A Glasgow nightclub has installed a two-way mirror which allows male revellers in private booths to spy on unsuspecting women as they visit the toilet! With no notification or signage anywhere in the venue many female club goers have been left feeling embarrassed and used. Although they do briefly show the mirrors in a promo video, the club has been quickly deleting comments and posts on their social media from club goers trying to alert others to the situation. This is pretty much illegal and hugley violates privacy. Thank you The Shimmy Club for giving us a shiny, new, creative and cool take on objectification.
i’m never leaving my house again, this world is just too fucked up.
gross gross gross gross gross
Good morning disgusting.
- “No space, leave the place” (fingernail test)
- A two way mirror must be set INTO the wall, not placed on top of it.
- If you rap/knock against the mirror, one installed onto a wall (a normal mirror) will make a dull sound, because there’s something behind it. A two-way will have more reverberation.
- Use the flashlight on your phone to shine on the mirror, if it’s a two-way, you’ll be able to see into the other room.
- You can also shield your eyes and see in if you lean up against the glass.
- The room being viewed will have to be brightly lit (10x brighter than the room looking in), so if you’re in a typical dimly lit club bathroom, you’re ok.
boosting the fuck out of this
They have this in Continental Midtown in Philly, it’s fucking creepy and not cool at all
the most obvious solution i can think of is to break that motherfucker. what are they going to do? sue you for breaking something they shouldnt have had?
That’s fucking disgusting.
Hey, fellas. You ever feel like you have to check if you’re standing in front of a two-way mirror? Women do.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!
this is awful
And THIS is why I don’t do interviews!!!! Yaya Han and Jnig aren’t ruining this hobby, creeps like this are! Not to sound like a narcissist, but I know I have a small following of “new” cosplayers on my page and I just wanted to warn you all about STRANGER DANGER! A REAL interviewer will NEVER ask you to take your clothes off! This is what Cosplay is NOT Consent was made for!!!!!
"HEY SO. Just thought I’d throw a warning out there, because it looks like he’s contacted a few other deviants. If you get a message from a guy named Sean Morales, or a request to do a cosplay interview for this group https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cosplay-Interviews/364194950380432
Be super cautious. He said he wanted to interview me as a cosplayer (not about Cosplay Deviants), and then spent most of his time in the Skype call trying to get me to remove my panties for him, or do “fanservice” for him stating not to worry if “something slips”. When I (very politely) told him I wasn’t going to do that, he told me “to just lift the skirt. It’s a situation that the cosplayer do”.
Just in case he does reach out to any more of you”
This is why Im ashamed of my gender.
I would like to make it a point to say that this is not me MALE SHAMING! Girls can be creepers too! Actually, I have had more run ins with female creepers at cons than male! So please stop “apologizing for your gender”. This asshole does NOT represent you or anyone else but himself!
This guy tried back in November. I knew I had a bad feeling when he tried to ask me for an interview back then. He never replied to my ‘no’ answer either. As soon as he said ‘skype’ I didnt feel right at all. its the exact same page and the exact same guy, but different name at the time when soliciting the ‘interview’ with me.
Its no different than Catholism in its principles really. This is the
Eight fold path that could be used as the axis to your life.
1. Righteous view: You must have correct understanding about the nature of things
2. Righteous intention: You must shun attachment, hatred and harmful intent
3. Righteous speech: You have to abstain from verbal violence
4. Righteous action: You must refrain from murder, theft and sexual misconduct
5. Righteous livelihood: You have to avoid everything that directly or indirectly harms other people
6. Righteous effort: You have to abandon negative thoughts
7. Righteous mindfulness: You must be aware about your mind, body and the phenomena of the world
8. Righteous concentration: You have to develop awareness
LOOK. IT’S EVERY SINGLE STEREOTYPE ABOUT MEN’S RIGHTS ACTIVISTS PUT INTO ONE HANDY-DANDY DEMOGRAPHICS SURVEY SO IT CAN BE STATISTICALLY VALIDATED!! [x]
Largely-conservative, faithless, white 20-something males that feel men are ‘largely more disadvantaged’ than women in society, support marijuana legalization at a rate of 68%, yet support gay marriage, trans people’s rights and defending the legality of abortion at 7% or less?
So maybe this is just a different survey, but when I checked reddit I found this. It still suggests that r/mensrights is, um, homogeneous, but a little less so. (My favorite stat, by the way, is here. Male rape was identified as an important men’s rights issue about 370 times, but false rape accusations? About 450.)
Chapter six, the last.
And so on, for I’m not sure how long. I may have mentioned how time is different now … all I really know is that it feels like it’s been a thousand lifetimes (and I know I’ve helped more than that number cross over to wherever they’re supposed to be), although I only remember a few changes of the seasons — but all the people are different. Sometimes I think dead might be better than this half-life — I’ve watched friends die, felt more pain than anyone ever should or could in a single lifetime, and enjoy none of the “perks” that the living take for granted every single day of their selfish little lives.
I’ve met quite a few others who, like myself, didn’t realize what they were getting into when they agreed to this job. They tell me I bitch too much, but I see the agreement in their eyes, see their stares as nearby people eat ice cream on a hot day or sip coffee on a cold fall morning. They feel it, too. They tell me to ask for a transfer. I don’t know if they’re joking or not — I haven’t seen the man (or whatever) that recruited me since I sat in his office, and I’m not even sure whether he ever existed in the first place. Maybe it was all my own doing, my choice to stay behind and help people; maybe I was trapped here; maybe it was decided before I was even born. I don’t fucking know, and I’ll never get a straight answer from the others. They’re just as clueless as me, although they try to hide it behind their experience, which doesn’t amount to much more than mine by now, I’d guess. Either way, here I am, and I thought that maybe someone would like to read this and know they may have a choice, and that this may not be what they think it is. There are those here that enjoy their work, in a way, but for me …
I stumbled up the steps of the house at 14 Gordon Street, panting, sweating, wondering how bad a sweaty dead man smells, realizing it probably doesn’t matter. I lost my balance and would have crashed headfirst into the door if I hadn’t passed right through it.
"You almost missed it," she remarked without looking at me. I stood and pretended to dust myself off. She didn’t see, didn’t care, whatever. She pointed through the doorway in front of her; my eyes followed the direction. There were no lights on in the house, but there was a slightly reddish glow about ten feet in front of me, and the streetlight out front shone through the curtains and was enough to see the man sitting on the couch. There was a slight glint of metal in his hand.
"Oh, man, he’s got a gun? Do I have to watch him blow his own head off?" She actually turned, eyebrows raised in surprise (although the emotion never touched her eyes). "Why, would it bother you?" After a slight pause, she said "No. Just wait." He got up and started pacing the room, mumbling and laughing at his private jokes. A moment later the front door opened. His head and gun hand snapped in the direction of the noise. He stepped forward, his shin clipped the corner of the coffee table, and he tumbled forward. There was a muffled thump that I first took as the sound of his head hitting the floor. Then I smelled the burnt powder and watched as he didn’t get up, a pool of black soaking into the carpet below his torso.
An eardrum-shattering shriek came from my immediate right, and I tore my gaze away from him to look at the woman who had just entered the house. She dove through me and the doorway, burning her knees on the carpet as she slid the last few inches to him, crying and screaming his name. Speaking of …
"Where the hell is he?" I asked my loyal companion. "Getting a snack?" She just looked impassively in my direction and said "Sometimes you have to pull them out." I stared, mouth gaping. "Pull him out? How do I pull him out? He’s not exactly a Pop-Tart stuck in a toaster!" Even seeing her crack the corner of her mouth in the barest hint of a grin couldn’t stop me. "YOU pull him out! This is bullshit! What the FUCK-"
And that’s when her hand smacked the back of my head hard enough to send me stumbling forward. Being dead doesn’t make tripping over a corpse any easier. As I did, the screaming stopped — the woman had noticed the body move. She sniffed, whispered his name a couple more times, and slumped back against the nearby doorframe. “I wouldn’t wait too long; the longer he’s left in there, the harder it’ll be to deal with him. Souls go nuts, stuck inside a dead shell that can’t see, hear, taste, smell,” she trailed off as if losing interest. “Nothing but thought. As close to Hell as I’d ever want to get.” As she walked through the door, she called back over her shoulder, “Just reach in and grab, you’ll find him. There’s no mistaking the energy of dead panic.”
If I had any lunch in me …