Hieronymus (H). 27 Club dropout. She/her. Northern English. Person of Interest sideblogs are detective-fiasco and texts-from-team-machine. Vulture culture blog is blackartnumberone. Stuff What I Make Blog is Loki-of-the-light-switch. Discord is Hieronymus#3748. Ao3 is ThisPolarNoise. If you wish harm on others I do not want you here.
oooh okay a human claiming an entire group of animals is useless. how novel.. and you think killing them all would do barely anything? that's so interesting! and you believe you're stating truth right? you're not a biologist either? damn... this... this may be a stroke of genius... you're so right... wow...
"autogynephilia" is fucking hilarious to me bc like. i promise u i get more hot and heavy seeing myself looking sexy in a tight little dress than any trans woman does doing her estrogen shot and getting ready for work. every night i watch myself in my bedroom mirror as im getting undressed and into my pjs and stare at my tits and bounce my ass for my own perverted amusement.
me (and like a million other tgirls): I can't believe I think I look good today... wow... sexualizing myself.... im such an evil ugly moid... I dont deserve to be a woman...
Every other cis woman from time to time: dammmmnnnnnn Im fucking hotttttt
like. the basis for "autogynephilia" is just the idea that there is something wrong with a woman (in the case of agp, specifically a trans woman) who loves herself and loves her own beauty without a man having to be involved.
its just "why do women look beautiful if they dont want men to catcall/grope them??" but adapted in a form which is specifically designed to harm trans women.
closing statement from an article about being intersex & the possible connection of gender expression and sexuality in intersex individuals, published in The Gay Liberator, 1970s
[ID: a picture of an article that says, āHopefully gay liberation will continue to raise confusing issues until the world at large becomes so confused and befuddled about sex and gender and all that people can finally stop worrying if "it's a boy or a girl" and get around to being free to be and to love people.ā /end ID]
TikTok is a fundamentally evil app however the reason i use it is because you occasionally stumble across gems like the Chinese power transformer manufacturer who posts kawaii edits of their power transformers
Whaddaya think, should I make this for our retirement community's barbecue tomorrow? My daughter says I'll be arrested for manslaughter if I make it with Absinthe!
A good rule of thumb for AI is "would you trust a trained pigeon to do this?"
"We trained a pigeon to recognise cancerous cell clusters and somehow they're really good at it" okay great, that's something that could plausibly be a thing.
"We trained a pigeon to recognise good CV:s and left it in charge of sorting through all our job applications" uh perhaps consider not doing that.
The crux of the story is Brother Dean.
Brother Dean wasā¦isā¦a hate preacher. Red or blue, everyone agreed on that. His origins and his motivations, those were a little more mysterious. Different groups had their own legends. I had a class with a guy that was part of the campus pro-life movement, and the tale he gave me is the one that I give the most credence to.
According to him, Brother Dean had started out as a ānormalā pro-life preacher. Heād gone around campus, led parades, given speechesā¦ And then heād gotten punched in the face.
This led to a lawsuit against the school. Something about failing to provide adequate protection? The main result was that he got something like half a mil.
Half a mil is an incredible amount if youāre still working, but heād tried to use the money to fund a sort of pro-life career, and it had justā¦ trickled down. Ten years later he was running dead low on funds, and had taken to the particularly dumb strategy of trying to get punched in the face again. You know. For economic reasons.
It had become kind of a vicious cycle: Heād started off saying some objectionable shit to try and goad someone into taking the punch. The worse the shit he said was, the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, and the harder it became for him to find work doing anything else, the less he had to lose by saying really objectionable shit. Throw in two years of living on ramen, and he was so desperate to get punched that he was quoting the Westboro Baptists. If you know, you know.
The pro-life group, to their credit, hated him the most out of anyone. They viewed him as the ultimate sellout, someone who was actively making their positions and beliefs look worse by the day, solely for his own enrichment. The other conservative groups held him in the same regard. The rest of the campus hated him for simpler reasons. It would be difficult to find anyone more detested anywhere else on site.
Brother Deanās antithesis was the Trojan Warrior. TW was a normal student by day, but maybe once a month or so heād don his hoplite armor and roam around, handing out free condoms. Trojan condoms. It was kind of his shtick.
Between the costume, and the whole character that he had going on, most people didnāt really recognize his alter ego. I myself am pretty good with faces, so one day I noticed he was behind me in the foodcourt and decided to thank him by paying for his smoothie. Small tangent, but if youāre looking to get good stories, buying lunches for interesting people works like magic.
TW decided that he was going to thank me for thanking him by giving me something like 10 feet of condom roll. I was mortified, aggressively single, and on SSRIās. He was not sure how many of those were permanent. I wasnāt either. He wound up giving me just a handful, and said that if nothing else, they could probably be used as water balloons.
I accepted. Who doesnāt like water balloons?
I finished my lunch with the warrior and left, considering targets for the "balloons". I passed by Brother Dean near the main commons and had my lightbulb moment. I spent a few minutes watching him from a distance, trying to find the optimal angle to get him without getting caught on camera (he always had someone filing in the background, it was a necessary thing for his hopeful future lawsuit). The time delay was useful for helping me realize that it really wasn't worth it. The sun had been bearing down so hard that the glue in my shoes had melted, and getting him wet would be a favor that day.Ā
So, mildly disappointed, I shelved my dream and left.Ā
A week later the monsoons hit. I left one class and ran to a campus computer commons to try and get some shelter and study between classes. Just before I got through the door, I saw Brother Dean, umbrella in hand, setting up his speaker and mic. He wasn't technically allowed this far into campus (the commons were owned by the city) but he'd gone to where his audience was and security was probably holed up somewhere cozy. I could hardly blame them.Ā
I made it up to the second floor and started studying when the mic picked up. All glass buildings are not very soundproof. He was loud, and he was annoying, and he was outside a library, under a balcony, and-
And I had condoms. Water balloon condoms.Ā
And he was under a balcony.Ā
I put my laptop away, pulled out my condom roll, and went to the bathroom. I wasnāt sure how big a condom could actually stretch, so I just kept filling it until it was about the size of basketball. Maybe a smaller watermelon?
And thus armed, I waddled my way out into the halls.
I cannot emphasize enough just how unsubtle this was. I was cradling this big, overfilled condom like some sort of phallic ghost baby, and it was so heavy that I sort of had to squat as I went. People saw me. Lots of people saw me. I passed by one room full of computer science students, all learning C++, and three of them waved at me.
And I waved back in that my-arms-are-full-but-Iām-excited-to-see-you-too way, where you jut your wrist up a little bit and flap your hand around excitedly.
I did, eventually, make it to the balcony. The buildingās high ceilings made the second-floor thing kind of a misnomer: I was easily forty feet up. I scooched my way to the edge, and the view I hadā¦ it was perfect. Brother Dean was directly underneath, thank God. If heād been even seven or eight feet out, Iām not sure if I couldāve shotput the condom-bomb far enough to hit him directly. Better yet his cameraman was only a few feet away from him, far too close to catch any action going up 40 feet above.
I managed to wrestle the payload onto the balcony, and with a gentle push, I sent it and Dean to destiny.
I realized that Iād made a mistake almost as soon as the condom began to fall. You know that sound that bombs make in cartoons, that long drawn out whistle?
The condom made that sound.
I had a second education in the seriousness of my mistake when the condom hit Deanās umbrella. It did not pop. Of course it didnāt pop. I had no experience with condoms, I swear to you, I promise, I did not know how much they could stretch. You can fit your whole leg into them. You can fit them over whole park benches. A gallon and a half of water was nothing compared to that.
It broke Deanās umbrella. It hit the top, and it snapped the stem like a twig, and then-
Violence. Unspeakable violence. It clipped Deanās shoulder and stretched down to his knees before recoiling back to its original shoulder height. It did not bounce. It floated in space, no wasted energy in the collision. One hundred percent of the kinetic energy, all 3300 Joules of it, were discharged into this sad wretch of a man.
He did not collapse. There was no time for that. He rotated on his axis. It was as if the hand of God had reached down and grabbed him about his waist, only to twist. In a fraction of a second, his head filled the space where his ass had been and his ass filled the space where his head had been, and then his cheek, carried by the shuriken motion of his body, slammed into the pavement with a noise like Shaq slam dunking a porkchop. Maybe wetter.
He did not move.
I panicked.
I want to make it clear: I did not mean to assault this man. I meant to get him wet and embarrassed. But I also have to confess that this was a beating. Mike Tyson himself can only put about 1600 Joules into one of his punches, and if he hit me I would bounce off five walls before I fell. I would not wish 3300 Joules upon anyone.
I walked into the building and sat myself in the back of the C++ class. The people next to, to my immense and eternal gratitude, did not question why I was wet.
A minute later, Brother Dean stormed into the building with his microphone.
He yelled. He screamed. He hollered. He informed the entire world that he had been assaulted, with a condom, by someone on the second floor. I was ecstatic that he was alive.Ā
Every person in that class knew who had brought this hell upon them. Every single one of them knew it was me. And if Iād done this to someone else, some Steven Crowder, some Ben Shapiro, someone wouldāve thrown me to the wolves. It would have only taken one person in that room of sixty. But Brother Dean was hated by everyone, literally everyone, and so the entire class sat in silence.
Some of that silence was gleeful, and some of it was bored, and some of it, a very small amount, was directly disapproving, but even the disapproving silence carried an understanding. A note of, āYes, yes, that was very irresponsible, and you should not do that again, but who could blame you? Something needed to happen. Not that something, butā¦something.ā
Security could be given grace to ignore the man when it was raining, and he was just outside the building, but they were not given such grace when he was inside with a microphone. Just a few short minutes later, a golfcart pulled up, and he was summarily marched out. There was maybe a minute of silence after that before the professor announced that his class was not open to visitors.
I left. Heād made his point.
It was a few weeks before I saw Brother Dean again, and his black eye still hadnāt healed all the way when I did. He was, however, still preaching the same old things as always. Percussive maintenance works better on vacuum tubes than human brains. I will say that he definitely made a point to stay away from balconies after that. And the next time it rained, I actually went out to watch him put his speaker and his mic into the back of a wagon and wheel it off the campus.
It appeared that heād developed some opinions about the kind of weather he was willing to preach hate in.
i love declining birth rates š„° "what a horrible problem! society will collapse!" oopsie it looks like you're gonna have to make having children worth it š teehee you're gonna have to improve society in order to fix this problem, or it will all collapse. oh noooooo. how horrible. :3c
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