jujubiest:

They sent pipe bombs to Obama, Clinton, CNN, and a major Democratic donor. They marched through the streets chanting “Jews will not replace us.” They jailed and brutalized and outright killed Black protesters. They ran a woman down with a car for protesting their hateful rhetoric.

They threatened from the start to resort to violence if they didn’t get their way, and then got their way…and resorted to violence anyway. They are the purveyors of a body of politics that sees most of us as subhuman and undeserving of life, and actively works toward our destruction.

Remember that during this election.

This is not a matter of choosing the “lesser evil”. This is flawed politicians vs. actual fucking terrorists. This is human failings vs. inhumanity. This is not being progressive enough vs. silencing the opposition with violence.

No fucking contest. Get out and vote.

hrefnatheravenqueen:

Hey there US friends! If you’re voting using these machines (Hart eSlate) or similar ones right now or in the near future, make sure that the machine has NOT changed your ballot before casting it, ‘k? It’s apparently an already known problem, and has been for years, but has never been fixed.

Additional Source: https://abc13.com/politics/straight-party-voters-reporting-their-votes-were-changed/4556377/

Marrying Aeris really was the best thing he’d done, all things considered. She was the perfect complement. The basil plants he kept for pasta sauce struggled under his care alone but with her around he was hip deep in shrubbery, enough to keep them in marinara for months.

When he took it into his head to try his hand at pickles, he set a dill plant on the window sill and let her presence do the rest. Planet knew, he never did anything but harvest. And when they got their own place, with balmy summers and cool afternoons, just right for sweet tea experiments, he casually mentioned thinking about planting a lemon tree. For the shade.

“Yeah, whatevs, boo,” she said, and they had so many lemons the next year he started giving away lemonade at the base out of a cooler in the back of his car.

Their bushes sprouted berries for no end of pies. Mint ran wild across the side of the yard. Even the old vine overgrowing the cellar door turned out to be grapes. Everything flowered in turn and bore its fruit, for baking and jams, compotes, sauces and preserves. There wasn’t a better stocked pantry for miles.

Till the day she sighed and put down her fork, her blackberry tart only half-eaten beneath its cloud of cream. “What’s the matter, full already?” Not likely, not her, so long as he could keep the roasts and scones coming.

She leaned over on her stool, resting her head on her elbow. “Just… hmm,” she started. “Trying to figure out why everything in this joint is fruitful but me.”

“… Oh.”

He poured them both tea and put the tarts away. She curled in close, the way she did, but he lay awake half the night, thinking. If there was trouble getting things growing around here, the problem was usually him.