dyke city

aurora gwen-morrigan, 23 she, transgender lesbian, bubbiine_ on twitter

[elcycyromem]

new thing i want in video games is just meat . like a bunch of slabs of beef hanging from hooks in a dark room with only the sound of a single dripping pipe and the controls are inverted

[ohzone]

cryptid sighting??

[twistedhellknight52]

*wiggles*

O its earthworm … Ok *Steps ovee your carefily*

[toskarin]

I take a puff and then look at the chimpanzee I am supposed to be taking care of. with my enhanced empathy I know he badly wants a little bit. he does the universal primate gesture for give here. I hand him the joint, he carefully disassembles me like a lego house

[toskarin]

[cheaphalloweencostume]

made me laugh thinking abt if you do porn your boss could walk by and be like “fuckin hard or hardly fuckin?” and that might be pretty funny. well im alone there now. in our “special place”. waiting for you.

[groutik]

[toskarin]

the last photo taken of my grandfather, who was a balloonist. he didn't die here (though it'd make for a better story) but I like to think this is show he'd want to be remembered. oil on canvas.

[sea--burn]

imagine a world where humans have stronger bones and so car crashes evolve to be more brutal

[vvvarinn]

huge update

[vvvarinn]

[vvvarinn]

[peopleofgelbooru]

[threedollarsdotcom]

weve decided not to move forward with you at this position because a meteor has hit our office and destroyed the whole shit big mode. we hope your job search goes well

[toskarin]

[medievaljournalist]

theres evidence jesus was an orc. with a battle axe and everything. and green as fuck as well

[miquellakind]

a 10 step monetization program guided by compassion.

[crossroadsbishounen]

[chaumas-deactivated20240115]

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.

Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.

Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.

You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.

As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.

Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.

This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.

A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

[were--ralph]