, lips forming a snarl unnatural for a face like hers. had it not been for the fact that she could spot a professor out of the corner of her eye, she would’ve snapped. though—LUCKY YOU YOU ABRAHAM LINCOLN LOOKING MOTHER FUCKER—wednesday can’t exact risk having her greenhouse privileges revoked right now. “no,” she scoffs, knowing fully well he’s bullshitting now. unique? it’s just black. “i bought it.” she bites her tongue, eyes flicking over his costume briefly. if she doesn’t say anything, would he leave? maybe not. maybe it’s better now to play along till he fucks off.
