ive gotten so much mileage out of this tweet. every time i see something on the internet that makes me mad i just think to myself "people in real life: hey man how's it going" and i keep it pushing
@bonos-grindcore-sideproject This is so good
Lego Swimming Pool Layout
Smile for the camera
(via)
Also printing up a set of "over-commitment to the bit" for when they ask about my greatest weakness.
Should be the reverse side of the same card.
the other day a doctor told me that "the best way to make [something i should do but never want to do] routine is to put it on your calendar!" and i found myself completely buh-- hhuh?-- about how to respond. i was stupefied by the gulf between our worlds. i looked into her kind eyes and i thought "put it on my what?" shoot it into space? i did not know how to explain to this extremely functional woman that an obligation to myself, with no stronger enforcer than my own words on a calendar, is to me a tattered codex from a lost religion. like this text is maybe historically interesting but not useful as a structure around which to build a life. what am i now going to write that will (or indeed should!) have any authority over me later? WALK? i don't know her life! and in what world would i respect directives left to me by a complete stranger (me from two days ago) whomst i have every reason to distrust (ate all the entemann's and put our keys in the laundry)? put it on my calendar. ok, dr goodbrain. but in the moment i nodded like a grinning toy monkey and dutifully thumbed WALK! into my phone at 4 p.m. Repeat: Every Day like that would have any effect on my actual behavior. sometimes it takes an enormous amount of optimism to be a person and frankly i admire us all for trying to do it
Himbo King.
Welp, Murphy is officially a dad I guess.
Guess who successfully raised their son into a strapping young man?
Somehow from two different bookstores in two different states I have acquired two books that belonged to the same person..
If you're out there John Larrabee, hmu and we can talk about Tom Paine. Also I have your boarding pass from 2014 that you were taking notes on.
Found the dude's obituary
He's from the city the boarding pass was to and he died in 2022
the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.
if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.
new heights of extraversion - was at an airport, saw some guys repairing these friction lines, went up to them and asked questions
the lines turn out to be called 'grip strip' and they are using a 'putty knife' and a 'margin trowel' to apply it. The mixture will dry in 15m. Before it dries they also have to sprinkle sand on top and press in with the knife/trowel.
I was writing this down in a notebook, and they asked me what for, and I told them I'm sick of not knowing the words for things. Sometimes it feels like I don't know the words for anything! I've read so many words without ever mapping them to the physical things they corresponded to.
I'm going through the corridor that's outside of the airport building and leads into the airplane, I don't know what it's called either (edit: just asked the flight attendant, it's called a jet bridge)
There's yellow and black angled striped tape on the sides of the floor of the jet bridge, and I don't know why THAT'S there or what it's called. (edit: kind online people have informed me this is "hazard tape" / "hazard stripes" / "safety tape", and the general class is called "barricade tape".)
That feeling when you're so extroverted you become an anthropologist.
Necromancer that doesn’t know they’re a necromancer and thinks they’re just a really good emt
That is the funniest thing i have ever read
the thing was, she wasn’t going to be able to pass the recertification exam, and she couldn’t figure out why. annabelle studied. she practiced. she pulled out every trick and shortcut she’d learned during her two years as an EMT and none of it worked. she just – she didn’t get it. it made no sense.
“wake up,” she urged the dummy, pressing her hands to the pulse points on its wrists. “come on. what the fuck.”
“yeah, i don’t think that asking nicely is going to do the trick,” hank said, his eyebrows raised. his helmet, the special one they’d decorated for him with craft supplies from michael’s when he’d gotten promoted to firestation chief, sat askew on his head. “i can see now why they didn’t pass you.”
annabelle rolled her eyes. “it’s a psychological thing,” she said. “it’s like, you give the brain an instruction and it follows naturally. and the pulse-point thing always works. i don’t know why it’s not, like, in any of the books, but i swear to god it’s worked for me every time.”
it was true that annabelle had the best record on low body counts, which was good because she was the smallest person on the team not counting Georgie, who was a corgi. jake and lillian were always making fun of her for having been the shortest of their whole rookie class. but it hadn’t ever been a problem before; annabelle rarely had to carry anybody out, because she was good enough at getting them on their feet.
but none of that would matter if she couldn’t pass her stupid recertification exam, because they’d take her badge and she’d have to go be, like, a doctor or something.
hank blew out a long breath and sunk down to where she was kneeling on the station floor in full fire gear, giving CPR to the practice dummy, whom they called dierdre. there was a little light that went on when you’d saved its life. it had been a dull gray for an hour now.
“look, AB. i know you’re a good firefighter, and i know you know how to deliver CPR. just do it like you do it during an emergency. you’re overthinking it.”
“but this is what i do during an emergency!” annabelle cried, throwing her hands up. “i put my hands on their pulse points and i use psychological mumbo-jumbo and they just get up and walk!”
hank blinked. “…really,” he said, voice flat. “people who’ve been inhaling smoke for half an hour just … get up and walk.”
“the brain is an incredibly powerful organ,” said annabelle, shrugging. “look man, i don’t know, okay? but it works. i haven’t had to actually do CPR in like a year and a half.”
he gave her a long, quiet look and said, “well….huh,” before pushing himself back up onto his feet and frowning off into the distance. “keep practicing,” he said after a minute, and left her there.
-
hank switched her team.
“what the fuck, man,” she said, sliding into the truck next to him as the sirens went on. “i can’t get CPR on one fucking dummy and suddenly you don’t trust me to do my job without supervision?”
carl and bethany very carefully did not meet her eyes in the rearview from the backseat. bethany pulled a magazine from beneath the seat and said loudly, “look, carl, jennifer aniston and brad pitt are getting back together.”
“thank christ,” said carl. “i’ve been really worried about jen.”
hank gave annabelle the flat look that had gotten him promoted to firestation chief in the first place, the one that said i’m your dad and you don’t want to disappoint me. as always, annabelle wilted underneath it, sliding down in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. it was a difficult feat in full gear but she wanted him to know she was feeling sullen.
“i trust you completely,” hank told her, his voice a light scold. “i want to see you in action so i can help you figure out what’s going wrong with the dummies. sometimes it’s hard for the brain to accurately remember everything that happens during a crisis.”
annabelle rolled her eyes. “i told you,” she said. “it’s just – it’s the same thing every time, I’m not like, blacking out.”
“great, then i’m about to learn a cool new trick,” hank said serenely, and pulled the truck out of the lot. annabelle kept her gaze focused out of the window, watching the city pass as carl and bethany talked loudly about which celebrities were dating which other celebrities and who wore what better. she tried to swallow down the nerves that tightened her throat. maybe the dummy was right. maybe she was doing something else and didn’t remember it. maybe the last two years had been a fluke and she had no business being a firefighter. maybe she was about to get fired.
there wasn’t a fire, though the alarm was going off. instead they found a bag of smoking popcorn and the collapsed heap of a forty-five year old bachelor type, down to just his boxers and a pair of slippers with llamas on them. he had no pulse.
hank held carl and bethany back, directing them to deal with the smoke from the popcorn; annabelle he pointed toward the resident with a jerk of his chin.
she sighed, kneeling by his side. she pressed her hands flat to his heart and then dragged them across his chest and down each arm, to his wrists. with her thumbs on his pulse point, she hissed, “let’s go, man. up and at ’em. you’re not meant to die in your underwear while cooking popcorn, come on.”
she held her breath for a few moments, conscious of hank’s eyes on her, and let out a long sigh of relief when she felt his pulse jump beneath her, watched his eyes flicker. “what the fuck?” he asked, voice a croak. “what happened?”
“you gotta eat more vegetables, bud,” annabelle told him, and looped his arm over her shoulders to help him get to his feet. she was so relieved she could have wept, but instead met hank’s eyes with a challenging glare. see? she thought. i told you. “let’s get you to the ambulance.”
-
“the bad news is that you have a lot of practicing to do if you want to pass your recert,” hank said without preamble, showing up at her apartment. she didn’t think she’d ever seen him in jeans before. it was weird. “the good news is i understand your problem now.”
annabelle stepped aside, beckoning him in. “what problem?” she demanded. “it worked! you saw it work. that’s the opposite of a problem.”
hank shrugged. he handed her a trifold that he’d clearly printed off at home. it said so you think you’re a necromancer. annabelle blinked down at it, and then up at hank, and then down at the trifold again. “i … don’t understand what’s happening here,” she told him honestly.
“i’m not in the community and they’re kind of cagey, so i can’t really tell you a lot,” hank told her, stilted and visibly uncomfortable. “but i have a cousin who is, and um, i just want you to know that this doesn’t change anything. you’re still who you’ve always been and you have my complete support. we’ll figure out how to get around the recert. maybe i’ll – i can put you on admin duty to give you time to study. we’ll say it’s because of an injury.”
“hank,” annabelle said, with some urgency. “hank, this flier says the word necromancer.”
“yes,” agreed hank, looking relieved. “oh, good, you’ve heard of it already. i thought i was going to have to have the whole your body is changing talk.”
annabelle shook her head. “no, i – hank. you know that … um, you know that necromancy isn’t real, right? people can’t bring other people back from the dead. that’s crazy.”
“annabelle, not four hours ago you instructed a dead man to stand up and he did.”
“okay, he wasn’t dead, obviously. he was almost dead, at best.”
“no. he was dead.”
“i felt his pulse! it was very faint!”
“you called his pulse. no one else would have felt it, because it wasn’t there except in response to you.”
“hank, what the fuck.”
he shrugged. “read the flier,” he instructed. “and bring dierdre home with you. you’re going to have to practice a lot if you want to get recertified, considering you haven’t one time had to use any of the skills you learned the first go around.”
he bussed her temple as he went by, letting himself out of her apartment with a friendly wave. annabelle looked down at the flier in her hand with a frown. when she unfolded it, the first page said, everyone’s necromancy journey is different, but most people discover their gift by accident. have you ever brought a pet back to life? touched an elderly relatives hand and seen some of the color flood back into their face? or perhaps, more subtly, been able to keep cut flowers alive long past their purchase date?
annabelle looked at her kitchen table. she’d had the same vase of tulips on it since she moved in, three years ago. it was true they periodically started to wilt, but she usually just changed their water and they were fine, popping back up one after the other as she slid them into the fresh vase.
“well shit,” annabelle said, letting the flier fall from her hands.
@monstrousagonies (couldn’t recall if I’d seen this one in your milieu or just something similar but in any case thought of you!)
i had NOT seen this before thank you so much!! absolutely phenomenonal, everyone come and look at this!!
We stan!!!!
chaotic good
There’s a happy ending to, because the robbery was unsuccessful, the couple ended up getting the money Eden needed from a movie inspired by em! Also John only had to serve part of his sentence. Check out their wedding photos btw they’re beautiful.
reblogging because I’ve seen this post a thousand times and I’ve never seen the happy ending!!
Everyone go watch Dog Day Afternoon please please please it’s the movie mentioned in this thread it’s Sidney Lumet’s best imo and Al Pacino plays John and he is heartbreakingly good in it.
Not only have we always existed, but there have always been people who loved us. Never forget that.
Sevdiğim kediler
sound on!!!
i need feminism because when jesus does a magic trick it’s a g**damn miracle but when a woman does a magic trick she gets burned at the stake
fabulous
i mean they did also kill jesus. that was a pretty significant thing that happened. like i understand where you’re coming from here but they very much did kill jesus.
happy good friday
It would be fun to write a ghost story about a protagonist that disbelieves in the paranormal so hard that it stop existing around them.
They pick a soaking wet teenaged girl ghost in their cab and take her home. They pull up to the house and ghost girl looks longingly out before resigning herself to be sent back to the roadside.
Protagonist is just like, “so that’s $14.50.”
The ghost is surprised, she’s still there. She fumbles for cash but she didn’t die with any.
Does she feel oddly warmer than normal?
The seat more solid against her skin?
The protagonist sighs, “of course.”
They couldn’t just leave a teenage girl out there on the side of the road in the middle of the night, something bad could have happened to her. But he still had bills to pay.
“Come on. This is your parent’s house right? I’ll walk you in.”
For the first time in twenty years the ghost opens the car door and steps out onto the sidewalk.
The protagonist knocks on the front door and her parents, use to the midnight visits, wearyily open the door.
She starts to cry and hugs her parents tight. Apologizing for sneaking out. Babbling about what happened to her. How her friends had egged her into going deeper into the woods. How they had gotten separated. She’d fallen into a river.
Her parents are crying too. She finally made it home. They finally had confirmation of what happened to her. No body had been found so they were never truly sure.
The protagonist awkwardly interrupts, “so there’s still the matter of her cab fair...”
They don’t want to be insensitive but they need to get going and bills don’t pay themselves.
Eagerly her father rummages around in the pockets of his coat hanging by the door and pushing a twenty dollar bill into the protagonist’s hand. He knows it’s more than enough.
They thank the protagonist for bring her home, “keep the change,” they tell him.
As the protagonist gets in their cab and drives away the ghost can feel herself slipping away from life once more. But not back to the river and woods, waiting endlessly for someone to pull over and offer her a ride.
Her unfinished business is complete.
She’s moving on.
To somewhere warm and bright, she can feel it.
Her parents press final kisses to her cheeks as she starts to go. Through tears they whisper, I love you’s.
She’s finally at rest and there are no more stories of vanishing girls picked up off the backwoods roads
Bless you OP for going "It would be fun if someone wrote this" and then writing it. FLAWLESS.
I am obsessed with this.
So because parkour is such a ridiculously male dominated sport, the "correct technique" for a lot of these movements that you're taught when you become an instructor plays to a male body's strengths: upper body strength, higher center of gravity, etc.
She demolishes this course by moving in ways that make sense for her body. She doesn't muscle her way up to her over a wall, she just throws a leg up over the wall. She doesn't use upper body strength to do the salmon ladder, she uses her hips!!! And it's fucking incredible.
So many girls and young women walk away from parkour because every movement caters to the strengths of men, because doing what makes sense for their bodies is seen as "bad technique" to be trained away.
If pre-transition me had seen this I would have cried tears of joy.
She is taking advantage of the strengths of HER body rather than the "correct" strengths, and it is HELLA FUCKIN IMPRESSIVE.
Like, that salmon ladder omg??? Any male trainer who wasn't willing to work with a person's distinct strengths would tell her she should hang by her arms and go up one rung at a time. But she uses her core strength to go from being above the bar to swinging and using momentum to move it up FOUR RUNGS and then in an equally smooth move across to the other side.
She probably wouldn't be able to finish this course if she stuck to the "correct" way of doing things, but she's doing them in ways that allows her to use her strength to her advantage, and so she fuckin demolishes it.
I'm just fuckin in love.
being an adult is just saying to yourself “this is the weekend i’ll clean my [x]” and then proceeding to not do that because it’s the weekend and you deserve to relax, goddamnit
why does this have 85K notes
because we reblogged it instead of cleaning our [x]
