Why is there a diarrhea parasite outbreak in America?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies cut funding to disease prevention and control.
Why is measles back in America?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including RFK Jr, cut vaccine and measles prevention funding and programs.
Why is the New World Screwworm infecting cattle in Texas, when it had previously been eliminated from the area?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including Elon Musk, cut USAID funding, which in part worked to monitor and prevent screwworm outbreaks.
Why was there a flu outbreak in our armed forces?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including Pete Hegseth, cut vaccination requirements for our armed forces, putting all of them at risk alongside our military readiness.
What contributed to the Covid outbreak?
Donald Trump and his Republican allies cut funding to a pandemic prevention program in his first term because Barack Obama had created it.
“America first” sends its regards. Trump voters, please learn your lesson. And if you don’t, it’ll be taught to you again with yet another diarrhea outbreak.
Just say Republican voters love cruelty and can’t see 15 minutes past the end of their nose. Just say it. That’s all you really need to say about any of this.
Republican voters (all voters, really) have been subject to a decades-long propaganda campaign that has infiltrated every single piece of modern media we consume, from radio to Twitter to podcasts to news channels to TV shows.
This decades-long propaganda campaign has simultaneously degraded our education system, encouraged people to be more low trust and tribalist, and—importantly—has been better at telling voters how it will “help” them than liberals or leftists.
It’s true that simple lies are easier to process than complicated policy decisions. And emotional behavior is something shared by all voters, not just Republicans.
What I want to challenge every liberal, socialist, communist, or generally-left-of-center voter to consider: the world and government you want requires a high trust environment to function, while the world and government conservatives want thrives on low-trust environments. Is America currently a high social trust or low social trust environment? Does the way you think and talk about other people—even when they are wrong—encourage a high trust or low trust environment?
And, in the end, how do we repair social trust so that the world we want can come to fruition?
I won’t pretend to have all the answers here, and I’m not saying every voter needs to be babied until they die. But working to understand why people believe what they believe and taking them in good faith while seeking understanding can often go a long way.
By all means, attack policy. Attack politicians who endanger us. Attack individuals who make the social environment worse if it will discourage others from joining them. But writing off half of all American voters as simply cruel or simply dumb gives too little credit to them and too much credit to others.
all yall make jokes about couples and their nonromantic third wheel having fun together, but im the one getting treated to food tonight by the couple im nonromantically third wheeling. you wish you were me
I'm sorry I read this as "necromantic third wheel" and went on a very rapid powerful imagination adventure. hello lovebirds I'm the skeleton here for breadsticks
Okay, so with the Spaghetti verse - I've put this out there before but I think you'd get a kick out of it.
Shane gets the call to foster not a fuck-off big snake, but a hognose - which the females top out at 36 inches. So Ilya hears this and is like "okay, yeah, a small snake (still big to him, but small compared to spaghetti)" only to face absolute betrayal at how spicy (dramatic) they are because "Why is he angry Shane?! Spaghetti isn't angry!:
it starts doing a rattelsnake impression at him and ilya is straight offended
he is just STANDING HERE
man learns a new appreciation for spaghetti because this new guy is an ASSHOLE
ilya stops by to look at the snakes each day because he treats it like allergy training and doesn't want to lose any tolerance he's built up, but this means anyone listening in while visiting just hears, "good morning, spaghetti. you are looking very scaly today. and mouse lump is almost gone! good work. good disgestion. hello sad dead linguini. so sad you are dead aga-oh? alive? no, dead again. back to dead. okay. good job everyone. maybe tomorrow you are alive, linguini. we will see."
shane in the beginning of their official relationship being unsure of how to do casual intimacy because he’s used to only get it if it’s during sex or with the intent of turning into sex but now they’re boyfriends and he doesn’t always know how to navigate that so sometimes he will just 🧍🏻♂️ in the middle of the room because he wants a smooch but he’s unsure of how to progress and he feels weird asking for it before eventually realizing that ilya is more than happy to indulge
Listen, Kent Parson and Ilya Rozanov would hook up the handful of times a year they play against each other without knowing that they could also be complaining to each other about being in love with boring Canadians.
Kent doesn't realize he's been flirting with Shane Hollander all All Star Game. Mostly, because he has no reason to. He hasn't found Rozanov yet, but the numbers don't lie: four hook ups in the last four games when the Aces played the Bears means Ilya is a sure thing. Kent will find him later, slip a hotel key into his front pocket and then Rozanov will come shove his cock so far up Kent's ass he'll hit the reset button on Kent's brain.
There's no reason to be flirting with Shane in all the usual All Star cliches, stealing his jersey for warm ups, making sure to grab his attention before going in for a dumb trick shot, over-performing the celly directly towards where Shane sits on the bench, all of it to bring out Shane’s subtle smile, a gentle scoff, an eye roll, luring that intense gaze into resting only on Kent.
At the beginning of the weekend they had both gotten dressed in the locker room, someone shoving a flask into everybody’s face, Shane’s jaw tensing and eyes resigned when it came around to him.
“Actually, this is mine.” Kent had said and stolen the flask out of Shane’s hand, too fast for Shane to drink or have to turn it down, be a buzzkill. The liquor burned like gasoline as he finished the flask, no leftovers, all the boys in the room hooting and hollering.
Shane had found him right before they were headed into the tunnel, bumping against him carefully, four inches and twenty pounds on him. “Hey, thanks for earlier.”
“Thank me when I’ve scored.”
“I will.” Shane said, seriously, “but also thanks for, y’know. I don’t--- I don’t really like drinking. Especially when I’m going to play.”
Kent loves drinking, everyone knows it, a Vegas party boy through and through. He has a reputation for holding his liquor when actually he’s always had less than people think. “I just wanted a drink, man.”
“Oh.” Shane said, face shuttering. “I thought-- sorry. I thought you were being nice to me.”
Suddenly, Kent can’t breathe around the lump in his throat. “No, you were right. I mean, I was.”
“You were.” Shane tilts his head. “Then why?”
“Why be nice?”
“Why not say it?”
“I don’t know.” Kent pretends to fiddle with his glove. He wishes he was wearing a snapback. “Isn’t it easier for you? To not have to say it.” To pretend it didn’t happen. To pretend you never needed help.
Shane chews on that for approximately a hundred thousand years. Kent mentally vows to never, ever do anything nice for Hollander ever again.
“Thank you,” Shane says after an interminable amount of time. “And fuck ‘easy.’” The fullness of his gaze swallows Kent whole. Then Shane is waddling away, the inevitable awkward gait of walking on skates. Kent has only a moment to collect himself before heading down the hall.
It’s been good hooking up with Rozanov, knowing what he was in for, that he was going to get what he deserved, tossed about and put in his place by a cocky asshole.
There’s no good reason to flirt with Shane Hollander, other than the mold for Kent’s type cast and set at sixteen, all he knows how to want are intense stares from nice Canadian boys guaranteed to break his heart.
Realistically, it doesn’t matter that Kent’s flirting with Shane Hollander. Even though Kent is eventually able to draw Shane out into shy pleasure from the attention, Kent gets no return interest from his blatant flirtation.
It's foolhardy to attempt to seduce Canada’s remaining untarnished golden boy in front of the ever-present a cheering crowd and bug eyed cameras. The spotlight is too familiar to be noticeable. What’s new is the burn of liquid courage and the absence of his teammates. It gives the illusion that now is the time that’s worth to take risks.
Kent miscalculates. Shane is too much of a straight guy to realize he’s being flirted with, but Ilya isn’t.
Kent isn’t actually planning on alienating Ilya, especially when Rozanov represents his only realistic chance of getting laid this weekend. Kent thought they understood each other well enough that Ilya wouldn’t get pissed at him for trying to sleep with the enemy, or whatever crazy thoughts he’s having that are making him crash into Kent like it’s the playoffs and not the fucking All Star Games.
At least it gets him Shane, coming over to haul him up from where he’s lying flat on the ice, looking him over, tucking him under one arm while they sit on the bench between shifts.
“Parser! What the fuck did you say to him?” Shane’s close to be heard over the crowd. Kent can feel the heat of his breath over his face.
“I didn’t say shit! No idea what his fucking problem is.”
If Rozanov is going to be like this, though, Kent’s going to try and give as good as he’s getting.
“I asked Shane for tips on how to beat you. You know, since all you do is play him and lose.”
“He tell you, I’m too good. And that you are too awful and short.” Kent rolls his eyes. Guys have been going after his height since before he was even in the league. Kent has gotten chirped worse from Rozanov with the man’s cock still inside him.
“No, I asked him about beating Rozanov. And he said, ‘who?’”
Rozanov fucking slashes him for that, even in the third period with the score tied. The Bears are going to need get the captain’s head checked out when he gets home to Boston. Shane gets Kent the puck and Kent hammers it home on the power play, Shane hugging him into the boards and screaming something Kent can’t hear.
“What?”
“I said, ‘thank you!’”
Kent is going to suck this man’s dick tonight if it kills him.
There’s a liquor store near my house that seems to be run exclusively by frat boys. They lovingly curate these bags, which I browsed today while “Oops I Did It Again” played through the store speakers. This is art to me, there is beauty everywhere for those with eyes to see it
also imagining that one of Irina’s more harmless delusion-led rituals just sticks with Ilya for the rest of his life and he never questions it until Shane walks into the kitchen one day after they move in together and sees Ilya counting all the kitchen knives over and over to make sure none are missing and Ilya is like ‘oh I do this every day. don’t worry it only takes five minutes. im just being organised’ and Shane is like Hey. What
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