This is the worst joke Iāve seen and I am crying
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Discoholic šŖ©

ellievsbear
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
cherry valley forever
Jules of Nature

ā
almost home
KIROKAZE
DEAR READER
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
NASA

if i look back, i am lost
wallacepolsom
Sade Olutola

pixel skylines

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$LAYYYTER

@theartofmadeline
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@buzzbeessister
This is the worst joke Iāve seen and I am crying
Hereās the opposite story, though. With apologies because I donāt have the book in front of me, so I may get some details wrong, but I read this āIrenaās Childrenā by Tilar J. Mazzeo.
Irena lived in Warsaw during the Nazi occupation, and dedicated her life to rescuing Jewish children from the Ghetto, and her story is complicated in a lot of ways but - well, this story isnāt actually about Irena, per se.
Itās about a bus driver.
Itās about a day when sheās traveling across town by bus with a very young Jewish child, and partway to their destination the child looks up and asks a question - in Yiddish. and the whole bus goes quiet, because everyone knows what that means. And Irena thinks, okay, weāre going to die here today.
And sheās running through her options - all of them bad - and suddenly the bus stops, and the bus driver announces that thereās been a mechanical failure and the bus needs to return to the depot immediately. Everyone off, please.
And she stands and goes to get off the bus and the driver says - not you two. Sit down. So she sits down as everyone else leaves, because, well, what else is she going to do? the options are all still bad, at this point.
and when the bus is empty the bus driver says,
āWhere do you need to go?ā
And then he drives them as close to their destination as he can, and lets them off, and drives away. And Irena lives, and the kid lives, and they never cross paths again.
So a janitor got three people killed, and a bus driver saved two lives - not to mention all the other lives indirectly saved because Irena was able to continue her work.
I think about that almost every day now, to be honest.
We canāt all be Irena. I couldnāt be Irena. She was in a unique place with very specific skills and connections that let her do what she did. I am just one mentally ill librarian. I canāt be her. But - I can be the bus driver. Or I could be the janitor. Because it doesnāt matter what your job is. It doesnāt matter who you are. In a world like this, every single one of us has the opportunity to do massive harm or massive good. We can save lives or end them.
And thatās scary. but itās also very comforting? at least for me. Because at the end of the day it means this: no matter of how small and helpless and unimportant you feel, youāre never powerless in the face of great evil.
You can choose to be the bus driver.
I have another story from the Holocaust.Ā Ā
Two, actually.
One is long, and one is brief.
The first story is about my grandfather.
He was a slave in a Krups munitions factory in a Nazi concentration camp in CzÄstochowa, Poland.
He was also a smuggler.Ā If I did not have multiple corroborating witnesses to the sheer ludicrious ballsĀ that he had, I would dismiss the stories as exaggeration.Ā But he was a food smugglerāhe would buy some kind of sugar from the Polish day workers coming into the factory, make candyĀ out of them, sell the candy back to the workers at a profit, and buy food with the proceedsāwhich he then proceeded to share with the other slaves, free of charge.Ā Without him, they would have starved to death, but an extra hundred calories a day made a difference enough to keep them alive.
But thatās not the story.
The story is what happened in Spring of 1945.
My grandfather could hear the guns of the Russian Army off in the distance, and he and the other captives in the camp figured that they would be liberated any day now.Ā Ā
And then a truck packed full with preteen Jewish children who had just been captured comes into the work camp instead of the extermination camp up the road.Ā Because the Nazis were so fixated on their hatred of Jews that they diverted war resources to hunting us down even as they were losing.Ā Ā
So itās pandemonium.Ā Theyāre unloading the truck of the kids, the guards are yelling at the driver, the kids are milling about not knowing whatās going onā¦
And my grandfather sees one boy who looked a little older, a little more mature, and figured that this one he can save.Ā Itās just a few days until the Russians arrive, after all.
So he tells the boy to come with him.
And the rest⦠got loaded back onto the truck and off they went to the gas chambers.
But it wasnāt a couple of days.
It was six weeks.
Stalin personally ordered the Army to slow their advance and told the Polish Resistance to rise up, and that the Russians would support them with food and weapons.Ā Ā
So they rose up⦠and were slaughtered. Because they got nothing from the Russians. Stalin knew that anyone who would be resisting the Nazis would be resisting him next, and it was an elegant way to weaken Poland before he took it.
Meanwhile, my grandfather is hiding a fourteen year old boy in a NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMP.
The risks they took to hide him⦠they would hold him up over empty shoes sewn to long pants at the evening roll call so that he would look taller.Ā They smuggled food to himā¦Ā If they had been caught⦠I have nightmares of what would have been done to them.
Finally, one night, they are all locked in their barracks as the Nazis evacuated the camp and the Russians were coming in, with the Nazis using the camp for cover for their escape.
And in the chaosā¦Ā
My grandfather lost track of the boy.
Twenty-two years later, he tells this story to my father when my father is 12, and has demanded to know something, be toldĀ something concrete.
So he doesnāt know what happened to the boy.Ā Did he live?Ā Did he die?Ā Did he find his mother and sisters?
He doesnāt know.
Six months later, my grandmother is planning my fatherās bar mitzvah.Ā Not as a religious obligation, but as a 200 foot tall flaming middle finger to the Third Reich.Ā You are gone, and WE ARE STILL HERE.
So she plugs into what my father called theĀ āCamp Networkāāthe trombonist in the band was on a death march with an uncle, the florist was in a work camp with a friend, etc.Ā And sheās asking,Ā āI need a photographer, who is good?ā
āYou want Joe Brown, up in Queens,ā sheās told.
So she invites him down to talk terms at their house in Brooklyn, which is quite a haul in NYC.Ā Ā
And the first question one Holocaust survivor asks another is,Ā āWhere were you?āĀ Because maybe you know someone, maybe you can tell what happened.
āI was in CzÄstochowa,ā he says.
āYou were in CzÄstochowa?Ā My husband Teddy was in CzÄstochowa!ā
āI didnāt know a Teddy Baum.ā
āOh, everyone knew Teddy.ā
āI didnāt know a Teddy Baum!ā
āWhen he gets home, youāll see.Ā Everyone there knew Teddy.āĀ Because he was smuggling in the food that kept them all alive.
So the thing is, you live in the US for 20 years, you forget that your name was notĀ āTeddy Baumā butĀ āTuvyas Bumps.ā
And when my grandfather got home from workā¦
ā¦sitting there at his kitchen tableā¦
ā¦was the boy he had saved.
ā¦
(Iām not cryingā¦)
Thatās the first story.
The second story is that of my grandfatherās brother.
It is short.
He collaborated with the Nazis to save his own skin.Ā He let my grandfatherās first wife and son starve to death in the ghetto and informed on people who tried to escape or resist.Ā My grandfather said thatĀ āGood people went up the chimney and he stayed behind.ā
Two brothers.Ā
One saved over a hundred lives.
The other betrayed his own flesh and blood to save his own skin.Ā Ā
Your choices define you.
Whoever destroys a single life is considered by Scripture to have destroyed the whole world, and whoever saves a single life is considered by Scripture to have saved the whole world.ā Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5
The wolf is so done with the foxās bs š
Foxes are cat software being run on dog hardware.Ā Clearly this fox is operating on the Kitten OS.
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
Okay so Iām watching my friendās cats while sheās away and she left me descriptions so I could tell whoās who
Theyāre pretty accurateĀ
oh god why is this me lol help
Iām so glad this came back into my life
ahahahahahahah omgĀ
all the internet did was give him a place where he didnt have to worry about being punched in the face when he says what he thinks
āheās not like that in real lifeā just means āheās not like that when there are repercussionsā
[Image Description
Tweet from verified user Patrick S. Tomlinson (@/ stealthygeek) reading:
āHeās not like that in reel life.ā
Stop.
Is the internet real?
Yes.
Are the people on it living?
Yes.
Then heās like that in real life.Ā
End Description]
someone else: *makes a mistake*
me: don't worry buddy! it is not a big deal! we can fix this! we'll figure it out!!
me: *makes a mistake*
me: i am irredeemable worthless garbage and i want to die
i learned that some fish eggs can survive being digested by waterfowl and remain viable after being pooped out. This provides one explanation as to how fish āmiraculouslyā appear in bodies of water where they otherwise never existed (x)
Literally no one:
Not a single soul:
Male authors:
[Image text from a novel:
"I like your mother. You have your mother's breasts."
"Her breasts."
"Great stand-up tits," he said.]
sorry I think weāre sleeping on
This author is either writing a parody or theyāre an alien
this is Cosmopolis by Don DeLillo. itās a really weird novel about a man going to get a haircut thatās also a pretty explicit criticism of the 1%.
the main character is a multimillionaire whoās so fixated on money and materialism that heās basically forgotten how to be a normal human being and connect with people. that conversation above is him talking to his new wife. at one point, he even says something like, āthis is good. we are having a conversation. this is what people do.ā
Hmmmmmmmm
Pathologically hoarding anything is weird.
Especially if, after a certain point, owning more of it serves no more useful purpose than the amount owned when that certain point was reached.
Then itās just possession. And possession workss both wayss, doessnāt it, My Preciouss?
āThereās only so much fortune a man really needs⦠and the rest is just for showing offā āForrest Gumpās Mama.
I hate being so sensitive. I hate being able to detect the slightest change in the way people message me, or talk to me, or look at me. I hate overthinking about it for the whole night. I hate when I can feel someone is slowly losing interest in me.
No Way!
TONIGHT
Tonight!!!
I donāt really know what people generally call this method of sigil making, so Iām just calling it āLetter Shapingā because youāre using the basic shapes from certain letters. This is the most common form of sigil making, and it allows the most creative influence. As you see above the sigils are for nearly the same thing, yet the sigils came out completely different. Not because the purpose was different, but because I approached them both a different creativeĀ way, and thatās what I like so much about this method. Thereās a lot of freedom and personalization involved.
(UPDATE: Hereās a link to a guide on how to deconstruct letters down to basic shapes)
@egyptian-pearl-witch
I am going to break you into four pieces like a fucking kit kat
The head stabilization of an American Kestrel Ā Ā
SourceĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā
Thatās amazing.
At first I was like this is fake ⦠I was wrong for the first time ever
itās been literal weeks and iāve only just realised this is meant to be read as āhealthy burgersā and not āheal thy burgersā
#honestly without that caption i might never have figured it out
heal them