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Cat: *pulls handle to turn tap on* Tap: *turns on* Cat:
The catâs face đ

shark vs the universe

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Acquired Stardust
Sade Olutola

Discoholic đȘ©
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Claire Keane

ç„æ„ / Permanent Vacation
we're not kids anymore.
d e v o n
Jules of Nature
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
wallacepolsom
trying on a metaphor

romaâ

@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@hells-will-88
đ
Cat: *pulls handle to turn tap on* Tap: *turns on* Cat:
The catâs face đ
credit: [tmblr] [twitter]
yall oh my god
me @ 2am clicking proceed on ao3
This is what I woke up to at 7 am
Weâll never reach this level of comedy again⊠:(
My RDR2 playthrough
ÊÉq É ÉŻ,ᎠâÊÇqÉq âÊÉq É ÉŻ,ᎠoÉ„ooÉ„oÉ„ ÇÉ„ÇÉ„ÇÉ„
The generational divide came and punched them in the face
i just found out merriam webster has a time traveler feature that tells you some of the words that were âbornâ the same year as you. itâs pretty neat yall should do this
i was born with vape and i will die with vape
I was born with judgy
I was born with f-bomb and I think that says a lot about me.Â
Anime.
Welp, that certainly explains a lot.
[Cat meows, but itâs been autotuned]
On Asian "accents"
It started when I was in kindergarten, and I was so proud I did not have to go to Bingo class, unlike my friends, because I could speak good English -
although I had no idea what a yellow dog that could spell had anything to do with Chinese.Â
(I figure out now that it was probably called Bilingual class)
I am lucky. I speak the fluent, accentless English of newscasters, the dialect spoken by the children of immigrants, that we learned not from our parents but rather from watching Sesame Street and other things on tv.
Last year, a white facebook friend of mine posted, âIn order to celebrate Chinese New Year, me talk rike chinese man arr day.âÂ
And then told me that she was âsorry I was offendedâ and âshe didnât mean anything by itâ when I (nicely, sweetly) told her that that shit was not okay. She said that she saw it the same as doing an accent, like Irish. Or British. Or Italian. (for bonus points, she even said that she has lots of Asian co-workers and friends, and LOVES Asian people, and so is not a racist.)
And when one of my white friends gets drunk, he thinks his âAsian accentâ is hilarious.
And I was told by a coworker about the time my Asian coworker mispronounced âBarrowayâ as âBwawwowayâ and how hilarious it was.
Hereâs the thing - can you guess how many Asian people I know who actually say
me rikey
me from _____
me so solly
(or, if you like, the fetishized versions: me so horny, me love you long time)
if you said ZERO, then ding ding ding! Congratulations, you have working brain cells.
No, my misguided fb friend, the âAsian accentâ is not an actual imitation of an accent, comparable to your bad British/Irish/Italian - but rather a mockery of Asian people and their supposed inability to speak English. It is the perpetuation of the image of Asian people as perpetual foreigners in America.
Like that time when my family was at an Italian restaurant, and we were speaking to my father in Cantonese, and a drunken white lady said very loudly, âGOD when you come to this country at least learn the language!â
Or when my father was pulled over for speeding, and although he said âwhatâs the problem, officer?â the first thing the state trooper said was, âDo you speak English?â
Your fake âAsian accentsâ are not harmless and silly, because at the root of the joke, it says - you, you are stupid. You cannot speak English. You are Other. You do not belong.
my parents have been in this country for 30 years. They have been American citizens for 30 years.
And they are very self-conscious of their imperfect English, afraid that it makes them look ignorant, knowing that it marks them as immigrants. That, after 30 years, you can still be told (in not so many words) that you do not belong.
The Cultural Revolution started in China when my father was 13. He was pulled out of school and, later, sent to work in the fields. (He escaped to Hong Kong when he was 18, but that is another story for another time.)
When my father came to this country, he had a middle school education and did not speak a lick of English. He worked as a busboy at a Chinese restaurant, the evening shift that ran until 3 or 4 in the morning, and went to school during the day.
It took my father ten years to earn his bachelorâs degree. He is now an engineer.
Is this not your âAmerican Dream?â
When my mother came to this country, she spoke very little English. She got a job as an entry level clerk. Over the years she earned one promotion after another. She is now management at a large federal agency, and manages funds for the whole state.
Is this not your âAmerican Dream?â
And my father didnât understand why his coworkers said, âflied lice, flied lice!â to him over and over and laughed.
And my father is still afraid to speak in a professional setting, even when he has ideas.Â
And my mother still checks and double checks her professional e-mails with me, for fear of mockery from the same people she manages.
And people donât understand why I canât take a harmless joke. Why I donât think that shit is funny.
No, I donât ârikey.âÂ
No, I wonât âlove you long time.â
And no, Iâm not sorry.
So, please, kindly - FUCK OFF.
Reblogging this for, like, the fiftieth time because it has never stopped being relevant to my life and it always, always breaks my heart.
Itâs not funny. Itâs not okay. Itâs not harmless. Itâs alienating and hurtful.
i watched good omens
Aziraphael, about Crowley: One time when we were about 6000 years old he transformed himself into a snake and I picked it up to admire it and he transformed back into himself and was like âMBLERGH ITâS ME!â and I was so happy to see him I kissed him. I love him so much.
Imagine, if you will, Crowley growing flowers with sole intention of giving them to Aziraphale, in the hope that he will finally get the messageâŠ
Each one is terrified into being the most beautiful it can possibly be and given in a neat bunch at the start of every meetup they have. The first bunch sits in a vase on Aziraphaleâs desk for exactly three days before it vanishes. Itâs even less time before the second bunch disappears and less time than that for every bunch that comes after. By the end of it, Crowley comes to the conclusion (with a pang of⊠something) that Aziraphale must be throwing them away as soon as Crowley leaves, because theyâre never there when he returns. Deciding that heâs either been subtly rejected or that Aziraphale just really doesnât like flowers, (that one of those possibilities is more likely than the other is a thought that Crowley loves to ignore) he stops growing them.Â
Itâs on an average evening, weeks later, that he finds out the truth. The two of them are drinking together in the bookshop when Aziraphale makes a comment about Crowley not bringing him flowers any more. Of course Crowley brushes it off with as much dignity and nonchalance as he can muster in the wake of his failure being rubbed in his face. And of course Aziraphale doesnât even seem to take notice of that, instead suddenly standing up like heâs forgotten something and scurrying away behind a shelf. He returns moments later with what appears to be a thick, slightly-wrinkled tome, which he promptly hands to Crowley. He opens it.
The pages are blank, in the sense that thereâs nothing notable written on them. Except that there is still something on each of them; for every page there has been placed a perfectly pressed and preserved flower. Unmistakably the ones Crowley gave to him, not a single one unaccounted for. And so, Crowley takes up growing flowers again and Aziraphale keeps the book on his favorite shelf at all times - except when he frequently brings it down to admire the contents, of course - as one of his most prized possessions.
RIP RIP RIP i can never interact with my neighbor again holy fuck
i was outside w/ my cat just now. and he went behind a shrub for a bit, and me not realizing my neighbor was on the other side of that same shrub, poked my head round and said way louder than necessary, âmy SCRUMPTIOUS darling boy, what ever are you doing over there??â
and this 40-something man i very rarely speak to handled it w/ remarkable grace and very tentatively responded ââŠ..watering my.. roses? you?â
coffee shop auâs, regency auâs, fine, good, whatever. you know what your fandom really needs? a clue au. lock your six faves in a giant house and hold them to account for their canon crimes.
Me: *tells a âcompletely normalâ and âkinda funnyâ annecdote from my childhood that totally wasnât traumatic at all and probably happens to everyone at some point*
My Therapist: *winces*