The Anti-Flirt Club was a club in the 1920s established by women who were tired of men flirting with them. The club had rules to guide its members by:

1. Don’t flirt: those who flirt in haste oft repent in leisure.
2. Don’t accept rides from flirting motorists - they don’t invite you in to save you a walk.
3. Don’t use your eyes for ogling - they were made for worthier purposes.
4. Don’t go out with men you don’t know - they may be married, and you may be in for a hair-pulling match.
5. Don’t wink - a flutter of one eye may cause a tear in the other.
6. Don’t smile at flirtatious strangers- save them for people you know.
7. Don’t annex all the men you can get - by flirting with many you may lose out on the one.
8. Don’t fall for the slick, dandified cake eater - the unpolished gold of a real man is worth more than the gloss of a lounge lizard.
9. Don’t let elderly men with an eye to a flirtation pat you on the shoulder and take a fatherly interest in you. Those are usually the kind who want to forget they are fathers.
10. Don’t ignore the man you are sure of while you flirt with another. When you return to the first one you may find him gone.

Alice Reighly, President of the group and content in being a single bitch the rest of her life.

Ever wanted to see a My Little Pony version of Edward Scissorhands?

I didn’t know I did.

Hello, 2005.

I miss you.

This video makes me long for cooking tools in this apartment.

I’m not your microphone.

I’m not a journal for you to write in.

I won’t just stand by and watch you,

Erasing the same mistakes from your pencil,

Writing them over and over again.

Stop speaking in me

Stop writing on me

Stop erasing your smudges

If you’re just going to make the same mistakes.

And if I’m your microphone,

Your journal or your ear to hear,

Be truthful for once.

Stop speaking in hushed tones,

In dialects I can’t decipher.

Stop writing with invisible lead.

Use felt-tipped pens for heart-felt pains,

That no eraser can rub out of life.

And as you lie to me,

I’ll lie myself down and ignore.

To sleep with the sounds of a lyre,

Not be written on or spoken into

With the words and ink of a liar.

http://ragbag.tumblr.com/tagged/cards

So I was utilizing the facilities in the library tonight and had a sudden burst of creativity. No, that is not what I call defecation. Anyway, I realized what I want to do with this tumblr.

I want to start a collection of photographs of art and conversations on bathroom stall walls that I discover. It’s a unique art form. It’s almost always anonymous, vulgar, and somewhat humorous in nature. At times, it can even be philosophical. As well, I believe it’s a form of art and expression that is greatly underappreciated and misrepresented in modern life. And if you believe my tongue is pressed firmly in cheek, then maybe you’re right. But if it was, I wouldn’t be able to pronounce certain words as clearly, and there would of course be many spelling errors in this post. No, the only “cheek” in question here is the one placed on the porcelain throne which enables such art.

So dip your brush in ink, O artists of the lavatories! Scribe your thoughts with your pants about your feet! Begin an epic script with the subtitle: “Call this number for a good time and maybe a blowjob!”

I drink to you, good sirs and madams of this most exquisite art form!

I just won’t drink near your work.

Sometimes I feel a little overwhelmed by everything.

This is the perfect rainy day to curl up, sip on some hot tea or coffee, and read, though.