For a number of years, my husband and I have had a running joke about trying to find the stupidest and unsexiest tramp stamp possible. Some of the contenders were Grandpa's janky bed from Stardew Valley or maybe SuperGrover, but none of them seemed quite right.
A year ago I noticed in the notes that my infamous bear post was 9 years old. I joked to my husband, "What if I got that as a tramp stamp?" We laughed. We paused. "But no, for real maybe I should do that," so I set a challenge. The post had just over 400,000 notes at the time, and I thought, "Maybe if it gets to half a million before the 10 year anniversary," but then decided, "That's too easy. They'll do that in a month or two." And you would have, so I upped it to the next nice round number of a million, knowing 2 things: 1: you'd never make it to a million (especially since I had comments turned off for the first six months until I figured out how to turn them back on), and 2: I was always going to do it anyway.
I was hoping to get more of it done before the deadline and was even scheduled for another session, but then my husband broke his foot and I had to reschedule and my tattoo artist left for France, so I won't be able to get it finished until probably July or August. There's more to be added and cleaned up, including colour, but here it is right now. I did not want to share my butt crack with the entire internet, so please enjoy the surrogate butt crack.
well, no, i didn’t expect leopards to eat my face, but this obviously wasn’t what the leopards eating people's face party wanted. they were stifled by their opposition and bureaucratic red tape! i think we should give more power to the leopard eating face party, so the leopards only eat the faces of people who deserve it. plus they just put a new leopard in charge of the face eating, and i think this one really brings something new to the table. so yes i'm voting for the leopards eating people's face party again. why wouldn't i.
As we barrel into another Pride Month, we will inevitably all see the stupidest, coldest, most reductive, exclusionary, assimilationist nonsense discourse simmer to the surface of social media again like scum foaming up on a long simmering soup.
And when that happens, whether it's garbage takes about trans people, or ace people, or nonbinary people, or neopronouns, or he/him lesbians, or bi women with boyfriends, or furries, or *what the fuck ever*- remember-
You do not need to quibble over the details. You do not need verbally spar on every hill that dipshits want to die on.
Just stop and ask- hey, does this fucking matter?
Does it matter if some queer people do _____? Does it cause any actual, measurable, material harm? Is this *actually* a problem? Be specific. Beyond just 'it makes me uncomfortable' and 'but that doesn't make sense' - does it actually *matter*?
Because if the answer is no, then who the fuck cares?
I don't care if something is confusing, or illogical, or weird, or makes you uncomfortable. Does it actually harm anyone? No? Then mind your fucking business.
Its not your responsibility to Lincoln-Douglass debate every overzealous puritan and under-informed tween on the complex nuance and inherent political context of the queer experience. Focus on what matters . Ask them what, if any, harm does ____ actually do, and THAT is all you need to address. (Oh you wanna defend ___ spaces? Which spaces specifically? What are you worried about happening? Oh is ____ normalizing ____? Does it? Does that...matter?)
Because even if other people dont like it, Queer People will continue to be weird, messy, confusing, contradictory, illogical, and strange as we all do our fucking best to be ourselves as best we can be. The way we survive and grow and thrive is by giving each other the grace and space to do so, whether or not we deeply, logically resonate with whatever others have going on.
And we don't talk shit about each other. We don't take pot shots at the queers who are queerer than we are. Throwing other queer people under the bus has never made things better.
So. Circle the wagons, close the ranks, and get comfortable rubbing elbows with people who are, you know, freaks and weirdos.
everything is truly so terrible but i just remembered doreen ketchens playing clarinet for her infant grandson and then i was kind of okay again for 36 seconds
If your trans activism stops at binary trans people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at trans women, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at trans men, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at gender conforming people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at perisex people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at monogender people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at people who label themselves at all, or at people who label themselves in the way that makes sense, and is not "contradictory", to you, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at white people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at abled and neurotypical people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at thin people, you're not a trans ally.
If your trans activism stops at singlets, you're not a trans ally.
And gentle reminder that you need to put in active effort to be a trans ally even if you are trans yourself. There are a lot of people, similar and different to you, going through different and similar things, and you need to act as an ally to anyone that is not you.
IT’S NOT FUNNY IT’S VERY LOGICAL THAT HE WOULD HAVE ADJUSTED TO LIVING LIFE WHILE HE WAS IN SPACE BECAUSE IT’S DIFFERENT FROM EARTH BUT I CAN’T FUCKING BREATHE
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Sam “held a burning hot coal until it nearly took the skin off his hand while maintaining perfect calm and eye contact with the asshole in need of intimidation Just Because” Vimes? Sam “sitting on the stoop with a mug of cocoa and a cigar, cautiously aware of every inch of the scene he’s building” Vimes? Sam “could just tear his sleeve to show the mark of the Summoning Dark but instead tears off his whole goddamn shirt” Vimes? A drama queen? Reaching a bit don’t you think
Yep, certainly doesn’t seem to describe Sam “pretends to eat poison as a power move” Vimes. Not Sam “buries an axe in the table in the Rats Chamber” Vimes.
I mean are we really talking about Sam “yes a whole room full of candles with wicks dipped in holy water is the best way to beat this vampire” Vimes, here? Sam “has fought bad guys on top of a speeding train AND a riverboat during a flood” Vimes, really? Definitely Sam “nearly gets shot in the head by a crossbow bolt that shatters his shaving mirror and then uses the bolt to prop up a shard of said mirror to finish shaving” Vimes we’re discussing here?
vimes did not resign from his post in protest, observe the rest of the watch resign from their posts in protest, recruit them into a militia, sail to the country they were at war with, and attempt to arrest two different armies for disturbing the peace so you could sit here and call him a drama queen, as though drama was some myffic quality bestowed by an accident of birth and not the inherent right of every creatively petty and histrionic citizen of ankh-morpork
A woman not shaving or wearing a dress or wearing makeup or wearing femme clothes or having styled or long hair or caring how she looks or using a masc name or whatever else is actually a neutral thing and not a sign of her being depressed or giving up or being sad or whatever
this was submitted as a one sentence horror story, but it feels like it could be an old jewish joke, like the one about the two rabbis proving g-d doesn't exist or the saying 'people plan, g-d laughs'
Even more, it sounds like the beginning -- the set-up -- of the joke. Can’t you hear Carl Reiner opening a bit with this line, or Shalom Aleichem using it to kick off a story?
Well I'm not quite an old Jewish man just yet, but let me give it a shot...
Losing confidence in Himself, G-d became an atheist. He decided to go down to Earth, to walk among humans and see how they found meaning.
He wandered the world until he came to a town, where he happened upon a pastor. "Come to our church this Sunday!" said the pastor. But G-d shook his head. "I don't believe in G-d anymore," he told the pastor sullenly. "And besides, I really shouldn't be working weekends." . . .
He continued wandering, and as night fell, he realized he had no money for a hotel. Walking down the darkening sidewalk, he passed many shivering folk, some young and thin, others old and worn and grizzle-bearded, looking not unlike himself. Just as the rain began to fall, he happened upon a priest. The priest looked him up and down, and said, "You look cold, my son. We're hosting a men's shelter at the church tonight; you can sleep there, and come to Mass tomorrow." This time G-d agreed. He slept well and was warm, and in the morning sat for Mass. They blessed him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, but he felt beside himself and decided to leave.
By this time G-d was quite hungry. He stopped by a deli, but still had no money, so all he could do was watch the fresh steaming bagels be made. On a bench outside the deli, a man was eating a bagel with lox. As he finished eating, G-d noticed there were still some scraps of food on the waxpaper. Unable to help himself, he asked if he could have the scraps, before the man threw it away. "Please sir, I'm so hungry. I'd just like that crumb of bagel there, and that little shred of lox. I think I could make a bisl of fish last quite a while." The man shook his head. "I cannot in good conscience give you my trash," he said, "But come inside, I'll get you your own bagel. I'd offer to get you coffee—but that's trash too."
So the man bought G-d some breakfast and sat with him on the bench. "Thank you so much," said G-d. "How can I ever repay you?" But the man just shrugged and said, "I'm a rabbi. Buying bagels I don't get to eat is part of the job description."
G-d thanked the rabbi again, and ate in silence. "Rabbi, can I ask you a question? I feel I haven't been on this Earth too long, but already I've seen much misery. How do you do it? How do you still believe in G-d?"
The rabbi pondered this. "I believe in joyful things. I believe in kindness, and people choosing to help each other. And isn't that a kind of godliness?" (G-d suspected there was a bit more to godliness than that, but he let it slide.) The rabbi continued: "I've prayed to G-d every day for the last 30 years, and I will every day til I die. And if He answers my prayers, all the better! But tell me, my new friend, what's your name?" G-d hesitated and said, "It's a little hard to pronounce..." The rabbi chuckled and said, "No matter. Say, it won't be anything like Shabbos dinner, but my wife is baking a delightful fig pie today, and I'd like to have you over for dinner to enjoy it." G-d nodded. "I do like figs..."
That evening, G-d sat for dinner with the rabbi, the rabbi's wife, and their four children. The meal was delicious, the rabbi's family was incredibly welcoming. Their conversation was friendly but never prying, and the children laughed and played with each other. Several times, the youngest child tugged on G-d's sleeve for his attention before her father motioned for her to go play with her siblings. G-d began to see what the rabbi had meant about the joyfulness of life.
At the end of the night, G-d stood up to leave, and felt renewed. The rabbi said, "My friend, don't leave us so soon!" And G-d replied, "I will always be with you, for I am the Lord Your G-d." And they understood it to be true.
He had done this sort of thing a few times before and generally knew how it went. As expected, the rabbi and his family fell to their knees, weeping with joy and awe. He did not expect the youngest child to walk right up and tug G-d's sleeve again. He smiled graciously down at her, and she looked up with the wonderful bright eyes of a child who understands nothing but the urge to play. In a high voice, she said, "Knock knock!" G-d couldn't help but laugh. "Who's there?" He replied cheerfully.
Suddenly from across the room, the rabbi swore loudly and rudely. Dismayed, G-d asked, "What troubles you?" He saw the rabbi was trembling, half in rage and half in embarrassment. "I'm sorry Lord! Thank you for this, thank you so much for gracing us with your light, Baruch Atah and so on, it's just..." The rabbi swore again. "Thirty years of daily prayer, Lord, and a KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE is what you'll answer?"
hey captain-acab, this is the highest compliment i can bestow: it would not have surprised me had i found that story in a book of traditional fables in the shul library
Look, someone has to be the first to make up any traditional Jewish story, why not @captain-acab? If we all keep telling it, then in a generation or two it'll be traditional.
The Misunderstood @hubris-i - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
