was at a bar and a 50+ year old drunk white woman complimented me and my friend's outfits, told us there was a campsite up in northern maryland where a lot of gay bears go to have sex in the woods. we asked her how she knew about this and she very aggressively said "because i'm a FAG HAG!!! but i'm not allowed to say that anymore I GUESS!!!"
was at a bar and a 50+ year old drunk white woman complimented me and my friend's outfits, told us there was a campsite up in northern maryland where a lot of gay bears go to have sex in the woods. we asked her how she knew about this and she very aggressively said "because i'm a FAG HAG!!! but i'm not allowed to say that anymore I GUESS!!!"
Aaand the winner is @kallonkutittaja who appears to be the first one who put the whole thing together.
In finnish, the handheld bidet showerhead is colloquially known both as "pillupuhelin" (pussy phone) and more rarely "pyllypuhelin", "butt phone", due to the shape resembling an old-fashioned handheld house phone, and what those things are generally used for.
Also the name Persephone.
in conclusion, I am alive because it's currently illegal to hunt me for sport.
*guy who doesn't know anything about sports and has never cared about sports in his life* hey did you know womens professional baseball is returning after 70 years and the games are going to be streamed for free on youtube and the season starts august 1st
I think this is so cool and it's awesome they're streaming games for free! I also think it's incredible that this picture is the one they used to advertise the opening day. It's like those videos where someone threatens the camera while their partner shows off their collection of rocks they found.
This the report that JK Rowing doesn't want you to see. This report scares her so much that she is trying to destroy Amnesty International, a human rights organization, to stop you reading it:
Amnesty International put out a major report documenting the influence of UK based anti trans gender critical organizations and their fundin
(Amnesty already pulled the report because of JKR's threats. Of course that didn't and won't stop her - capitulating to fascists and bigots is never the answer. Alejandra captured the report and posted it, so you can read what JKR doesn't want you to know.)
i was training a young person at work, and she referred to sexual assault as "SA" out loud, and i immediately was like, "no, it's sexual assault, call it what it is," bc idgaf if the algorithm overlords have taught y'all that you should fear direct language, how tf do any of you expect to ever address real issues with any amount of seriousness if you can't even say the words? imagine an advocate looking a sexual assault survivor in the eyes and asking "did he grape you?" it's absolutely fucking absurd, but these young interns and new hires are coming into an environment where we deal with survivors of all different kinds of abuse, and they're coming with the mindset that the words are as bad as the actions, and that makes them shitty at the job and look juvenile af
i HATE self-censorship for a lot of reasons, but being in crisis work makes it even more frustrating. who are you censoring for? like i am being so fr, WHO are you censoring for? have you even thought it through? people who have been raped know that they have been raped. if someone attempts suicide or is grieving someone who did, saying "sewer slide" isn't going to protect them from any of the feelings. a murder victim's family isn't going to feel better bc you said "unalived" instead of murdered. if anything, it's just extremely invalidating and othering. it's saying "what happened to you is so bad that i won't even say the word," which is NOT trauma-informed care. you are not protecting survivors/victims when you self-censor. the ONLY things you protect when you self-censor are the puritanical ideologies that are being encouraged by rich fascists who want your money and obedience
say the fucking words, guys. just say the goddamn words before i go insane!!!
The urban fantasy show I actually want to see is a hospital drama with a dedicated wing for supernatural illnesses.
Vampirism. Lycanthropy. Cheap spells gone wrong. A woman brought in for her prenatal has to be told her baby is a lindworm. Someone is literally being followed by the anthropomorphic personification of the Black Death.
Someone somewhere out there is having their perception of the world irreparably shattered by the knowledge that magic is real, and at the other side is a team of doctors who have to roll their eyes and pull out Grimm’s Complete Fairy Tales because some high school kid tried to go Carrie with a cheap spellbook and turn all the kids at prom into frogs, and the doctors have to wrangle a couple dozen teenagers into admitting if they have a true love who can break the spell.
I want the hospital director to be some dark entity that feeds on human misery but figured out that if you successfully treat the source of the misery then instead of hunting you down as an abomination the humans start bringing more miserable people to your house en masse and things kinda got out of hand from there.
Dr. Cottage took one step into the ER room and stopped in his tracks. Sitting on the bed was a teenage girl missing an arm. Beside her was a green skinned teenage something holding her severed arm covered in bruises. Neither were at all panicked or in a rush. In fact, the arm waved in sync with the girls awkward smile.
"Let me guess. You asked for a hand and got more than you bargained for."
"Not me." The green one answered.
"It was a boy from class. I said no, and he didn't like that."
"Have you tried putting it back on?"
"We did, but -" the girl reached out to touch the arm, and it tellaported across the room. The girl winced as it crashed to the ground. That certainly explained the bruises.
Dr. Cottage scratched his chin and walked over to where the arm had landed on the floor. He picked it up and opened a cabinet to retrieve a fresh kit. He plucked a single hair from the girls head and dropped it into the pre-prepared mixture. It glowed and changed from dull gray to glowing yellow. With a pair of gloves, he rubbed a small amount on both parts of separation, which turned from an inky purple to the same glowing yellow. Carefully, Dr. Cottage placed the arm back in its place, and the teens celabrated. Their celebration quickly died down when the doctor opened the stitch kit.
Dr. Cottage was leaning against one of the lower cabinets, twirling his shillelagh around when an elderly dwarf walked in with a nearly identical cane. He waddled over and, with surprising ease, hopped onto the bed. He then turned to stare at the door as though waiting for someone. Dr. Cottage walked over, extra quietly, and beheld the man. He wore an orange 3-piece suit with red embroidered flowers on the vest. His shoes didn't match, his hands trembled, and on top of his still damp, combed hair, rested a pair of thick glasses. Dr. Cottage slowly reached for the door, opened it, and slammed it before speaking. "Hello, I'm Dr. Cottage."
"Decter!" He cheered. "Mah naems Aodh Dyloon. Jus' betwen ye an' me, I aven' been te a decter in, wets it been? Ferhundred yers, nov. My, how time flies. Anywes, my gret, gret, gran datter jus begged me te come."
Dr. Cottage marched into the meeting room. His team quieted down immediately. "Dr. Forebeing, Dr. Pursue, Dr. Portrait." He walked over to the dry erase board. "Can any of you tell me what could cause a vampiric orc to become irrationally scared of the dark? And before you suggest it. Vampires cannot become werewolves, and werewolves cannot become vampires."
Doctor Portrait was dropping off a binding scroll for one of her patients at the nurses' station when a slightly overweight naked Faerie burst through the window from outside.
"Once more, I live! You shall suffer the wrath of Margret for imprisoning me!" He yelled as sparkly dust fell off him and onto the others in the waiting room. Most of them stood up, but all stared blankly at the ceiling.
The staff were unaffected thanks to the protective charms on their uniforms. The question was, which ones were protecting them? Doctor Portrait pondered as her team's new patient was restrained by one of the golems.
"Good job Agnar!" Varða, the Golem's Huldu-Holder praised. Delightedly, she flew over to the nurses' station, landed on the video station on the table, and straightened her white coat
The nurses got up to look at her on the screen.
She moved her hands to sign her thoughts.
"It looks like possession, but there's something weird about it." One of the nurses translated. "I agree, there was definitely something off."
"Take him to room 802." The head nurse directed.
Varða flew off towards the room and stopped before the turn, waiting for the golem to catch up, all the while the possessed patient cursed up a storm. "Tsst, like we wouldn't have the grounds protected against curses." Varða tsk-ed.
Doctor Portrait walked with purpose into the lair, where Doctor Forebeing was reading through a crate of scrolls. "Forget the binding scrolls for a minute. We have a possessed patient."
"So, take them to room 802. That's what it's for." Forebeing responded, retreating their mist back into their human form.
Portrait pranced over to the drawer where she kept her drops. "This one's different. Something managed to possess a Faerie. He broke in through a window earlier and now half the waiting room is catatonic." She removed her coat, revealing dried-up scales. She picked up one of her drops, placed it on her shoulder, and ran it down her arm. "Someone's already testing the Faerie's dust to reverse the catatonia, and the janitor is taking care of the mini tornado, but we still have a tricky being on our hands." She used up the rest of the drop on her other arm. "Also, the demon called itself Margret."
"Margret?" Forebeing repeated. "I don't think there's a Margret in any of the books of demons."
"Right?" Portrait picked up a charm made from a seashell, and a smooth green stone with a turtle shell pattern carved into it. "It would have to be a ghost. But ghosts can't possess people unless they have something that belonged to them, and our guy was naked." She whispered an incantation, her scales glowed a soft blue tone and her hair brightened.
"You think the object is inside the patient?"
"He could have swallowed it. He was also overweight, so he could have surgical scars hidden in skin folds."
"Interesting." Forebeing put away their scrolls. "Think Cottage will be upset we got an interesting case while he's gone?"
"If he somehow isn't, we'll just have to rub it in."
Doctor Pursue's ears turned towards an familiar sound. He stood up, resigned. Why does this stuff always have to happen during lunch breaks? He took his sandwich with him as he walked leisurely toward the undead sector. Eventually he got to the sorce of the noise. "Doctor Beetleborn." He addressed the doctor in the hallway.
Doctor Beetleborn siged, embarrassed. "Hi." He tried to look away from Doctor Pursue, but he was too tangled up.
"What was it this time?" Pursue started pulling on the webs Doctor Beetleborn's horns were tied up in. "A Jorogumo?"
"No, theres a Taqriaqsuit in room 208 with really long hair."
Doctor Pursue shuddered at the thought that what he was touching was hair and not webbing as he had initially assumed. "How long until your horns fall off, again?"
Doctor Beetleborn rubbed his neck, released that his left side was almost free. "It usually happens early February for me. Maybe about two more weeks, I'd say."
Day 2: tooth and nail
(Horns are made of the same material as teeth and nails are, and for some animals such as narwals, the horn actually is a tooth)
Doctor Forebeing allowed a small portion of their mist to enter room 802. Inside they sensed the standard possession equipment, the Golem, and the restrained Faerie. They whispered. "He's stoped struggling, but your Golem hasn't set him down yet."
"Agnar."
Forebeing looked down to their sholder. "Hmm?"
"The Golems name is Agnar S. Már." Varða giggled a little. "If you put it together, it means teeny tiny."
Hesitantly, Forebeing opened the door just enough to poke their eye in. It was dark. They reached in their hand to flip the light switch but it did nothing. They tried to open the door more, but it was stuck. Looking down they noticed thick plant like appendages covering the floor. They pulled their eye back our and pointed it toward the doctor on their sholder. "Get the other littles."
Heeding their word, Varða flew straight down into the secret pathways. Inside the wall she found 3 other hidden people. "There's a patient in the possession room, who's blocked the door. It can only be opened a little." She flew back out, this time followed by her tiny coworkers.
"What's the plan?" Doctor Chiihe, a Nirumbee, and the largest of the littles, asked Forebeing.
"I think these are roots. They're blocking the door, so i cant get in. Are any of you experienced with possession?"
"Álaug can posses people, can't she?" Doctor Butterfly Weed, a new intern resident, and flower sprite, suggested.
Doctor Chiihe turned to correct his intern. "Demons possess, Ghosts can only overshadow."
Forebeing jumped in. "We think this might not be a possession. Earlier it called itself Margret. So it could just be a really strong ghost."
Chiihe turned to Butterfly Weed and gestured for her to do her plan. She excitedly ran up the wall leaving a trail of orange flowers sprouting out behind her.
Doctor Zinhle, a hundred year old Ndebele doll inhabited by the spirit of a healer, put a hand up to her mouth while she thought about the situation they were in. "I think there is something here we are missing." Her voice was deep. "Something simple."
"You always think it's something simple." Chiihe scoffed. "Maybe it's a ghost so ancient that all the information on it is gone." He sounded far too hopeful.
In 2018, Pastor Dave Barnhart of the Saint Junia United Methodist Church in Birmingham, Alabama posted this message to Facebook:
“The unborn” are a convenient group of people to advocate for. They never make demands of you; they are morally uncomplicated, unlike the incarcerated, addicted, or the chronically poor; they don’t resent your condescension or complain that you are not politically correct; unlike widows, they don’t ask you to question patriarchy; unlike orphans, they don’t need money, education, or childcare; unlike aliens, they don’t bring all that racial, cultural, and religious baggage that you dislike; they allow you to feel good about yourself without any work at creating or maintaining relationships; and when they are born, you can forget about them, because they cease to be unborn. It’s almost as if, by being born, they have died to you. You can love the unborn and advocate for them without substantially challenging your own wealth, power, or privilege, without re-imagining social structures, apologizing, or making reparations to anyone. They are, in short, the perfect people to love if you want to claim you love Jesus but actually dislike people who breathe.
"...you ingested the entire written output of human civilization without consent, without compensation and without credit to build a system whose primary commercial application is eliminating the jobs of the people whose work you consumed.
You are not 'liberating human creativity' -- you are strip-mining it and selling it back at a markup while calling the theft 'training data'."
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