my middle aged client going off about kids these days and how they have such a different childhood and back in the day kids used to have real experiences like how she and her girl friends used to practice kissing on each other and now kids just sit in the same room in silence on their damn phones. hey ma'am run that back real quick

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.

Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.

Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.

You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.

As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.

Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.

This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.

A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

found the groupchat texts from that night

i think we can all agree it's a bit of a missed opportunity electronics don't have a "milk socket" you could plug some sort of milk battery into, which would slowly disperse milk into the body of the machine, possibly ruining it.

was at a tattoo convention today and i saw a guy with a spider-man tattoo so i walked up and went ‘oh dude is that spider-man? badass! i love spider-man!’ and then looked down and realized i was wearing my shirt that says I LOVE SPIDER-MAN in big black letters. i’m a parody of myself

stop calling me a cartoon character or an npc or a wojack i am a real boy.

Ideal work schedule:

GUYS WE HAVE A FAKED COROCORO PAGE

WE'RE SO FUCKING BACK

Other Voice Actors: hey guys here's my obligatory social media presence (:

Other Voice Actors: thanks for supporting my project (:

Other Voice Actors: I'm going to pretend like the fandom doesn't exist for my own sanity (:

Cody Christian, the voice of Cloud Strife:

Homie showed up to the ship wars with a bat and is just taking out kneecaps.

HE IS RIGHT

shipping is the most reductive form of barely engaging with media ever invented

I love this because like 99% of this kind of paleoart is patriarchal Man the Hunter type fantasies but these guys are just like “fuck it we’re outta here”

we have not changed.

When I was a very suicidal trans activist in Texas, Benjamin Sisko saying “sure, you would [die for your people]. Dying gets you off the hook. The question is: are you willing to live for your people?” changed and possibly saved my life. It’s up there with “if we are going to be damned, let us be damned for who we really are” from Picard. Star Trek not only shows us a better world, it teaches us how to make it there

I need to [remembers I shouldn't make suicide jokes] join a whaling crew