someday I’m gonna piece together an anthology called “Men Who Deserve to be Killed: Street Harassers” or w/e and it’s going to entirely consist of stories of men who catcall me and their untimely violent creative deaths.
true story of this comic: I was sitting in Washington Square Park, drawing my webcomic, minding my business, when this gross motherfucker who’d been creeping on me silently comes and fucking SITS ON THE BENCH NEXT TO ME and then starts this passive aggressive coughing shit, progressively getting louder. The entire time I kept my head over my sketchbook and didn’t so much as glance in his direction, vowing silently that if he even so much as utters a single word to me I would actually give him the biggest verbal smackdown of his entire privileged life, but he didn’t say anything. He just cleared his throat and then after five minutes of no response got up and left in a huff.
and of course I was so fucking pissed I stopped drawing my webcomic and instead sketched this little number. putting an imaginary bullet through his asshole skull helped so much with my sanity.
… there are moments that make me ashamed to call myself a feminist. This is definitely one of them. I’d rather you don’t dignify this with a response, but if you must I will be forced to pre-empt with: Who made you a fucking psychic who knows everyone’s reasons for doing things you don’t like? Cissies like you, among other things, keep womyn like me in the closet.
Sometimes people cough because they’re sick, or because something’s irritated their throat, like recent exposure to dust, smoke, nicotine, or perfume.