Over 10 years ago I drew this mother naga with her kid and a bowl of gulab jamun, and I was blown away to see people still reblogging it and saying kind things here. I decided to draw a sequel, the PTA (People That are Anacondas) meeting is over, and she finally gets to have some gulab jamun. c: I really hope this cheers you up some.
This sounds like a shitpost but people should be allowed to be horny. As in, sexuality is just part of life for most people and there’s no reason for consensual sexual behavior to be punished. A celebrity getting “caught” at a sex club shouldn’t be a scandal. No one should be fired for having a fetlife profile outside of work. Nudes getting leaked shouldn’t be career-ending. Denying and hiding (consensual) sexual interests doesn’t make anyone more professional, it just makes everyone more repressed. And sterilizing ourselves to be better work drones isn’t productive, it’s just creepy. I’d rather my surgeon get absolutely railed on camera and come to work in a good mood, frankly.
also this goes without saying but is also true of ppl who do sex work for used to do sex work. an accountant’s boss finding out that they used to do sex work shouldn’t be a career ender. a restaurant worker shouldn’t be fired bc they have an OnlyFans.
Today my magnificent octopus magnum opus, a 126-page monograph on the genus Rhombophryne—Madagascar's diamond frogs, was published open access in the journal Vertebrate Zoology. In it, my colleagues and I have described seven new diamond frog species and provided detailed revised accounts of each of the now 27 species in the genus, compiling practically everything that is known about these curious and obscure frogs!
Allow me to introduce the new characters:
This piece of lint precious child is Rhombophryne maraorao, a little burrowing species from the northeast of Madagascar. It is very similar ecologically to R. coudreaui, a long-known species from further south. The name maraorao means ‘rough to the touch’ in Malagasy, referring to the rough skin of this species. They do a weird thing where they straighten all of their limbs and go stiff in self defence. Think pumpkin toadlet post-launch mid-air stiffness, but… in the hand?
This beautiful creature is Rhombophryne mavokely, a little leaflitter-dwelling species from the northeast of Madagascar. The name mavokely is the Malagasy word for ‘pink’ but literally translates as ‘small yellow’ (mavo = yellow, kely = small). I LOVE this bizarre etymology, and also this species is small and sometimes pink and sometimes yellowish, so the name seemed extremely apt. This species was the first Rhombophryne I ever saw alive—I caught the first ever specimen immediately underneath my hammock on Marojejy in 2016!
This shiny boy is Rhombophryne sonaliae, a rather well known species from eastern Madagascar that has previously been called R. alluaudi—until we showed in 2019 that the correct use of that name was for a Plethodontohyla alluaudi from southern Madagascar! We dedicated this species to Sonali Garg, in recognition of her fantastic work especially on Asian frogs.
This forbidden truffle is Rhombophryne anatiala, a very poorly known species very closely related to R. sonaliae but found further north and differing subtly. The name anatiala means ‘in the forest’ in Malagasy, referring to the forest habitat of these frogs.
This bumpy beanbag with his go-faster chevron is Rhombophryne kotrobaratra, an interesting species from northeastern Madagascar with rather unusual anatomy, especially its quite long and strong hindlimbs. The name kotrobaratra means ‘thunder and lightning’ in Malagasy, and refers to the inclement weather that seems to bring these frogs out (true for all Rhombophryne, really) .
This coffee bean is Rhombophryne quentini, an orange-thighed species from high-elevation forests in northern Madagascar that resembles R. ellae. Back in 2020 I named R. ellae after my partner, Ella, and I thus took particularly great pleasure in naming this new, closely related species after our four-and-a-half year-old son, Quentin. A little family of frogs. :3
This little pebble is Rhombophryne kilonjy, a small, poorly known and obscure species related to R. ellae and R. quentini but found in lowland forest close to the coast in northwestern Madagascar. The name kilonjy means ‘pebble’ in Malagasy because, well, just look at it.
Even way back in my tumblr posts from 2013 and 2014 I think you would find mentions of the work I had begun on this monograph. I had no notion that it would take more than twelve years to complete. But I cannot express my joy at finally being able to share these charming, round frogs with the world. I hope you approve of the names!
If you want to read a bit more about these frogs, you can do so on my website. I have even posted a couple short videos about them on TikTok and Instagram (which also will show you how to pronounce the names!). Basically, you can find me most places on the internet, and wherever you find me, you can be sure to find frogs and lizards and snakes and a good deal of enthusiasm.
I have my phone set to grayscale and I dont know how to explain it but this for some reason this bird grasshopper looks like a Ron Perlman professional head shot.
Just off the top of your head, don't need to try and look it up to check out anything:
Can you name a web search engine that you used before Google?
Yes
No
Don't know/just want to see the results
Voting ended onJul 26
The book I'm reading suggests that Google became so market dominant that most people couldn't name a search engine that came before it, so I'm curious.
I primarily used AltaVista and Yahoo before my 10th grade English teacher told me about Google in 2000. I have such a vivid memory of being like, "oh shit this IS a great tool..." which is hilarious to recall 26 years later.
I think I’ve hit a limit as far as my autism allows me to function at work. I can only mask so far before I am at a limit of my ability. I am incapable of understanding how to talk to my supervisors and manager at the level they want from me currently. I can not manage the line of preforming what they want in terms of leading my department vs not overstepping and being labeled disrespectful. I also have a very limited ability to handle my emotions when I feel unlistened to.
I feel like it is stupid, for lack of a better word, because I'm currently so angry about it I want to throw things, to expect warehouse workers, who are mostly immigrants and may or may not have a high school diploma or equvilent, to articulate in a super specific, gentle and precise manner. Out of 11 workers, 6 are not native English speakers. This doesn’t mean they are incapable of it but damn it’s really not reasonable to expect. And to say anyone who attempts to politely handle a topic but does it directly instead of tiptoeing around the fact they disagree with you, is disrespectful and needs to watch how they talk, is just dick waving. If someone over me can not handle me saying I don’t think that will work, they are not worried about disrespect, they have decided no one is allowed to say they are wrong in public.
I am unable to preform respect appropriately to their satisfaction because I am too direct to tell them they are wrong or something won’t work and when I am bowled over and told my experience or the rules I am beholden to don’t matter, I am unable to not show frustration.
This boiled over yesterday to me yelling at my manager and cursing while I was yelling. Not like calling him names, saying someone treated something like shit. I was absolutely over the line in yelling but the whole thing originated because he was publicly telling me I was wrong to mark something as an error and I told him no I followed the current policy exactly. He attempted to tell me I was being going over the top. I quoted the policy “if the packer would get a complaint from a customer for sending an item, it’s an error. If the packer can see a problem, a picker can too.”
Where I went imo over the line is then I told him “ you have eyes don’t you?”
And he told me “you need to watch your tone.”
And well. It’s like a trigger phrase or something. I began crying and yelling and he made me go sit in his office till I was done yelling and we talked.
He still didn’t reverse his new change to policy, didn’t acknowledge it was a change of policy, nothing. He said it so his word is law. We didn’t actially talk about the new policy because I recovered enough sanity to know I couldn’t get through the convo a second time without actually cussing him out.
My job isn’t in active danger but i am really concerned about what i am able to do in the future. I struggle so hard with being articulate. Add in struggling with policing my tone and volume and it’s just a recipe that says I will not be able to do more than grunt work anywhere the manager is expected to be treated as smarter and better than you at all times.
This story obviously is specifically about my recent experience but I’ve witnessed this with other workers frequently over the years. I am also not the only autistic person at my work, but for some reason, he generally gets a free pass to do whatever he wants at the company as long as he’s not visibly fucking things up.
I think I’ve hit a limit as far as my autism allows me to function at work. I can only mask so far before I am at a limit of my ability. I am incapable of understanding how to talk to my supervisors and manager at the level they want from me currently. I can not manage the line of preforming what they want in terms of leading my department vs not overstepping and being labeled disrespectful. I also have a very limited ability to handle my emotions when I feel unlistened to.
I feel like it is stupid, for lack of a better word, because I'm currently so angry about it I want to throw things, to expect warehouse workers, who are mostly immigrants and may or may not have a high school diploma or equvilent, to articulate in a super specific, gentle and precise manner. Out of 11 workers, 6 are not native English speakers. This doesn’t mean they are incapable of it but damn it’s really not reasonable to expect. And to say anyone who attempts to politely handle a topic but does it directly instead of tiptoeing around the fact they disagree with you, is disrespectful and needs to watch how they talk, is just dick waving. If someone over me can not handle me saying I don’t think that will work, they are not worried about disrespect, they have decided no one is allowed to say they are wrong in public.
I am unable to preform respect appropriately to their satisfaction because I am too direct to tell them they are wrong or something won’t work and when I am bowled over and told my experience or the rules I am beholden to don’t matter, I am unable to not show frustration.
This boiled over yesterday to me yelling at my manager and cursing while I was yelling. Not like calling him names, saying someone treated something like shit. I was absolutely over the line in yelling but the whole thing originated because he was publicly telling me I was wrong to mark something as an error and I told him no I followed the current policy exactly. He attempted to tell me I was being going over the top. I quoted the policy “if the packer would get a complaint from a customer for sending an item, it’s an error. If the packer can see a problem, a picker can too.”
Where I went imo over the line is then I told him “ you have eyes don’t you?”
And he told me “you need to watch your tone.”
And well. It’s like a trigger phrase or something. I began crying and yelling and he made me go sit in his office till I was done yelling and we talked.
He still didn’t reverse his new change to policy, didn’t acknowledge it was a change of policy, nothing. He said it so his word is law. We didn’t actially talk about the new policy because I recovered enough sanity to know I couldn’t get through the convo a second time without actually cussing him out.
My job isn’t in active danger but i am really concerned about what i am able to do in the future. I struggle so hard with being articulate. Add in struggling with policing my tone and volume and it’s just a recipe that says I will not be able to do more than grunt work anywhere the manager is expected to be treated as smarter and better than you at all times.
It's my cat's birthday (anniversary of me getting him) so I told him the story of his life while petting him real good
Highlights include:
For your first two years (when you were small) you lived in a foster home with people who raised you into a very polite young man. Two is like you plus me, that's what two is.
Some people adopted you before me and they called you Timmy (which is a stupid name) and they returned your ass almost immediately because you were so annoying at that age.
Like think about how annoying you are right now at seven years old, but way worse.
I'm better than them though, I don't call you Timmy and I wore earplugs to bed for three years because you love to scream at bedtime. Earplugs are like when I roll over and go back to sleep even when you are yelling so so so loud.
I got you at a time in my life when I was really sick (being sick is like when I'm up late because I'm throwing up and you are a very handsome good boy who sits with me) and they had to put me asleep for a procedure. A procedure is like what happened to you when they put you asleep and took your balls away.
Now you've lived with me for five years. Five is like the number of toe beans on one of your feet. When I clip your nails five is when we're halfway done. But we're hopefully not even halfway done with how long we get to be together. I'm gonna have to figure out new ways to help you count.
So it's national Recreational Explosives, Hand Loss and Wildfire day, and unlike 2023, there is nary a drop of rain in sight.
Despite being slapped upside the head by God, my put technically inclined neighbor has acquired TWO pallets of fireworks this year.
The state is of no help: my city police department has made it pretty clear they don't intend to respond to any fireworks calls this weekend. I've sent the pictures I took to the county tipline and received and automated email reply saying that it will take several weeks to process my case. Perhaps he will get jail time later, but this does not actually you know. Stop him from setting the neighborhood ablaze. Going up to his door the week prior and very politely asking him to move- not cancel, just relocate - his celebrations was met with calling me a "nosy bitch" and "I'll set one off in your ass!".
Sometimes God needs us to make our own miracles.
My miracle comes with several layers, and plenty of opportunities to back down without losing face. We'll see how many are needed.
The first wave has already been deployed: a psyop directed at the Visiting Mother In Law of the miscreant.
I got up at 8:30 AM this morning to make sure I'd be in the front yard of my house, casually doing yardwork with Herschel. His participation was essential.
For those of you who are new here, Herschel is the world's most charming Cardigan Welsh Crime Tube, who thinks everyone in the world is his best friend and that people come to the house to see him specifically. So at 9:04 AM when the visiting mother-in-law appeared around the corner on her daily power-walk around the block, Herschel employed his natural Corgi instinct to make friends with everyone and cheerfully tossed himself on the sidewalk in front of her, belly up for expected tummy rubs.
"OH AREN'T YOU DARLING!!" My target coos, kneeling down to pat him while he makes him like snuffling noises of glee. She is at least 70. I think her bright pink leg warmers and terrycloth headband might be original from her jazzercise days.
"I'm so sorry! Herschel you're going to trip people doing that!" I apologize, going up to greet the woman. "I'm [REDACTED], I don't think we've met..?"
"No, I'm just visiting my daughter and her family- my name is Barbara. And who is this?" She asks Herschel, whose whole back end is waggling with glee.
"This is my service dog Herschel." I explain while he rolls around on the pavement. "I just wanted him to get some time outside before the pyrotechnics start."
"Oh. Yes." Barbra grumbles and I know I've got her. "My son-in-law is planning something extravagant." She says with such disdain it practically comes out of her nose. This is a woman who loves her daughter and dearly wishes she married someone, anyone else.
"Yeah, he got rained out and sick the last two years, so I think he's compensating." I agree.
"Oh he's definitely overcompensating!" Barbra spits, then shakes her whole body like a dog. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't complain. You said he's a service dog?"
I go for it.
"Yeah! I have... Neurological problems." I say and that is technically true. "I've um. Lost a lot of things, like a sense of time, or appetite, and his job is to remind me to eat or take my meds or alerts that I'm having an episode. My personal dog-tor!" I say, patting his adorable little head, and he leans on me, equally adoring.
"Oh, is that why-?" Barbra starts to ask, gesturing at the top of her head, but stops herself.
I hadn't planned this, but yesterday I'd shaved my head to deal with the heat and now only have a quarter inch of hair, which doesn't really hide the scars from when I got run over by a minivan. They're bright red with the heat and exertion of yard work.
I decide I'm okay with lying to a stranger to prevent my house from being set ablaze.
I sort of... Crumple to the ground and drop the rake I was holding, and Herschel immediately climbs into my lap to comfort me as I start to cry.
"Oh my God." Says Barbra.
"I'm sorry!" I gasp, tears streaming down my face. I've been stressed and this is honestly very cathartic. "I'm sorry to dump on you, I'm just so scared-!"
"Oh my God. It's bad." Barbra realizes.
"D- do you know what-" a pause as Herschel tries to manually clear my nostrils like a good service dog. "-oh, Herschel... It's - do you know what an astrocytoma* is?"
*An astrocytoma is a type of brain tumor.
Barbra turns white and sits down next to me. "I'm so sorry... I- one of my friends from church had one, it was agony but she's alright now!" She tries to reassure me.
"It hurts! Everything hurts all the time!" I sob. "And- and I'm scared, so he's scared and I feel bad for hi which just makes it worse and then there's the-" I gesture at the sky. "I have surgery in a month to remove as much of it as they can and do biopsies to see if I need radiation too but..."
"-but all that noise must be Hell on you and your doggy." Barbra nods.
"It'd be fine if he went down to the lake of something but, that house's driveway is like, a hundred feet from my bedroom, I can't sleep and it TERRIFIES Herschel..." I whimper pathetically.
"Well. I may be able to do something about that." Barbra decides.
"Oh no, I don't want to intrude!" I mock-protest.
"No, we're the ones intruding dear. I'll have words with him." She growls. I get the impression she's been waiting for an excuse To Have Words With Him.
"Th-thank you. Um. It's getting hot and I'm a mess, we should probably go inside..." I mutter and Barbra very kindly helps me and Herschel to the front door and tells me she'll be by later with watermelon as we wave goodbye.
From the porch, I watch her furiously power-walk back to her daughter's house, wrench open the front door, and issue a battle cry of "HEN-RY!!!" before it slams behind her.
Now I realize that this may not have been the most honest or ethical thing to do, but I figured it's more polite and ethical than the next step, which is chemical warfare, courtesy of Bath & Body Works :)
Well, they Psyop seems to have worked! That cul-de-sac, and indeed my entire block is perfectly quiet tonight!
Unfortunately I cannot say the same of the surrounding neighborhood, so it has been necessary to deploy The Stench.
The Stench is a mixture of Odoriferous chemicals meant to be discreetly poured over a surface (preferably something hot, like a sidewalk or fence in direct sunlight) to render an area temporarily uninhabitable, Similar to spraying coyote pee on your garden to discourage the rabbits. I can't give you a full recipe because I forgot to take notes, but elements include:
Spoiled beef broth, which is both rancid and unexpectedly sour (boiled to kill bacteria)
Expired milk, the most retch-inducing ingredient for me.
Several bottles of Liquid Ass
Ghost Pepper Hot Sauce
Concentrated Dog Urine
and FOUR bottles of Bath & Body Work's Cucumber Melon, which smells light and fruity when used as a light body spray, but in concentration smells like an entire fruit cart left to rot, possibly along with the carcass of the fruitseller.
The resulting solution smells like raw sewage, a fraternity dorm fridge when the power's been out for a week, and a roadkilled skunk. It's impressively vile. Herschel wanted to roll in it so bad.
I've spent the last few hours strolling the surrounding neighborhoods until I found the source of the mortars and flying explosives that are the real hazards, ingratiating myself into the parties, and discreetly dousing the lawns and fences nearby until someone goes "OH GOD!" and gags, and the party breaks up shortly thereafter. I returned home because I ran out of The Stench, despite hiding five 2L soda bottles of it in a backpack.
I will call it a success though, because while I can hear fireworks, they're all at least a mile away from me. In total:
Fire Hazard Parties derailed: 13
Screaming: 10
Crying: 13
Vomiting: 4
Fight blaming each other for causing The Stench: 5
Called the city to complain about The Stench, on the assumption it was a sewage issue, and then waited right next to their pile of illegal fireworks, for the fire department to show up: 2.
Guy who claimed to be enjoying the smell: 1
Party was partially derailed by The Stench, and partly by the fact they actually did start a fire: 1 (every human was alright, the pyro's roof, not as much)
Stray dogs caught and returned home: 2
So next year: MORE STENCH.
Until then, I have a corgi zooted on trazadone on my feet, and we bid you goodnight.
(If you would like to support a disabled storyteller and/or fund more stench research, you can donate to my Ko-fi or pre-order my Family Lore book on Patreon)
Emergency cleaning: Unfuck your whole house in the shortest time possible
So, your landlord/parents/home inspector/favorite movie star is dropping by, and your place is a disaster. You don’t have much time to clean it up. You’re in emergency mode. Let’s get started.
Don’t panic. Panic leads to fear, fear leads to procrastination, procrastination leads to the dark side. You can do this, but you have to stay calm.
Unlike maintenance cleaning, we’re not looking to completely unfuck one space at a time. Instead, we want to decrease the overall mess in stages, spread evenly across the whole area that we’re concerned about. If you think your home is at Level 10 filth, we want to bring the whole thing down to a Level 9, and then down from there. One really clean spot in an otherwise messy home is not going to be helpful here.
Get prepared. You’ll want to shut the computer down (or turn the modem off if you need your computer to play music). Trust me. Get your music going. Gather up trash bags, your vacuum and mop, some rags or paper towel, sponges, and other cleaning supplies. Use what you have on hand. Don’t get distracted running to the store and spending an hour browsing cleaning supplies. A multi-purpose cleaning concentrate or a jug of vinegar will be just fine.
Breaks are very important. Depending on your time constraints, work in 20/10s (20 minutes working, 10-minute break) or 45/15s. But take breaks because otherwise you’re marathoning, and marathon cleaning is no one’s friend. Keep hydrated, don’t forget to eat, and check in with yourself frequently to make sure you’re physically doing OK.
Make your bed. This will be your home base if you get overwhelmed or need somewhere clear to take a break.
Start with the garbage. Going from room to room, throw out anything that is obvious trash. Once you fill a bag, take it out. Repeat as many times as necessary.
Move on to dishes. Gather the dishes from all over your house and bring them to the kitchen. If you can, start them soaking in a sink of hot, soapy water or start loading the dishwasher. After the dishes are all in one place, spend one 20/10 getting started getting them under control.
Now it’s time for your flat surfaces. Countertops, tables, dresser tops, etc. Clear them off and wipe them down. Don’t get distracted in too much sorting and organizing. We’re in crisis mode here. There will be time to get in-depth once this is all done. The same applies to cabinets and closets. Unless you have reason to believe people will be opening closed doors, leave these alone for now.
Attack the floordrobe and shoe pile. Get your clothes either put away or in the hamper. Start a load of laundry if you need to, but keep in mind that laundry and dishes have three steps: wash, dry, and put it away, goddammit!
Get random stuff up off the floors. If something is trash-worthy, throw it away now rather than just move it around a bunch of times. Otherwise, put stuff where it belongs.
Take another 20/10 or 45/15 to catch up on more dishes, if needed.
Head into the bathroom. Pour some cleaner in the toilet bowl, fill the sink with hot water and cleaner, and either spray the tub and shower with cleaner, or fill the tub up with some hot water and add cleaner and let it soak. Put everything away that’s out and shouldn’t be, clean the mirror, counters, and toilet seat. Sweep or dry mop the floor. Wipe down the sink and tub/shower, and give the toilet bowl a scrub. Mop the floor.
Sweep and mop the kitchen floor.
Vacuum everything you can, and sweep everything you can’t.
Walk outside of your house (don’t lock yourself out, please). Walk back in and see what catches your eye first. Go and deal with that.
If you’re being inspected or your landlord is coming in for repairs, spend time on whatever area they’ll be focusing on.
Give the whole place one more once-over and pay attention to anything you’ve missed so far.
It’s an old trick, but if your place is a little funky-smelling, put a pan of water on the stove on low heat and add some citrus or cinnamon or vanilla. Don’t leave it unattended or forget about it.
Take a shower, put on something clean, and eat something.
You can do this. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it is not impossible. You just need to do it. You have a list. You have directions. You have a whole bunch of Internet strangers who have been there before and who are cheering you on. You can do this, but you need to get started.
the number of times in my past that I desperately wanted/needed someone to sit me down and tell me this stuff. I will never get back the hours and hours lost to headless-chicken mode, but it’s nice to know that in the last year I’ve learned so many coping mechanisms :D
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
origamiaround
pixelskylines
amandla
