Shannon's Kitchen

Children are annoying*. But that doesn’t mean we want them to die. In fact, parents go to great lengths to ensure their spawn don’t die. So, here is a list of common chokey foods to avoid or slice the fuck out of:

Grapes – These delicious little jerks are perfect for choking small humans. Their size is roughly proportional to windpipes and their skin gets more traction than a dry doodle. Don’t let natural selection have its way: show those chokey-arsed mother-fuckers who is boss and cut grapes lengthwise if your kid is under five.

Sausages and hot-dogs – If the phallic nature of sausages and hot dogs isn’t enough to put you off serving them whole to small children then you might be a pervert. But whether you’re a creep or not, you must slice them anyway to reduce the choke factor. When you cut these fuckers, for the love of god, don’t cut them into coin shapes. They can still get stuck, ya knob.

Chunks of meat/cheese – When I was working as a nurse in the Emergency Department, a woman choked on a big-arse chunk of tuna steak. And this was a fully grown human with a full set of teeth. I was the un-choker (medical term) and it was really bloody hard to dislodge that hunk of fish. Slice meat and cheese thin. I’m talking thinner than you think is reasonable. Like Matthew McConaughey circa Dallas Buyers Club. That’s right: REAL FUCKING THIN.

Whole nuts – You can bake with almond meal, put peanut butter on toast, all that shit, but don’t give little kids whole nuts. They’re chokey. Why don’t you just put a marble in their mouth and call it a day?

Raw carrots and hard fruits – I’m sure your toddler is just DYING to eat raw carrots, but that’s what may actually happen if they do. If they’re having them, slice ‘em up nice and thin. The carrots/fruits that is, not the children. Just to be clear: no cutting the children.

Lollies – Sorry, kids. I don’t mean to ruin your life but here I am doing it. Lollies can be chokey, especially those hard ones but also the gooey, chewy ones. I’m an arsehole, I know.

Popcorn – This chokey doozie surprises many. But this buttery son of a bitch has caused choking deaths in small children. What a delicious fuck-knuckle. Because it’s light and puffy it’s easily inhaled into the windpipe where it then acts like a huge cunt.

Marshmallows – “But they’re soft?!” I hear you wail. DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER. These smooshy pieces of shit LOVE getting stuck in windpipes, then they swell and make that windpipe their home for life. They’re like fluffy, tasty, little squatters and they are very hard to dislodge. Again, sorry kids.

This list is not exhaustive, so use your noggin. Most importantly, if your little’n is eating: make them sit the hell down like a civilised human and stay the fuck with them. Don’t let them free range. They’re not chooks with raging beaks that can peck the fuck out of food, they’re little humans, and they are as useless as tits on a bull. But, gee-whizz, we love them.

Love, Shannon x

P.S. Do you know how to un-choke a baby/kid? Do you know how to properly perform CPR on a wee one? Do you know what the fuck to do if a little’n spills hot tea on themselves? They can get third degree fucking burns from a hot cuppa. Their skin burns at much lower temperature than us gristly, leathery, old fuckers. If you don’t know how to do this stuff, take a First Aid for Children course. Nurse Shannon’s orders.

*Proof of how annoying children can be: My four year old son comes out of the toilet and says,”So, Mum..some of my wee went in the bowl, but lots of it went kind of everywhere. Like the floor and the walls. My penis was out of control!” Cue heavy sighs by me and the usage of epic volumes of paper towel.

Sources:

Royal Children’s Hospital

Raising Children

Better Health – Victorian Government

There was a time when I viewed my breasts like a set of earrings: they came in a pair, they were decorative and they stayed where I put them. Now they are a fully functional apparatus, and they only have a side-gig as ornaments, which if I’m honest, they’re not particularly nailing. They take their milk-producing role seriously, although making enough milk can be bloody hard work sometimes and they need a little help. I’m not talking about Mr Shannon getting in there and yanking on them like I’m an old dairy cow named Trilby, I’m talking about food.

Inspired by Lactation Cookies, these Lactation Balls contain the same tittie-poppin’ ingredients (brewers yeast, oats, flaxseed) but remove many of the fucks you are required to give when making the cookies – because parents have few fucks to give. We are virtually fresh out of fucks most of the time. We have shit on. If I have time to spare I’m not keen to spend 30 minutes in the kitchen, I’m looking to pin crafting activities on Pinterest or do some scrapbooking. I’m fucking with you, I want to do none of those things. Now, allow me to present my balls:

Ingredients:

– 1/2 cup peanut butter (get a good one where the only ingredients is peanuts and a bee’s-dick of salt)

– 12 medjool dates (these live in the fresh fruit section, not that shitty dried date section)

– 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

– 1/4 teaspoon salt

– 1/2 cup rolled oats

– 1/4 cup flax meal

– 1 tablespoon brewers yeast

– 1 tablespoon coconut oil

Get ballin’:

– throw it all into a food processor

– whizz the shit out of it

– roll it into balls. Big balls or small balls, whatever tickles your fancy

– if you’re not a fan of sticky balls, roll them in desiccated coconut (or crushed peanuts or some similar shit)

– bang them in the fridge

May your titties go boom-boom, and the milk flow freely,

Shannon x

I always have ol’ Ronald McDonald over there in Chip Tunnel winking at me like the devious fucker we all know him to be, tempting me with his burgers and lewdly large feet. To prevent doing myself a culinary mischief, I’ve taken to making big-arse batches of soup to stash away in single portions in the freezer like some sort of outrageously excellent soup-lord.

Soup is a bit of a fizzer at times. I can recall as a child, I often felt like punching faces whenever Mum announced that soup was for lunch. But now I’m less of a cunt and more pro-vegetable (still a bit of a cunt though). Regardless, this soup is never disappointing. It’s like an ever-erect peen: always ready to deliver, always filling, but without the risk of developing oral sores and no stray pubes to spoil matters.

 Ingredients:

– one small pumpkin cut into cubes

– 1 sweet potato peeled and cut into cubes

– 1 or 2 red capsicums cut into strips

– 2 to 4 cloves of garlic depending on your tastebuds and breath insecurity

– smoked paprika and cumin

– drizzle of whatever the fuck oil you like

–  1 cup vegetable/chicken/beef stock (that’s ‘broth’ to you modern silly sausages, you crazy kids)

– 1 cup coconut milk/cream

– a bit of natural yoghurt or coconut cream or moo-cow cream to plonk in the bowl at the end (entirely optional, but mandatory if you worshipped Prince and desire the cream to get on top)

 Work the magic:

– preheat oven to 180C (360F)

– place vegetables into a baking dish and drizzle with oil, sprinkle the smoked paprika and cumin on there. Roast those guys for 50-60 minutes so they’re soft and easily crushed (aka ‘smooshable as all fuck’)

– to make the soup, mix those veggies with the coconut milk and stock, and then whizz that brew. You can do it with a bar-mix or throw it in the blender. Don’t burn your fucking self. If it’s too thick add some more stock or coconut milk. If it’s too runny, well, it’s too fucking late and I’m sorry for ruining your lunch, but it’s just soup so don’t get too bloody cranky

– serve nude or with a smidge of your chosen cream. I love sprinkling a bit of nutmeg on that shit. I know what you’re thinking, “Shannon, you are one classy piece of arse,” and I appreciate that

Love,

Shannon x

The Internet Machine is confusing and troubling at times, and I’m not just referring to the sexually explicit material containing grandmas, spatulas, tiny dogs and Bratwurst sausages. I’m also talking about ‘wellness’. 

Although I’m part of this overwhelming dialogue on food/health, I would advise you to be a discerning consumer of information or you might end up trying all kinds of silly shit:

– You might end up cutting up your perfectly fine garden hose, not for a DIY bong, no, to insert unusual ingredients into your rectum for that super-fresh-arsed glow. No.

– You might convince yourself that protein shakes don’t taste like penis. No, they do taste like penis.

– You might give up all carbohydrates and end up with a mouth that smells exactly the same as your anus, and a brain that functions so slowly you might as well be rotten-as-a-chop drunk.

– You might end up having to hunt and gather all your food and it is really hard to find M&Ms in the bushes.

– You might get really fucking hungry.

– You might end up giving up god damn FRUIT because it contains sugar. NO. Since when was fruit a fucking TREAT?! 

To avoid these horrors, asking yourself the following may help you sort the shit from the clay:

– Should this knob be giving advice? Are they in any way qualified to offer this advice or are they just being a story-rooster?

– Are their only sources of evidence cherry-picked, small scientific studies or anecdotes/testimonials? Oh, Tom used to be fat, miserable and his whistle wasn’t worth touching, but then he signed up for our expensive diet and now he’s hot as fuck and has near constant whistle-touching. Show me the science, cunt. Mainstream nutrition and healthcare is based on consensus views by experts formed from a plethora of evidence found in countless peer-reviewed studies, not Tom.

– Are they wearing a dream-catcher as a necklace?

– Is this motherfucker trying to sell you something? (I may try to sell you a legendary cookbook in the future, but the chances of me actually finishing it are slim to nil, especially if Mr I Can Pull Out In Time jams a third human up in there.)

– Are they actively encouraging you to reject conventional medicine and treat yourself ‘naturally’? Food has a powerful effect on our bodies – we can all relate to that. Do I believe it can help with chronic health conditions like constipation, PCOS or Type 2 diabetes? Yes (but not always). Do I believe that it can solely cure cancer? Not a fucking chance. It can help put your body in to a balanced state that is better equipped to fight disease, and some constituents and molecules within foods can wage small battles on your behalf like little chemical gangsters, but if you have cancer you march your arse into your doctor’s office and take their advice.

– Are they censoring content with as much enthusiasm as China? (Pete Evans and the Food Babe are notorious for constantly blocking people who post valid questions. That’s a bit dickful).

– Are they incessantly posing looking hot as fuck in their swimwear drinking out of a coconut? Fuck them and their coconuts.

So, that’s how to spot the dingalings. Spotting quality content is even easier. I would recommend seeking inspiration from someone who has found the sensible middle ground. You are unique and your diet can be too. As I said to The Juice Daily,

“a one-size-fits-all diet is mythical. Every body is different. Some people can be vegan and thrive, someone else tries it and ends up with giant needles of Vitamin B12 in their butt. Some people are trim and energetic on a paleo diet, someone else tries it and ends up pissing out a giant kidney stone making their wee-hole resemble Hiroshima. Some people can eat/drink anything without consequence, John Candy tried that and things didn’t turn out so ace. Healthy eating need not be complicated: eat a shit-tonne of plants (mostly vegetables); eat a variety; processed food ain’t good; go easy on red meat; drink water.”

Just tailor it to suit your body and your lifestyle, and if you have a specific health concern, see a nutritionist or dietician. Don’t trust some random fuckknuckle on the Internet Machine who wants you to consume only juice for a god damn week, and has less accountability than Charlie Sheen.

Fuck some of those bloggers off,

except me, keep me, I’m grouse,

Shannon x

P.S. Some health blogs I respect include:

The Nutrition Guru and the Chef

Thinking Nutrition

The Nutrition Press

examine.com

Please don’t bloody ruin Easter. 

There’s some crazy shit getting around this Easter on the ol’ internet machine. I saw a health-food site recommending the Easter Bunny put ‘fresh fruit in Easter baskets’. How fun! Yes, how fun it will be to ruin the lives of small children. How fun to see the face of an eager little child drop with despair when they reach into their Easter basket and pull out a fucking banana. That sounds like the perfect way to create future serial killers.

Planning on following some flog’s advice to wrap grapes in coloured foil to resemble eggs? You’re a cunt. Hang your head in shame, or better yet, hang your entire self. Another site cruelly suggested that you place ‘beautifully painted hard boiled eggs’ in lieu of chocolate eggs. Hard boiled god damn eggs in an Easter basket. How about go fuck yourself, you fucking sicko.

The only acceptable criteria for withholding chocolate is if the wee humans have allergies, in which case, that’s just bloody sensible and good work for bringing sensitivity this Easter, Señor Bunny.  Allergies are no laughing matter, except when they involve raging diarrhoea because we all know that poo is a reliable source of hilarity.

I’m not saying you should give our children diabetes* this Easter, but a bit of proper dirty chocolate is essential. The daily sugar recommendation is rightfully low, but honestly, on bloody Easter this recommendation can eat a bag of dicks. Your good intentions are appreciated, but those good intentions can simultaneously go fuck themselves.

Giving good quality chocolate is acceptable, but all of this other healthy bullshit is more offensive than an invitation to sit on Rolf Harris’ knee while he watches you eat hot dogs.

So, Easter Bunny, please relax on the healthy shit for just one day. There is a time and a place to be an uptight tossbag about food, and Easter is not it. Please fill our Easter baskets with chocolate and our hearts with the will to continue living.

Bring the flavey-flave, 

Shannon x

*This is clearly a joke based on the loosest thread of reality linking longterm excessive sugar consumption to the development of Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus (distinct from Type 1 Diabetes) and is not a public health message. So please don’t take this joke seriously or believe that a day of gorging on chocolate will lead to diabetes.

This dish is gonna give you some pretty serious garlic breath, so you will need to have a bit of confidence behind you before you hook into this creamy mushroom pasta. I mean, if you’re going to pull this one out on Date Numero Uno, you would want to be packing a pretty huge dick, or have a giant gravity-defying set of titties, because you’re gonna have some breath on you to make up for. 

I love this dish because it’s as basic as all fuck and takes bugger all time to prepare – it is perfect for when you have no patience for food preparation, but give moderate fucks about your health. Plus it’s cheap, which means you will have more money to spend on tossbaggish gluten-free, sugar-free, organic shit or hookers and blow.

Oh! And yes, this sauce is vegan. If you just HAVE to add meat to every dish, then kick yourself in your crotchfruit, because you’re being a stubborn dingaling.

Ingredients: Serves 3 or 4 (depending on greed levels)

– smidge of oil/fat of your choice

– about 600g mushrooms, sliced. Be a classy son of a bitch and get an assortment of mushrooms. I like to use Swiss Brown Mushrooms and those cute little button ones.

– 1 cup of coconut cream

– 1 cup of coconut milk (if you use all coconut cream it goes too gooey and it ain’t right)

– 3 birdseye chillis, finely chopped (those hot little fuckers. Don’t be rubbing your eyes when you cut these tiny bastards up, lest you be blinded for god damn life)

– 3 or 4 teaspoons crushed garlic (I don’t give a shit if you use the stuff out of a jar, or if you want to be a flash prick and use fresh stuff)

– OPTIONAL: a couple of giant handfuls of baby spinach to green that fucker up

– OPTIONAL: chopped fresh parsely. If you want to garnish this with some fresh herbs then you are indeed one excellent champ

– PASTA: do whatever you bloody like here. I like to use a mixture of zucchini noodles (“zasta”) and corn pasta because I’m a complete knob-jockey

Righto, big-dick, let’s go:

– this isn’t going to include instructions for cooking the pasta bit because I don’t know what the fuck you’ve selected and you can really just work that out for your bloody self. Don’t be a needy silly sausage

– heat up a fry-pan over a medium-high heat, plop in a little bit of oil in, then whack in your garlic and chilli and give it a little sizzle for half a minute. Stand back because that fucker will spit like a camel

– next up: the mushrooms, chuck them in. Stir them here and there, and let them saute for about 5 minutes. You want them a little soft but not so flaccid that it makes you sad

– cool that shit down with your coconut cream and milk, and turn the heat down so it’s all just simmering. It will only need about 10 minutes. Don’t let it get too thick or it’ll be gross and it will sit in the corners of your mouth like that tenacious, semi-solid white crud that seems to inhabit some old men’s mouths

– if you elected to add greens, then feel smug and add them now, stir them around and wait for them to wilt

– serve it up over the pasta of your choice, and if you’re one of the fancy ones, toss a bit of fresh herb and cracked pepper over the top

Mushrooms are funny because they sometimes resemble peens,

Shannon x

I don’t think I have hidden the fact that I’m a bit of an animal. Do I mostly eat well? Yes, I do. Do I sometimes show a complete lack of regard for my body and devour ridiculous food because I fucking can? You’re damn right I do, and what could be dirtier than BBQ Ribs? Sexual relations with a faecally incontinent individual who is wearing a silly hat and holding a kitten. That’s dirtier, but not nearly as tasty. A Melbournian BBQ-man named Chris sent me this recipe with the warning: “it’s fatty meat with a sugary sauce – it’s not fucking Lite’n’Easy”. So, consider yourself warned – this is ‘fat fuck’ material. To do this properly, you need big ol’ fat ribs, think: the porcine version of John Candy. You might need to strike up a relationship with your butcher, I will leave the ‘how’ of that up to you. If you buy any ol’ shit, you could end up with ribs that have less meat on them than Matthew McConaughey circa Dallas Buyers Club. So focus on getting the right ribs, you awesome douchenozzles.

Now, we’ve spoken of pork before, remember? We’re not arseholes here, so let’s take as much cuntfulness out of this situation as we can and purchase free-range pork. Pigs are most excellent – let’s not be more dickish than necessary. Alright, kids: roll up your sleeves, this shit is gonna get filthy.

Ingredients:

– however many racks of free-range pork ribs you want. No one is here to judge, we’re all in this gooey mess together

– a good BBQ sauce (a smokey, proper one. I found one at the supermarket, it was cheap and fucking grouse. Was it full of sugar? You’re god damn right it was. My nipples are getting hard just thinking about it). For those dedicated souls among us who couldn’t allow such nonsense to enter their inners, saddle up that high horse and ride on over to My Food Religion, that healthy mofo has a recipe for BBQ sauce.

– oil of your choice (or you can use mustard)

– a smidgen of apple juice (or lemon juice)

The ‘rub’:

– paprika

– brown sugar (or coconut sugar)

– salt and pepper

Rub and Rib one out:

– make ‘the rub’. In a bowl, mix up the brown sugar, paprika, salt and pepper to your taste. I used a few tablespoons of sugar as a base, then added the seasonings until it tasted grouse. I just kept ramming my licked finger into the mix until it was ‘rub’ worthy

– get those ribs and trim off any obscenely large pieces of fat. Chris recommends removing the membrane on the back with a butter knife and paper towel. I used my hands because I’m a monster

– now coat those ribs with oil (or mustard), this gives ‘the rub’ something to stick to

– apply a good coat of ‘the rub’ to your ribs. Don’t go silly with it – ‘the rub’ ain’t bronzer and the ribs ain’t whores. When that’s done, wrap them up in plastic wrap and pop them in the fridge for an hour or two

– when you’re ready to get cooking, get the oven cranking to about 110C

– unwrap your ribs and pop them in a roasting dish (put baking paper on the bottom to avoid killing the dish) and cook them (uncovered) for about 2 hours. Then pull those bad boys out, and wrap them aluminium foil along with a little splash of apple juice (or lemon juice), and return them to the oven for 1 more hour

– by now those mother-fuckers should be fairly tender, so get them out of the oven and unwrap them

– it’s BBQ sauce time now, bozos. Slather that shit on like the ribs are an ugly face and the sauce is Chanel makeup. Be liberal – it tastes amazing and it covers up any ugly cock-ups

– get the griller firing on medium/high heat

– pop the sauced-up ribs under the griller. Don’t fucking move. Those little pricks look innocent but they will burn if you let them and you will be a ribless dickhead. This takes around 5-10 minutes, you’ll know they’re done when the sauce becomes tacky on top. It will be stickier than cervical secretions at ovulation time but less gross

– prepare to be dazzled

Yours filthily,

Shannon x

Vegan, gluten-free cupcakes – this is going to be bloody tough to get people on board. It sounds wanky and reminiscent of eating a dry, old penis (if penises were vegan). Embracing some plant-based food, though, has wonderful benefits (besides not having to eat dick), such as lower cholesterol, healthy blood pressure and lower incidence of heart disease. Plus you will do some amazing shits that leave you with a true sense of triumph. Arseholes and hearts aside, we do not, however, wish to sacrifice our enjoyment of food, which brings us back to cupcakes. There is something about cupcakes that unites us all. Probably their excellence and their connection to our youth when we cared not for sugar-values, thigh-size or longevity. When we ran around nude and pleaded with the drug-lords of sugar (our mothers) for more. A time when figurative and literal dry, old penises were not of concern (hopefully). Yes, every time I bite into a fluffy, sweet little cupcake, I am happy.

Ingredients: makes about 10 little fellas

– 2 ripe (or overripe is better) bananas, peeled

– 1/4 cup coconut oil

– 3 tablespoons coconut milk

– 1/4 cup rice malt syrup (or whatever sweetener you have taken a shine too)

– 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

– 1/4 teaspoon salt

– 2 teaspoons baking powder

– 2 cups almond meal (making these for school? Fuck the nuts off and take on some gluten by using wholemeal flour)

– 1 tablespoon flaxseed meal

– 1 tablespoon chia seeds

– 1 tablespoon water

Icing:

– 1/4 cup stevia icing mix. I can almost hear some douches carrying on with “What the fuck is that?!” Cut it out: I bought it at the supermarket, it’s like icing sugar, but made with stevia (that natural herb that is sweet but is low-calorie and has a negligible effect on blood sugars). Obviously more expensive than the normal sugar version but doesn’t fuck you up as much

– 1 teaspoon lemon juice

– 1 teaspoon coconut oil

– water to mix

Please note this makes a fairly frugal amount. If you are an icing-whore, perhaps double this mixture.

Say no to dry, old peen-cakes:

– bang your oven on 170C

– if you’re a lucky fucker with a food processor, chuck the bananas, coconut oil, vanilla extract, rice syrup and coconut milk in there and whizz that shit. While that’s buzzing away, mix the chia seeds and flaxseed meal in a cup. Add the tablespoon of water as well and stir like fuck for a few seconds. Before it congeals into madness, toss it into the food processor quick-smart and whizz. Then add the rest of the dry shit (the almond meal, salt and baking powder) and re-whizz

– if you’re without a food processor, just mash those bananas by hand and combine with the coconut oil, vanilla extract, rice syrup and coconut milk. Once that’s sufficiently in a sloppy togetherness, grab yourself a cup and mix the chia seeds, flaxseed meal and water. Don’t fuck around, stir if quick and bang it in with the other moist shit and combine it all. It can lump up like a mother-fucker. You’ve been warned. Now add in the almond meal, salt and baking powder and stir the fuck out out of it

– spoon the mixture into a muffin tin (lined with dear little patty-pan wrappers)

– whack the little guys into the oven. They will take around 25-30 minutes. Almond meal can be a bit of a cunt and tends to burn, so keep an eye on these guys. You’ll know they’re cooked when they’re golden brown on the top, but still a little spongey in the middle when you poke them

– while their cooling their jets, make your icing. Just combine your icing ingredients in a bowl and whisk like a crazy son of a bitch. Add water as needed. The stevia icing mix doesn’t form as smooth a consistency as the regular sugary-shit, but don’t be disheartened because you will give exactly zero fucks when you bite into the deliciousness and don’t get diabetes

– when your cakes have cooled enough, ice those little champs. If you’re a bit swish, get a bit of lemon zest on the top, it adds a bit of zing and looks as fancy as all fuck

Cupcakes are fucking grouse, and so are we,

Shannon x

Get your funnies out!

I have been collecting items for a little gift bag for one of you awesome champions, but you must win my gift and love through comedy. If you haven’t already, head to Shannon’s Kitchen Facebook page, and enter my competition to win this grouse prize by telling a joke. The person with the joke that gets the most likes will win! Obviously you have to ‘like’ my Facebook page to be eligible to win this because I’m a narcissistic dickbeetle rather than a bloody charity. All of these items have been purchased by me because I’m fucking grouse and I love these Aussie products (and I love you guys). Even if you live in fucking Iceland, if you win, I will mail it.

Make me laugh, fuckers,

Shannon x

This body-shaming bullshit is more revolting than unplugging a pube-ravaged shower drain. Where are people’s fucking manners? Here is a simple guide on when to comment on someone else’s body and when not to:

TIMES IT IS OK TO COMMENT ON SOMEONE ELSE’S BODY:

– “Mate, you look as hot as fuck.” Yes.

– “Um, darling, that mole on your back has more colours than a bag of Skittles and has more turbulent borders than Korea, get yourself to a friggin’ doctor.” Yes.

– “You have some spinach in your teeth, bruz,” (in discrete, hushed tones and a kindly manner). Yes.

– “You are glowing.” Yes.

TIMES IT IS NOT OK TO COMMENT ON SOMEONE ELSE’S BODY:

– “You are so fucking skinny, I just mistook you for a super-thin pizza crust.” No.

– “Oh my god, do you know what you look like in a bikini?! Save the whales, harpoon this ho’bag.” No.

– “Mate, you should not be wearing speedos, you look like you’ve got nothing but a jellybean and two Tic-Tacs in your trunks.” No.

– “Your head is too big for your body.” (Someone said this to me once. My head is kind of large, I mean, I was wearing adult helmets as a child. But still, not helpful). No.

– “You’re fat.” I mean, just no.

– “You’re uglier than a hat full of arseholes.” No.

– “Your monobrow is more outlandish than Maggie Simpson’s baby-enemy’s.” No.

– “Oh my god she has so much fucking cellulite she looks like her thighs have spelled out ‘enter at own risk’ in braille!” No.

So, there we have a simple guide on not being a body-shaming fuck-knuckle in the online and offline social world.

Unless it involves hiding in the bushes and leaping out fully exposing oneself to small children, then flaunting one’s body is an individual decision. You friggin’ know I get my plump arse out on the beach covered only by an itsy-bitsy bottom, and I’m grinning like a freshlord-douchebag, having too much fun to care what anybody thinks.

Everyone has a varied opinion of what is beautiful, and thank fuck for that, otherwise there would be a whole lot of people with nowhere to go but their masturbatorium for some loving.

Love,

Shannon x