This is so accurate. At school, we literally have children who will watch our facial expressions to see if them falling is as bad as they think it might be.

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This is so accurate. At school, we literally have children who will watch our facial expressions to see if them falling is as bad as they think it might be.
this post should be on the list of diagnostic criteria of depression in DSM-6
you laugh but this was the plot of full metal alchemist
Excuse me??
True
I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”
I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.
I once lost my keys at a frat house.
My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.
The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.
A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing.
“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”
He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.
“Go wherever you want.”
I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.
I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.
“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.
I told him I did.
He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.
“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”
I didn’t doubt him.
Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.
As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.
“You need help with something?”
“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”
“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.
No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”
He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.
“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”
And with that, he turned and left.
A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.
“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”
They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.
“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”
And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”
“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”
The cheer went up.
Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.
I think the best “Boys will be boys” situations are when they all collectively share one brain cell over the most simple of tasks
I mean… mood.
Meanwhile, boomers: “This is the best service I ever had! Here’s a bible verse on the back of a fake $20 bill! Now maybe you’ll be motivated to get a real job you fucking scum! Jesus loves you!”
Both of those are the realest things ever working in the restaurant industry. Like jesus fuck. Compliments don’t pay my bills, Karen.
Anybody else remember how for a few years after 9/11 it was totally reasonable to be scared of a low-flying plane or flying/airports in general. It was just understood the 9/11 was an event that affected the American psyche and even though most planes landed totally safely it was understandable to be scared.
But when young people who are increasingly forced to consider the thought of being shot in school or at concerts say they feel uncomfortable with people openly carrying guns in public, suddenly they're too sensitive and infringing on the rights of others.
I work in an event space. People are legit scared 24/7. I walked in to work and reached into my laptop bag and had to reach around to find my badge for a few seconds and people visibly flinched and one reached for a radio and told me after it was in case he had to radio for an active shooter. This is not just young people. Convention centers and arena staff are on constant vigil, I'm sure people in parks and school officials are too. Like we hear a car backfire or something loud drop and bang and the building staff all tenses ready to go to active shooter protocol. The stress that puts on people is fucking immeasurable.
That’s how terrorism works. It’s not about the individual act, it’s about the ripple effect. It’s about how it changes every day life. That’s why we need to recognize these school/mass shootings for what they are. Terrorism.
Terrorism has an actual definition. Political violence and intimidation. You can’t just say something is terrorism because you think it has similar effects.
Thanks, however, for demonstrating exactly why people don’t trust folks like you to have a reasoned opinion on gun control.
Yes because shooting children in schools is neither political nor intimidating.
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Ok But i reblogged ya ugly ass!!! Where’s my good news you cock eyed potato piece of shit
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“SEPARATION || When innocent children are suffering, separated from their parents, locked up, treated like animals, shoved in cages and left in a state of fear and terror you can’t help but speak up. I’m outraged by the current migrant situation in the USA right now. Inform yourself over what is happening there right now and speak up! The american dream is dead. If we let history repeat itself and stay silent we are all complicit! #KeepFamiliesTogether”
- Rob Jacobs Artist is feeling enraged.