for new followers: i love abortion, drag queen story times, reparations, stripper unions, marxist ideology, all decolonial efforts, drug addicts, welfare queens, trans activists, sex ed in schools, rioting, and of course looting ❤️ death to america 🫡
loving the lord of the rings so far
between tumblr being found guilty of moderating lgbtq content unequally during the 2018 ban in court and @ sorryforpartyrocking being nuked for suggesting one of tumblr staff may have investment in defending terfs to now many different trans women having their text posts and selfies being flagged as mature without the opportunity to appeal in any meaningful way (one of which was nuked herself)… it’s very. hmmmm. it’s a bad look. as if staff wasn’t already on thin ice for refusing to engage in any effective way with hate speech. “queerest space on the internet” my ass
this is the sex shatner that comes around only once every 1701 chalkboards. reblog and you will get the amount of sex you want in life. you want zero sex? you got it. sex for the whole five year mission? you got it!
it has begun
The lads have devised a new sport
who let the Girls out of their containment cell. huh. they've devoured our cuntiest scientists and are heading this way
Depression is such an effective tranquilizer that it creates a great opportunity for plot twists in your real life. I have a pretty consistent opinion of myself which is "low" and "never ending guilt and shame for reasons I don't understand."
Recently received feedback from two different editing clients that started with "Please pass along to Jacquelynn that she is phenomenal at her job" and "I was blown away by the evaluation I received."
You always hear about how depression (and anxiety) lies to you and distorts reality, but there is logically knowing that and then there is like, physical proof of it and you are suddenly Neo in the Matrix jumping out of the fucked up little tube machine.
Look, medication and therapy are essential, but I think we shouldn't underestimate this form of treatment
(Source)
my toxic xennial trait is that i believe something should either be software (in which case after i download it i shouldn't need to be connected to use it) or a web page (which shouldn't require me to download anything to use it, however badly, in a browser). fuck your mandatory single function constant connection apps
You’re so right. Say more
I needed this laugh.
I don’t think welfare fraud is a problem period I genuinely don’t. I don’t care when it happens and it means nothing to me. I’m glad. As if the government doesn’t steal from you every day lmao… I don’t give a damn
It’s also literally not a problem because there isn’t enough welfare fraud happening to even be a problem to any reasonable human being. It’s practically nonexistent, in fact.
My first “real job” out of college was working for the welfare fraud and collection line.
My God.
If ever there was a job that made you despair for humanity.
I learned two things there:
1. People are petty-ass bitches who can’t stand to see their “neighbor on welfare” doing “better” than they are.
2. 99.9999% of the time there was no actual fraud, just a GROSS lack of knowledge as to how the welfare system actually works on the part of both non-recipients.
Example: Had some guy report his neighbor for owning an “expensive antique car”. Said car was a 1978 Buick with no remaining paint, no hubcaps, and was at least fifth-hand. At the time, the year was 2002. I politely explained that a) that’s not a classic car and b) he should pity his neighbor the gas mileage and insurance costs. The caller said he had not thought of that and hung up.
My other favorite was someone calling to report that their “neighbor on welfare” who was a single mother with no income or support had her children in a “private school”. I asked what the name of the school was. Said private school is actually a charity-run orphanage and school for children who have no parents, or whose family situation is less than stable. I informed the caller of this and they hung up without a word.
Someone else called and felt that their “neighbor on welfare” should have to sell all their jewelry, antiques, family heirlooms, and collection of vintage sports memorabilia before they could be eligible to be “given free money” by the state.
The system is old, overtaxed, convoluted, and being forced to function in a way that was never intended. Like the workhouses of the 19th c, welfare was originally for out of work men. But the people who wound up using it were women, children, the disabled, and the elderly. This continues to this day.
If there’s fraud, it’s minimal to the point of barely existing. Ya’ll are just greedy, nosy, entitled assholes who can’t mind your own damn business. If you REALLY want to do something about “all these people on welfare” try, I don’t know, ACTUALLY HELPING THEM. Offer to watch their kids. Make them a casserole. Drive them to the store. Don’t make their lives harder than they already are. I guarantee, their lives are a LOT harder than yours.
If you REALLY want to do something about “all these people on welfare” try, I don’t know, ACTUALLY HELPING THEM.
um u “like classical music” but can’t even name any 2012 one direction songs? ok 😂😂😂
You’re an ancient Greek man coming home from 4 months of war to find your wife 3 months pregnant. Now you’ve embarked on a solemn quest: to punch Zeus in the face.
Soon after you begin your quest, you encounter another man in a similar situation. You decide to join forces, as two mortal men stand a better chance at punching Zeus than one.
Two villages over, you encounter a woman who had relations with Zeus and was left with a highly aggressive half-boar half-man offspring. She too feels your anger and offers to join your quest.
By the time you reach Mount Olympus, you’ve amassed a large and formidable army of cuckolded/ravished mortals, demigods with daddy issues, mythical creatures with scores to settle, and a seamstress who you’re pretty sure is Hera in disguise.
Zeus never stood a chance.
What I find best about this scenario is that the original wife probably expected to be murdered for her infidelity at worst or have her relationship with her husband ruined as he grew to resent her baby, at best.
Instead this man looked at his beloved and said, “who did it?”
And she replied “Zeus,” accepting he probably wouldn’t believe her.
And then he sighed, strapped his sandals back on and said, “I’ll be back before the baby is born.”
“Where are you-?”
“The lord of the sky came into my house, molested my wife in my bed and ate my food. I am going to settle the score.”
“Darling, he’ll kill you.”
“He may try, if he would like.”
You’re so right, that IS the best part.
I’m personally caught up on the seamstress.
“The pathway up Olympus is guarded by dozens of traps and perils strong enough to thwart even the Titans. How are we going to get past all of…” the shepherd boy with golden eagle feathers gestured uselessly at the slopes above them, particularly the herd of eight-legged goats snorting fire.
“There’s a way around,” Yiorgos said, though he was not specifically asked. But he had been the first to begin the march on Olympus, and so felt obligated to take the lead whenever possible, “In the stories there’‘s always a way around whatever obstacles the Gods place in our way.”
He hadn’t meant the words to come out as a question, but they had that lilt to them none-the-less. And even though he hadn’t meant it to be a question, much less a question directed at anyone specific, it was directed at one all the same. Just as the eagle-feathered shepherd boy’s had.
“Way I heard it,” a woman’s voice said. Rough with the Mycenaean Greek equivalent of a backwoods accent, and with the depth of a farmer’s wife who straps cattle to her back to carry to market, “there’s a back path. Hidden behind an invisible door that only one key in the world can open.” Everyone’s eyes had turned to the broad older woman in heavy shawl sitting amidst supplies in the foremost cart. “Least, that’s what my grand-mammy always told me.” she added after a moment of dozens of eyes on her.
“Oh, we were so foolish!” That was Lydia, a lithe waif of a woman, many months pregnant, sitting opposite the seamstress in the wagon. “Of course there’d be a.. a quest. They’d keep such a key in the depths of Tartarus or in the golden chariot of Apollo, or, or-”
“Or”, the older woman cut her off in a voice both firm, but much gentler than she used on anyone else, “he’s like all husbands and has been promising to move the key someplace better for the past three thousand years but hasn’t gotten around to it.” She gestured vaguely to the hillside, “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was under, say, that bush right over there.”
It was. Of course. And everyone in the caravan agreed that it had been a very lucky and wise guess from the nameless woman and for the upteenth time since she first sat herself down in the front wagon and announced she was coming along with no further explanation, each and every last member very purposefully gave no further thought to the matter.
I was debating pre- and post- smartphone existentialism with an older gentleman today and he stopped part way through and said “Why are you a security guard? Why aren’t you teaching this at some college somewhere?” And I didn’t know what to say so I went with “Well I used to make art but nobody pays an artist”
I want to invoke thought and wonder and introspection and encourage the passions of every soul I meet forever and ever and dig until I find the glorious potential for creation and experience and joy in every single one but unfortunately I must pay rent and so I stand, a meat shield, an NPC with unlockable dialogue
