Multiply the Mirth

love the word “rapscallion”. like not only are you a rascal but you’re also kind of spring onion about it too

deleting files makes me so scared what if i Needed That

me writing: i am a god and reality bends to my whims

me proofreading: im too stupid to be alive

I am having the worst gay fever I’ve had in months, maybe years. My eyes are watering, I can’t stop sniffling, even the meds aren’t helping. Surely, I will soon perish.

oh god damn it. HAY. HAY fever.

youtube has identified me as a heavy cube enjoyer

happy lesbian visibility week

the résumé. yet another contemptuous and despicable piece of work from the french

kitten i have to be honest your misunderstanding of what 'death of the author' actually means is getting embarassing and mommy would prefer if you posted less or maybe attended some classes on literary analysis

kitten i think you might be stupid

Don't forget to sleep on your neck at a weird angle tonight. I love you

I am losing it at this image on Wikipedia for static electricity

look at that Expression Of Resignation To Fate

Having anotheg 'gork we have got to get out of bed faster then this' morning

dasfsffadfjdag I meant girl but gork works better

I didn't even question it I was nodding along like I'm literally right there with you gork

i bet crossing spears with someone to block entry into a location feels so fucking good

if anyone's having a bad day, let me run you through what just happened to me. (content warning for rotten food.)

so, it's 1pm and I'm experiencing a wave of work-related procrastination that's enabling me to get chores done around the house, like empty the food waste bin in the kitchen into the bigger bin outside.

because it's been about a week since I last took the bins out, the food at the bottom has been in there long enough to rot causing the compostable bag its in to also start decomposing. no biggie, it happens: I grab another compostable bag, tip the bin on its head to avoid touching the icky rotting food, chuck a couple of very old bananas from the fruit bowl on the top, tie it off, and throw it in the outside food bin. great job me!

a little while later, I go to reassemble the kitchen bin and the lid's... not... there? it's not anywhere in the kitchen? the answer to the mystery where this lid has gone immediately presents itself to me, but I reject it and do another look, until I can't deny the obvious, and go check the outside bin.

to set the scene: it's a really nice, sunny day today. it feels like the first proper day of spring we've had all year. wildlife abounds: there are butterflies feeding on the cherry blossoms, the fish in the pond have come out for the first time since autumn. the bin is made of brown plastic that's warmed nicely in the afternoon rays. there's a little cloud of flies buzzing around me as I approach.

I open the bin and there, straining against the bags, is a corner of the lid.

there's nothing for it at this point, I'm not buying a whole new food bin because of my stupidity, so I rip open the first bag, BUT remember how I cleverly double-bagged the waste to avoid having to touch icky food? oh-hoho. I hate myself.

but fine. whatever. I rip open the next layer, like I'm playing the world's worst game of pass the parcel. this layer has been marinating in bin juices long enough to revert to a texture that's difficult to describe, but it's how I imagine an organ feels to the touch: slippery and wet and hot. at least it falls apart quite easily (along with my mental state).

I grab what I can of the lid and try to pull it out, but it only slides a few centimetres before jamming to a halt on the three rotting bananas that I added to the pile at the last moment. I try to wiggle them out the way but they aren't budging so I pinch one between my thumb and index finger. It's old enough that the skin slides away immediately, and my fingers sink into the meat of the banana. THIS is an easier texture to describe: it feels like warm snot. (I am reflexively crying at this point.) still, now that the skin it out the way, I can force the lid through the mucus. i have to repeat this process two more times before finally, the lid is free. (there's something on my finger, and I genuinely don't know if it's a grain of rice or a maggot.)

the saga's not entirely done, though, because the refuse collectors in my area don't take your food waste if it's not bagged, and I now have a bin full of scraps of plastic and a heap of rotten food. I use some egg shells to scoop up what i can and throw them into the gaping hole at the top of the bag and then it's I'm done.

obviously, I immediately run inside and start scrubbing my hands. something weird is happening, though: there are these spot of brown-and-yellow that just. won't. come. off. it's literally like I've super-glued rotting food to my hands?????

...I turn to look at the table.

...at the superglue I had been using thirty minutes earlier to fix a clasp on a broken box.

i am beyond tears at this point: the whole situation has gone past through horrifying into an absurdity so profound I must be dreaming.

I eventually scratch off the super-glued rotten food from my fingers (I don't know how long it takes me because I have detached myself from reality) and then wash my hands another hundred times before finally sitting back down at my computer because it's 2pm and a work day. I read half an email, before I'm interrupted by a strange noise that sounds like a gentle trickle of water. I turn around and my cat is in her litter box, butt positioned just on the edge, pissing directly onto the floor.