went to a new optometrist today wearing my squid facts ‘save our freaks dont mine the deep’ shirt from @sarahmackattack that has a strawberry squid on it. and i wasn’t even thinking about it but the optometrist walked in and he was like ‘oh what does your shirt say’ so i showed him and he was like ‘oh that’s neat!’ and then i thought he might like to know about strawberry squid eyes since they have weird eyes and he is an optometrist and all. so i was like ‘yeah it’s actually a real kind of squid called a strawberry squid, their eyes are really cool because they have one big yellow-green one and one small blue one’ and he kind of gasped and went ‘oh my god that’s so interesting i wonder why they have that. do you know what their retina composition is like?’ and i watched as he minimized my chart on the computer and started looking up images of strawberry squid and then he googled ‘strawberry squid retina composition’ and he was like ‘sorry we’ll get to your eye exam in a moment i just really want to find out’ LMAO 10/10 optometrist experience will be returning
If you've committed a crime and a detective gathers everyone involved in the room, especially if he's not actually a detective and is instead a novelist, puzzle-setter, psychic, fake psychic, dog, chess grandmaster, etc. ...
YOU SHOULD NOT CONFESS.
Every year, hundreds of people are put away by non-traditional "detectives" who have either inserted themselves into the case or are working with the police in a dubiously legal capacity as advisor. In 99% of these cases, the murderer gives a full confession even though the evidence against them is circumstantial at best and often requires a long just-so story which can only guess at motive.
If this happens to you, stay quiet, do not attempt to defend yourself or talk your way out of it, only say "I want a lawyer".
Now if you find yourself being investigated by a boy genius, magician's assistant, anthropologist, classics scholar, or philosopher, it's likely that refusing to talk to the police (or investigator with no legal authority) is merely the end of the second act, and by the end of the third act they will have you dead to rights.
YOU SHOULD STILL NOT CONFESS.
Make them take it to court. Force the eccentric detective and his straight-laced police partner to take the stand and explain their methods to a jury of your peers. Have your lawyer look at the chain of custody on the evidence, especially if you believe it to have been handled by someone who has only bumbled into detective work through their natural charm and/or unique set of skills and outsider perspective that come in handy more often than they should.
Know your rights. Don't let eccentric detectives put you away.
k but imagine Rocky wanting to learn about how humans became the apex predators of their planet so he has Grace “hunt” him in the biodome as an experiment and during it he thinks Grace isn’t trying or taking it seriously which is bad bad bad because this is for research purposes
only for Rocky to get more and more tired as the experiment goes on just to realize that Grace isn’t which makes him panic so he puts as much distance as he can between them and finds a (hopefully) safe spot to sleep and when he wakes up the human is crouching over him like “got youuu” and Rocky has never shrieked so damn loud before in his life
sooo this inspired me and then prev's tags did too:
so there's a mini fic under the cut I smashed out in like an hour. kinda low effort but whatever. might keep it going on ao3 with more little experiments
At some point, Grace of course realizes it's living in a zoo enclosure. Then comes a Discussion.
"Rocky."
Rocky is totally panicking - it told the xeno team to not let Grace know! Now Grace is going to be offended or mad about being a zoo animal! There's no way to sugarcoat this! - and screeching out apologies. It won't be able to withstand Grace being mad at it, because the last time Grace was mad at Rocky Grace ignored Rocky. IGNORED. The silent treatment had grated so bad on Rocky's nerves it felt like it was going to go insane.
"ROCKY! CHILL OUT!"
Rocky slows. Grace is still kneeling from where it had settled after first saying 'we need to talk' (worst words in the universe, by the way). Rocky doesn't get any closer, just fiddles nervously with its fingers.
"Rocky, look. This isn't- I'm not mad about it. Honest! I kinda…" It rubs the back of its 'neck' with a hand. "Kinda already figured it out a while ago."
Grace laughs, flashing its 'teeth'. "I mean, we'd do the same thing on Earth if this was all reversed. I get it! I'm an alien, I knew this was a possibility."
"Along with dissection," Rocky grumbles. "And starving to death. Does not mean good thing. Does not mean Grace happy about it."
"But I am! Look, Eridians are learning from me, right?"
Rocky hums a begrudging confirmation.
"Then I'm happy about it! You know me. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Plus, it could be worse."
That is true, all of it. Rocky sighs. "Okay. If Grace is sure Grace not mad at Rocky…"
"I'm sure, buddy. C'mere." Grace reaches forward and wraps Rocky in a 'hug'. Rocky accepts it, reciprocates, feeling the familiar noises of Grace's organs.
"Team will ask more questions," Rocky warns. "Want to do experiments on human behavior."
"Oho, boy. I'm looking forward to that."
And Grace isn't lying, and neither is Rocky: within days of the conversation, the xeno team is approaching Grace and asking many more questions about human biology, about enrichment. They already were, of course, but something seems to have emboldened them.
What everyone finds most ridiculous is human evolution, though.
"Sorry," Historian Lilith wheezes out. It's almost laughing too hard to keep going. "You're saying- you- humans just walk your prey to death? And you became the apex predators on your planet? How does that work?!"
Every other member of the team present is cackling, including Rocky: Grace alone stands sober, pouting in the way it does when it's offended.
"What's so unbelievable about that?! It's a very effective way to hunt!"
Rocky snorts. "Grace lying. No way walking is efficient! Ambush is better. Example!" And Rocky lunges for Grace, relishing the squeal and the scramble backwards. Then Grace stands up taller. "Okay! I'll show you. Who wants to get hunted?"
Everyone instantly steps back, leaving Rocky at the forefront. Figures. All that talk about how it's not realistic and yet they scatter at the idea of being the prey. Frankly, Rocky can't blame them - nobody wants to be hunted, after all, especially by an alien that breathes oxygen - but it raises a hand anyways. "I volunteer. Grace hunt me. Then we know truth once and for all."
The grin that split Grace's face somehow seems even creepier than usual. It goes off to prepare, murmuring about contacting the substitute teacher that takes over when Grace gets sick. Huh?
Rocky disregards that and prepares by simply making sure the atmosphere suit is fully ready. It knows Grace isn't really going to hurt it, but it has to reassure several members of the xeno team and Adrian, who's come to watch, of that fact. "Seriously? It's Grace. Grace won't hurt me. Grace can't even hurt me!" It starts to mutter about how ridiculous they're all being when someone points out that Grace could potentially break the atmosphere suit with the abundance of rocks in the enclosure, trapping Rocky in the deadly Solean-safe atmosphere, which stops Rocky dead.
It's Atmosphere Specialist Superman, well-known to be paranoid even at the best of times. Eridians have no 'faces' like Soleans, but Rocky deliberately rotates towards the idiot just to hammer in the absolute stupidity of what Superman just said, and then smacks Superman so hard several team members have to pull it off of the scientist. It's swearing and screeching the entire time, and it takes a few Earth hours to calm down properly.
The very idea of Grace deliberately hurting Rocky in such a way - when Rocky knows for a fact the scars from the Adrian Incident are still fully apparent to the Solean senses, when Grace spent months freaking out over every little sneeze or cough Rocky made when in the prototypes of the atmosphere suit - is preposterous. Grace would never ever hurt Rocky like that, would never do anything to expose Rocky to its atmosphere ever again even accidentally. They're both so very careful about it. Rocky is still steaming about Superman's insinuations when it walks inside Grace's enclosure.
Grace is waiting by the airlock. Rocky huffs. "Unfair. Go farther. Too close for start, cheater."
Grace holds up its hands in the almost-happy movement ("When I put my hands up like this, this means surrender.") and steps away a good distance. It's still smiling. "Not gonna matter, Rock," it calls. "I'm about to get you back for alllll those times you ambushed me on the trip here."
"Yeah, right!" Rocky shifts, preparing to run. "We see who is better predator."
"Ready?"
"Ready!"
"GO!"
Rocky bolts. The sand is hard to traverse, its arms slipping both from the xenonite covering and the loose grains, but it already knows it's a faster runner than Grace. And when it clicks to see where Grace is, Grace is so far behind it's laughable. Oh, this is gonna be easy.
Rocky reaches the edge of the biodome, a little worn out. Luckily, it just had a sleep cycle, so it won't need to sleep for another few Solean days. Grace is out of range. HA!
It meanders back closer until it can hear Grace, leisurely strolling along the beach. "What wrong, Grace? Too slow?" It calls out.
A ripple of laughter comes from Grace. "You'll be eating your words soon enough." It sticks its hands in its pockets.
Rocky snorts, and decides to continue to be a little shit. It goes back and darts around Grace, mocking it, staying juust far enough away where if Grace lunges Grace won't even be able to touch it. Grace does give chase eventually, but Rocky just carefully climbs up the cliff face. Damn, humans are stupid! Every time Rocky thinks they're not so bad, Grace does something like this. It's not even chasing Rocky! It's just slowly following.
The biodome cycles over to night, Rocky can tell by the click! of the flashlight Grace carries. It settles on top of the cliff, enjoying the sounds of Grace trying its damndest to climb the cliff. Technically it's well past the time Grace should be asleep, but they're both too stubborn to call quits and the xeno team isn't in a hurry to interrupt this glimpse into human evolution.
Rocky has to run again when Grace reaches the top of the cliff and starts to chase it again. This keeps going, Rocky running and mocking Grace, Grace just continuing on, unshakable. Rocky only starts to worry when night falls again and Grace is still able to catch up to it!
It yells to Grace, who's some distance behind. "Grace need sleep."
"Grace has slept." Grace shouts back. "Remember, I can wake up easily. I've been sleeping and eating regularly, I promise."
"Good!" Rocky lets itself feel some relief that Grace isn't neglecting its health for this experiment. Then it goes right back to insults. "Then Grace have no excuse to be so slow!" It makes a 'fart' noise in Grace's direction and scuttles off, laughing at the offended sound Grace makes.
Day comes again, and Rocky gets frustrated. What in the actual fuck?! Something's not right. Grace has been at this for two Earth days and nights now. If Grace was going to catch Rocky, shouldn't that have happened by now? Is Grace even taking this experiment seriously?
Well, Rocky does know Grace is taking it seriously, because Grace is doing it. Hasn't given up. Hasn't called it quits. So the only reason why the experiment is still going must be because this persistence way of hunting is, in fact, not effective, and Grace is just too stubborn to admit it! HA! Get wrecked, Grace.
Frustration turns to glee, which then curdles into nervousness as the day still goes on with no sign of Grace stopping the pursuit. They've both been running in circles: the biodome's not that big, all told, and Rocky can't access a quarter of it due to the fake ocean. And Rocky can feel a sleep cycle is imminent. It's exhausted. All the running it's been doing must have brought the sleep cycle on sooner. And Grace, last Rocky heard, still shows no sign of tiredness. Shit!
Rocky pushes itself just a little harder, until Grace is far beyond Rocky's range of hearing and Rocky is well hidden: Grace is still on top of the cliffs by the wall of the dome, while Rocky's down below nearer to the water. Then it finds a cave. It knows this cave in particular has a room beside it where the xeno team has been watching on the camera feeds and listening to this whole debacle.
"Must sleep," Rocky manages. "Can't keep going." It collapses, and the world vanishes. No worries. Grace won't catch up, and if it does, it won't think to look for Rocky here.
When Rocky wakes, it first hears a clamoring from the observation room. Many voices shouting over one another. It sends a spike of fear through Rocky, and it taps at the floor to hear better - and nearly has a cardiac failure then and there, screaming louder than it's ever screamed before in its life.
Grace is standing right. over. Rocky. Looming, really, and it's never sounded taller or more ominous.
"Hiiii."
Then Grace plunges down, wraps its arms around Rocky. "Gotcha!" It opens its mouth and presses it to Rocky's carapace, leaking all over it and pressing its tongue to the xenonite as if it's trying to eat Rocky.
Rocky shudders in disgust and cusses Grace out with every word it knows, smacking it lightly with an arm. "CREEPY! Scared Rocky, nearly kill Rocky with attacking heart! No no no bad Grace! BAD BAD BAD GRACE!"
Grace is laughing, sending vibrations through Rocky's body. "I told you," it says in that light singing kind of voice it likes to do. "I tooooold youuuu! Persistence predators, baby!"
"That no count! You wait until I fall… asleep…" A horrible idea begins to dawn on Rocky. "No." There's no way. There's no way. It's too awful to think of, and yet it's the only possibility.
"Well-" Grace settles back, crosses its legs underneath it and turns towards the window to the observation room: where, by the way, everyone's gone silent with their own realizations. "You guys didn't let me finish explaining earlier. See, a lot of prey animals on Earth are very fast, like Rocky here." It gives Rocky a noogie. "So humans evolved to be able to endure long stretches of exercise like this. We chase an animal, track it using its footprints or the direction it was going in usually, and then eventually the animal's so exhausted that it has to sleep, and that's when we attack and kill it for our food. So that's what I just did!" Grace flashes its teeth again. It's terrifyingly happy about all of this.
Meanwhile, Rocky quite literally cannot move from fear. Grace has sparked fear before: their first meeting, when Rocky had no clue what to expect but it certainly wasn't some squishy cold bag of meat that breathed oxygen of all things; over Adrian the planet, when the ship had been sent into an uncontrolled spin and Rocky had known what it would have to do to save Grace and Earth and Erid all at once even if it meant death; for a few moments when Rocky had been floating in its tomb, the original Eridian ship, and heard a cracking thumping sort of noise coming from space, right before it'd discovered that the noise was Grace coming to save it.
All of those instances were tiny bits of dust next to this type of fear. The revelation that Rocky's wonderful and clumsy friend could have, just now, very easily killed Rocky in Rocky's sleep and that its species did so regularly was the singular most horrifying concept anyone could ever have imagined. Grace probably had no idea that the Solean way of hunting was the stuff of the worst Eridian horror stories. Something that just kept going, kept chasing you until you were forced to sleep? Fucking WHY?! WHY did Rocky have to meet AND BRING HOME the ONE species it knew of that DID THAT?! WHY?!
"That-" it weakly starts - still feeling like it was about to, as the Soleans say, 'shit its pants' - "Very… nice, Grace. Thank for demonstration."
It crawls out from under Grace's arm. "Back soon," and lunges for the airlock. It needs… more than a little bit of processing time. That whole thing was fucking disturbing.
Grace just waves, oblivious to Rocky's internal turmoil. "See you later, Rocky!"
I have three monitors on my desk. The left one shows the order book. The middle one shows Truth Social. The right one shows the investigation queue.
On April 21st, the left screen moved first.
I am a Senior Surveillance Analyst at a commodities exchange. I have held this position for nineteen years. My job is to monitor trading activity for suspicious patterns and generate compliance reports. I am employee of the quarter. I have a mug.
At 19:54 GMT on April 21st, someone placed 4,260 sell orders on Brent crude futures. They did this during post-settlement. The window after the market closes when daily volume is typically in the dozens. Sometimes single digits. Sometimes I watch the screen and nothing happens for forty minutes and I think about whether my daughter is happy.
On April 21st, someone placed $430 million in directional bets in 120 seconds during that window. One hundred and twenty seconds. I timed it on my watch because the system clock rounds to the nearest minute and I have found, in nineteen years, that precision matters to no one but me.
At 20:10 GMT, the President posted on Truth Social that he was extending the Iran ceasefire.
Brent dropped from $100.91 to $96.83.
I flagged the trade. I flag a lot of trades. I want to tell you what happens to my flags.
My flags go into a system called TRACE. Trade Review and Compliance Evaluation. I did not name it. The system generates a report. The report goes to a committee. The committee has a name I am not allowed to share but I can tell you it meets quarterly and the conference room has a credenza with bottled water that is sparkling because someone once put still water in the room and a managing director sent an email about it that was longer than most of my surveillance reports.
The committee reviews my flags. The committee has reviewed all of my flags. Here is the complete record of actions taken on my flags in 2026:
Reviewed.
That's it. "Reviewed" is a status. In compliance, a status is the absence of an action that has been given a name so it looks like one.
Let me show you my flags.
March 9th. Someone bet millions on oil falling at 18:29 GMT. Forty-seven minutes later, a CBS reporter posted that the President said the Iran war was "very complete, pretty much." Oil dropped 25%. Forty-seven minutes. I flagged it.
March 23rd. Someone sold 5,100 lots of Brent and WTI crude futures between 10:49 and 10:50 GMT. Fourteen minutes later, the President posted on Truth Social about a "COMPLETE AND TOTAL RESOLUTION" to hostilities. Oil dropped 11%. Over 13,000 contracts traded in sixty seconds after the post. Fourteen minutes. I flagged it.
April 7th. Someone established a $950 million short position in oil futures at 19:45 GMT. Three hours later, the President declared a two-week ceasefire. Nine hundred and fifty million dollars. I flagged it.
April 17th. Someone placed $760 million in bearish bets twenty minutes before Iran's foreign minister confirmed the Strait of Hormuz would reopen. Seven hundred and sixty million. I flagged it.
April 21st. The $430 million. Fifteen minutes. I flagged it.
That is $2.1 billion in directional oil bets in April alone. Every one of them landed on the correct side of a presidential announcement. Every one of them was placed in a window so narrow you could measure it in bathroom breaks. I flagged every single one.
The CFTC chair told a Congressional committee that his organization has "zero tolerance" for fraud and insider trading. I wrote that quote on a Post-it note and stuck it to my right monitor. The one that shows the investigation queue. The investigation queue has not moved since March.
Zero tolerance. Zero staff. Zero budget. Zero prosecutions under the STOCK Act since it was signed in 2012.
Fourteen years. The law has existed for fourteen years and has been enforced zero times. In compliance, we call that a compliance rate of one hundred percent. No cases filed means no cases lost. You cannot fail an audit you never conduct. We call that excellence.
Last month the White House sent an internal email to staff. I was not on the distribution list but I have read reporting on it and I need you to sit with what I am about to say. The email instructed White House staff not to use insider information to place bets on prediction markets.
The White House had to send a memo telling its own employees not to insider-trade.
I want you to read that sentence again. Not because the instruction was unclear. Because the instruction was necessary. Because someone in the building looked at the same pattern I have been flagging for months on my three monitors and decided the appropriate response was an email.
The President's son sits on the advisory board of Kalshi. He is an investor in Polymarket. Both are prediction markets. Both saw accounts created days before U.S. military action.
One account. I cannot stop thinking about this account. It was called "Burdensome-Mix." It was created in December. On January 2nd, it placed $32,500 on Venezuela's president being removed from power. On January 3rd, Maduro was seized by U.S. special forces. Burdensome-Mix collected $436,000. Then it changed its username. Then it disappeared.
One account is a coincidence. But there were six.
Six accounts were created on Polymarket in February. All bet on U.S. strikes on Iran by the 28th. When the President confirmed the strikes, the six accounts collected $1.2 million between them. Five of the six never placed another bet. The sixth went on to correctly predict the ceasefire date and made another $163,000.
My surveillance system logged all of this. My system logs everything. My system does not have opinions and neither do I. I generate reports. The reports go to committees. The committees meet quarterly. Between meetings, the windows get shorter and the bets get larger.
March 9th: 47 minutes. March 23rd: 14 minutes. April 17th: 20 minutes. April 21st: 15 minutes.
The window is compressing. In March, you had time to make coffee between the trade and the announcement. By April, you had time to send a text. By summer, at this rate, the trade and the announcement will be the same event.
The spokesman said any implication that administration officials are engaged in insider trading is "baseless and irresponsible reporting."
Then the White House sent the email again.
I have been in compliance for nineteen years. I have seen insider trading run out of strip mall offices by men who could not spell "derivative." I have seen pump-and-dump schemes coordinated over WhatsApp by people who used their real names. I have seen a man try to manipulate soybean futures from a Panera Bread.
I have never seen $2.1 billion in perfectly timed trades across five presidential announcements in a single month go uninvestigated.
But I have also never seen a compliance system work this beautifully. Every trade flagged. Every report filed. Every committee briefed. Every quarterly meeting attended. Bottled water: sparkling. Minutes: distributed.
Zero prosecutions.
As long as the flags go up and the cases don't, my performance review says I am meeting expectations.
I am meeting expectations. The system is meeting expectations. The $2.1 billion is meeting expectations. The fourteen-year-old law with zero prosecutions is meeting expectations.
The left screen moves. The middle screen moves. The right screen stays perfectly, immaculately still.
brooding men who cannot communicate their feelings if their life depended on it are only hot when they're fictional. if i have to deal with one in real life i will curse him and pray for his downfall every night before i go to bed
It's because the writer communicates their feelings for them. If people wanna pull that off in real life they need to hire a guy to walk around behind them narrating.
we must be honest with ourselves. ilya doesn’t have a domesticity kink. ilya has a deep and abiding desperate need for stability in his life. he grew up in a house where it was impossible to please his father, and his father’s moods controlled everyone and everything. his brother is an addict. he went into a career that is notoriously unstable. sure he’s playing in boston now, but tomorrow he could get traded to fucking tampa and there’s nothing he can do about it. he’s in the US on a visa that hinges on remaining employed in a sport where losing teeth and collecting concussions is a given. he’s never had a romantic relationship last more than like three days. the only person he can really rely on in his life is svetlana. and its like he said. everybody always wants more from him. more money, more effort, more time. its like he’s trying to build a house, but people keep stealing the lumber before he can even finish framing out the walls.
so. when ilya meets shane. a guy who is extremely easy to read. a guy who is a terrible liar. a guy with a routine for everything and a real estate fetish and a very neat investment portfolio. with his reliable british jeep and his practical athletic wear and his repetitive diet. guileless, responsible, predictable shane hollander, who has to be coaxed into asking for what he wants, who rarely ever asks for more than what ilya gives him, who asks ilya if he’s okay like he genuinely cares. AND he laughs at Ilya’s jokes, and has a wicked mean sense of humor that makes ilya laugh in turn, and rides that thang like he wants to die on it. like. Jesus Christ. Of course he fell in love with that. Of course his favorite thing in the whole wide world is shane nagging him about leaving his dirty socks next to the couch, or shane folding the laundry, or shane’s color-coded google calendar where he’s scheduled an hour-long block for sex every day. of course he loves leaving the socks out on purpose to piss shane off and add a little je ne sais quois to the sex that night. its like testing a mathematical equation that always spits out the same beautiful answer.
Jesus Tapdancing Christ... THIS is a good welt pocket and the people who designed Simplicity 2895 ought to be blasted well ASHAMED of themselves for the crap way THEY wanted a welt pocket made. *SNARLS*
This is how I learned to do it and a good example of what you want to see in a short form tutorial: pinning, pressing, seam finishing, good fabric handling.
I would mention that you can make the pocket facing with a small panel of your matching fabric that is visible and the rest in a lighter fabric to reduce bulk. That's a lot of denim layers for comfort.
Finally! One (1) tiktok sewing video where the demonstrator actually uses correct techniques so it comes out nice and not puckered or stretching in weird ways!
Just came home from a dinner party with the friendgroup at which several people kept saying "Ask Pedro" or "Pedro will know" and I was terrified that they were referring to an AI like Claude but no, thank fuck, they were referring to a cardboard cutout of Pedro Pascal that someone left upstairs and who has been designated a kind of patron saint status in the household.
it is unfortunate that there's no reason for most people to remember high school chemistry because the best analogy I have found for "the amount of energy that it takes me to initiate a task, which can be higher than the amount of energy it takes to actually complete the task" is "activation energy" and it's not precisely perfect but
yeah. and you can even include "thing that reduces the barrier to doing the task" as a catalyst/enzyme
anyway. unfortunately this does not actually clarify anything for the average person. but #ToMe it works
I am so glad my people are in STEM because I use this analogy all the time and it’s so useful. My fiancé will literally ask me how he can lower the activation energy when I’m stuck on a task
The Germans really cooked making "Hobbyless behaviour" an insult. It is both devastating, applicable to a wide range of people and behaviours, and doesn't resort to swearing.
Man ranting on the internet about the Superbowl halftime show or complaining that something is "woke"? Hobbyless Behaviour. Girls mocking another girl for not looking right? Hobbyless Behaviour. Mindless vandalism? Hobbyless Behaviour.
It is more powerful than "get a life" or the English "You're Sad" because it gets to the central point of the matter, and that is wonderful. Danke, Deutsch.
Hobbyless Behavior would be hobbyloses Verhalten (n.) but I usually say
someone is hobbyless - jemand ist hobbylos - or
raise a question, bist du hobbylos?! (are you hobbyless?!) or
if they can be not as hobbyless (as rn): sei mal nicht so hobbylos! (don't be so hobbyless)
Truly my favorite youth word while I was a teen (way back in 8th grade lol)
one cool thing about having an autistic dad whose special interest is underwater spearfishing is that when he catches fish he'll just call up a nearby chinese restaurant like "hi. i caught a fish. can you cook it and i'll bring my family by?" and they're like "yeah sure come on over white boy" and the fish is delicious.
it's worth adding that my mom is chinese and she always gets embarrassed by this. like she doesn't want to come to the restaurant with us. she doesn't want to be seen with the white man she caught plus the fish that her white man caught. everyone who works at the restaurant thinks my dad is awesome and compliments him + her for choosing him and we all find this very fun except for her.
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