Starky's Rants

-sweeping bow-
I can never leave you waiting, Munky.

Stargaryen/Danarya friends, gather round, gather round... please, take a cookie from the table, yes, the ones shaped like a fist, and pour yourself some complimentary whiskey or grape juice, whatever you prefer.

I come to the altar today before you, because I Have Anger In My Heart.

It's time for the very first Starky rant, which will deal with something likely very near and dear to almost everybody's heart -

Public Transit.

Good friends, unless you live in a very rural area, or have happy time cheap parking surrounding you, at some point, you are going to have to deal with this.

So on behalf of all of us hardworking bastards, I am creating what should become a mandatory checklist and code of conduct for everyone who ever steps foot on public transportation of –any– kind.

1. Make sure you are washed.
Before you ever step foot outside your door, take a quiet, sincere moment, and do a ‘sniff test’. Do you smell like stale pizza? Like that blunt you were smoking with your friends last night? Like garlic, onions, or any other pungent, spicy aroma that may have leaked from your pores due to eating a bunch of weird shit after smoking the aforementioned blunt? Is there a faint hint of Wal-Mart in the air? Do you catch the soft scent of dirty ass wafting in the breeze?
If so, get back in your fucking house and shower, change those goddam filthy clothes you slept in, and TRY AGAIN.

2. If you have passed the initial ‘sniff test’, and you are male, you need to stay focused and acutely aware of yourself when you take a seat on that bus, metro, LRT, skytrain, or what the hell ever you have boarded. I know, I know, you really want to just scratch your junk and stare at your phone or at the scantily-clad, underage girl who hopped on two stations after you – but resist the obvious impulses.
You need to focus on the real issue, here.
The Manspread.
Staring vacantly with your legs spread like a Lysene whore across three seats may be extremely comfortable.
But really, I hate to break it to you twinkle-toes – no one is that big. And absolutely no one is fooled into thinking you are ‘that big’ when you sit like a slack-jawed mouthbreather who belongs in a special ‘tard chair rather than on public transit.
Manspread. Don’t be a victim.

3. So you’re washed, and you’re not manspreading – congratulations! You’re in the top third percentile for all humanity already.
Time to shoot a little higher, friends.
Now, on every public transit vehicle, there is reserved seating. These seats are set aside for people with limited mobility – the elderly, people who are injured, pregnant women who feel like they have to pee all the time, people with strollers, service animals, etc. These seats are always clearly marked with happy little signs depicting smiling stick people with canes, or casts, or stick seeing-eye dogs, and usually have bright stickers surrounding them as well.
Basically, unless you yourself do not have eyes, you can’t bloody miss this shit.
But since the meaning is still not clear to some, let me clarify:
If I see some tiny, rickety, 60+ year old woman having to get up and give up her special limited mobility seat because an even worse off tiny, rickety, 60+ year old woman with a walker and a cast needs that seat more, and the two able-bodied teenagers who have plunked their useless asses down in those reserved seats refuse to move – yes. I’m probably going to hit at least one of them.
And I swear to God if you try to whine like a bitch to the driver afterwards I will find them, and you, and tie you all down to the rails and take pictures of you crying and pissing your pants under the headlights of the metro that barely manages to stop before cutting through you like a slice of bloody, happy birthday cake.
Because you are all pretty disgusting people, and maybe laying in your tears and piss for a few terrifying moments will help you understand that.

4. So, you’re from another country, and utilizing North American transit – welcome! The entire continent is your melting pot, and we appreciate that not everyone travelling with us is used to our way of doing things.
So, please, conversely, try to remember that we don’t necessarily do things the way you do at home either. For instance:
You do not need to yell in your native tongue at the person sitting right beside or across from you. It unnerves us, and makes us think you are agitated at them. We likely do not speak your language, and your angry hand gestures combined with the yelling makes us think you are about to attack your friend/family member, when really you are just telling them about which Kimchi brand is best to stock up on in our ignorant corner of the world.
Also, please see point number 1 above – you have every right to eat whatever you want, but be aware that sometimes, you really don’t smell very good after consuming it. We all don’t enjoy Fish Oil Specials or Century Eggs the way you do, hard as that may be to believe.

5. And last, but not least – keep in mind that you are not alone, in a tiny, isolated little box of invisibility.
If you pick your nose, we’re all right there to see it.
If you crank up the MP3s stored on your phone, yes, we can all hear that shit.
If start talking to your imaginary friend, because you are either high or just plain fucking crazy, you better introduce the rest of us because we’re all right there with you.
And we just might not be in the mood for your nutbar session that day.

-out of tune pipe organ plays-

-just stares, wide-eyed- ...

Stargaryen/Danarya friends, gather round, gather round... please, take a cookie from the table, yes, the ones shaped like a fist, and pour yourself some complimentary whiskey or grape juice, whatever you prefer.

I come to the altar today before you, because I Have Anger In My Heart.

A little less comedic and a little more bitter, I want to speak for a moment about The Endangered Species.

My own.

Ladies and gents, I am a butch.

A dyke.

Whatever term you want to use for it, derogatory or not - doesn't much bother me, 'cause I am what I am and I embrace it.

I'm one of those people that make everyone look twice, worried, because they do not know whether to say 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' when addressing me (Sir usually wins out).

I date femme women, I pull out their chairs, I pay for dinner, and I hold open their doors. Chivalry needs to live on somewhere, after all.
I drive nothing but trucks, SUVs, or motorcycles.
I work in the male-dominated field of white-collar corporate security (no, I am NOT a bloody guard), I don't own one piece of women's clothing, and yes, I have a tattoo, but only one.

I do not wear flannel or plaid (unless it is pyjama pants or boxer shorts, 'cause come on, those are comfy as hell for ANYONE).

I am not obese.

And, I can't emphasize this enough - I am not pre-op trans.

I'm just a butch.

I wear suits, stylish hats, leather jackets, and expensive button-up shirts that always have the sleeves rolled up ('cause that's how we get shit done).

And for some reason - within the LGBT (LMNOPQRS and all the other adopted letters inserted here) community, that is considered to be a Bad Thing.

Not sure why. But it's placed 'my kind' on the outs, on the endangered species list, and it's convinced so many youth that going trans will magically Fix Everything For You.

Well - it will gain you a lot more acceptance amongst the LGBT community, that is for sure.

As for the rest - do your homework, and you'll come to find it's not the magic panacea you may think it is. If it was - we'd all do it.

My kind is not the only group on this vanishing list here in the Age of Androgyny. Effeminate males are also right there, mentioned and/or depicted only as objects of ridicule. Being gay is 'trendy' now, but for those of us who were born 'back in the day' - it wasn't. At all. And being 'visibly gay', such as dykes and fairies tend to be, made it all the worse.

There is no question of what we are. We walk into a room, and you just -know-.
And maybe that is part of the problem.
We're not 'fluid'. We're not 'enticing to both genders'. We're not a mystery - we're blatant, and we're right in your face in a way that doesn't make bisexuality, confusion, or just being caught up in a 'phase' any sort of consideration.

We are, undoubtedly, 'lost' to the heterosexual race.
And maybe that is why we're always so hard to stomach.

-out of tune pipe organ plays-

cmiller, I can't tell you how happy I am that you found something in this that spoke to you personally.
I have a feeling that in this particular fandom, there are a lot of people like 'us', even if no one really talks about it.
So I thought maybe it was worth bringing up, and I can see already that it was the right thing to do.

*and you're gonna get a digital bearhug whether you like it or not!* XD

Yeah, I can relate to that - there's a reason why a Hot Saturday Night in my world consists of good whiskey, a great videogame, and House Danarya XD

...where is this magical wonderland in which you live again, Cass?
Because I need to pack my bags and move there.

Then again - University is also a huge time of experimentation. Watch how much your friends change within the next 2-3 years

Also - the meaning of that term is quite different for some people. Like, some consider Miley Cyrus or Ruby Rose to be 'butch', but really, they're quite andro and work either side of the fence.


This, I have a lot of sympathy for. As much as the world has changed, some things remain the same, and this is one of them -
The fact that religious people tend to believe that God Loves Everyone Except Gay People.
Nevermind the fact that Jesus never said one word about condemning gay people - they just use it as an excuse to join together in self-righteous, shared hatred of others.


It's nice in the sense that you don't have to have awkward conversations with boys who think they can date you. And terrible in the sense that you are descriminated against right up front. >_<

Anyways, glad that you weren't offended or anything.. Starky Rants will be divisive at times, and I do welcome other opinions and viewpoints.

So long as I get my cookie first.