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Quote by A.K. Kuykendall

“My mind set off in fear and trepidation. Where are the babies and girls in Trump's gulag? I'm a speculative fiction writer. I write horror. There are entirely too many scenarios to mention that gravely concern this iniquitous policy.”

Quote by A.K. Kuykendall

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A.K. Kuykendall

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“On realising what has been said, for Jason, Adam might as well have bought out a gun. “No WAY man.” Jason yelps, before controlling himself. He nearly ends up wearing the meal for a hat, not forgetting earning some pretty hard glares – not that he seems to care. “Not everyone is as insane as you.” He continues in a hushed whisper, scooping onto his plate some very soggy and watery-looking peas. ”You can’t just go up to a girl and tell them that you like them, especially not Jen. That’s complete and utter madness. MADNESS. She’d flip...badly.” Jason concludes. “She’d flip…then she’d kill me with whatever was nearby and knowing Jen, that could be ANYTHING!”

“Boys are suffering, in the modern world. They are more disobedient—negatively—or more independent—positively—than girls, and they suffer for this, throughout their pre-university educational career. They are less agreeable (agreeableness being a personality trait associated with compassion, empathy and avoidance of conflict) and less susceptible to anxiety and depression,172 at least after both sexes hit puberty.173 Boys’ interests tilt towards things; girls’ interests tilt towards people.174 Strikingly, these differences, strongly influenced by biological factors, are most pronounced in the Scandinavian societies where gender-equality has been pushed hardest: this is the opposite of what would be expected by those who insist, ever more loudly, that gender is a social construct. It isn’t. This isn’t a debate. The data are in.”

“They didn't have very far to fall - I knew just being a girl in the world handicapped your ability to believe yourself. Feelings seemed completely unreliable, like faulty gibberish scraped from a Ouija board. My childhood visits to the family doctor were stressful events for that reason. He'd ask me gentle questions: How was I feeling? How would I describe the pain? Was it more sharp or more spread out? I'd just look at him with desperation. I needed to be told, that was the whole point of going to the doctor. To take a test, be put through a machine that could comb my insides with radiated precision and tell me what the truth was. Of course the girls didn't leave the ranch: there is a lot that can be borne. When I was nine, I'd broken my wrist falling from a swing. The shocking crack, the blackout pain. But even then, even with my wrist swelling with a cuff of trapped blood, I insisted I was fine, that it was nothing, and my parents believed me right up until the doctor showed them the X-ray, the bones snapped clean.”