@ paullanders_official
I'm a mess. Bless Schneider's heart, and bless Paul for noticing and caring and not being afraid to be tender.

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@laguera25
@ paullanders_official
I'm a mess. Bless Schneider's heart, and bless Paul for noticing and caring and not being afraid to be tender.
how do you get able-bodied people to care about accessibility? Have them spend a day in a wheelchair and see how they get along. This was th
Every damn one of these scenarios has been a part of my daily life. I am super glad that it makes able folks more aware and grateful, but they need to go beyond that and demand changes that lift the burden just a little for those who don't have the option of standing up when it gets too hard.
Greatest hits of FIFA cultural exchanges thus far:
Learning about flyovers and pyrotechnics at American games being a thing
Non-americans discovering the size of American football stadiums....for high schools in texas. Also the size of our stadiums in general.
Going to baseball games as a side treat! Lmao.
Non-americans losing their minds over "like, 100 petrol pumps," at buc-ees.
Related: Americans often forget how huge target and Walmart is.
People discovering American BBQ
Non-americans being obsessed with mid American restaurant chains like Golden Corral and Taco Bell
A lot of them really did feel god in this chile's apparently
The rightful obsession with waffle house
New understanding of American Big Drink With Ice supremacy as summer creeps in
Begrudging acceptance of mandatory water breaks during games
Americans realizing we have a Team USA and we are not, in fact, just "hosting our friends" from around the world — mostly because we won our first match and our team is decent??? Not amazing but not the worst.
Side rant: us women's football team is legendary good and we should care about that more like. Hello???
Admitting Americans are right about air conditioning
Related: the english team did warm ups in Florida RIP, and also the there's a video of the French team just being like fuck the heat, fuck the sun, this is so hot...
Americans who do not normally care about international football but fucking love a sport and cheering so we're just hyping whatever team is nearby, like we see a party and just show up and learn the chant. Like sorry many of us don't know shit about soccer but if we see a bunch of people in viking helmets or kilts or holding a bunch of flags and cheering we're game.
TAILGATING!!!!
I already said this but American yellow school bus is an international celebrity
The Scottish drank Boston dry of beer apparently, like they quadrupled what Boston normally sells for fourth of July weekend. SAM ADAMS HAD TO GET AN EMERGENCY BEER DELIVERY.
Also the English team fans got kicked out of The Londoner pub in Dallas after drinking 5,000 beers and going over max capacity lmao
Free refill drinks, tortilla chips & salsa.
So many non-americans are going to be here for the 4th of July for our 250th anniversary which is going to be great and hilarious
Non-americans discovering ranch as a beloved condiment
Non-americans understanding American obsession with hamburger now
Japan's homebase is in Texas and the cultural differences are frankly great and also the Japanese fans are SO NICE and helped clean up the stadium after a match???
All the short videos with the eagle screech (which I think is actually a hawk but whatever)
au where when darth vader declares that he’s Luke’s father Luke comes to the (entirely reasonable) conclusion that darth vader and anakin skywalker were married
“How could you kill your HUSBAND?!” and Luke gets away with his hand because Anakin’s too confused trying to figure out when he and Obi Wan got married and why he’s only learning about it now
Exhausted with Booktok "romance" bring back whatever this is
I second the motion
my life isnt perfect but at least im not doing a mans laundry
When I was young I was dating this absolute cocknob right as I graduated high school. More on that later.
As a present ostensibly to me (but mostly my folks) I was whisked away after graduation to spend two weeks in Europe with my parents. The plan was to see London, Paris, and Heidelberg.
I was moody and a teenager and was largely disgruntled by this fabulous adventure. I went along with sullen foot dragging and black looks. I commandeered my reprehensible boyfriends enormous black hoodie and wore it on the trip. At the start of our jaunt into London I mentioned offhandedly to my mom that it was burning when I peed.
“You’re just dehydrated, and your period is about to start.”
She was right on both counts. I upped my water content, and had my period (which may have contributed to my overall ill humors.)
So we found ourselves in a tiny hotel in Paris, a week into our jaunt, when I repeated, “Man, it just really burns when I pee.”
“What?!” my mom demanded.
“I told you like a week ago that it was burning.”
“Augh! Now we have to go to the hospital!” she proclaimed.
“What?! Why?”
“Because,” she snapped, “You have a bladder infection.”
More bickering ensued, and my temperament was not improved by knowing I’d told her I was having an issue a week ago and been ignored.
My dad heard about the itinerary shift with resignation and we trooped down the narrow stairs as a family to ask the concierge where the nearest hospital was.
The absolutely lovely man at the desk was immediately so concerned when we asked for directions. “Is everything okay?” he asked with very genuine sympathy and I muttered that everything was fine, we just needed a quick visit.
Lucky for us the hospital was only a few blocks away. We walked there and the building was massive, home to what appeared to be several separate wings but no obvious main entrance.
We wandered inside and it was like a weird dream. There was no one around. Huge echoing corridors met us as we peered in vain for a front desk or possibly signs. We searched with increasing frustration for anyone to talk to and somehow found ourselves in some tiny back offices.
A woman sat at her desk and looked bewildered to see three lost Americans approaching her. She greeted us and as a family we all simultaneously realized the massive flaw in our current course.
You see, dear reader, we did not speak French. My dad and I both spoke German. I inquired politely if she also spoke German and she shook her head looking increasingly cornered. We asked if she spoke English.
“Leetle…?” she replied.
“My daughter has a bladder infection! Blad-der?” My mother declared this at a high volume as if volume alone could bridge the communication gap, while simultaneously miming over my stomach, circling where she presumed my pelvis was under the gigantic black sweatshirt.
The woman’s expression turned extremely skeptical and she slowly repeated “Bladder…” She scrutinized me for a moment then said, “You go…. This?” And pointed to something purple on her desk.
“The purple signs?” my dad asked.
She nodded and we set off. I was stewing with resentment at my mom for having ignored my first complaint when we were in a country that spoke English. And also generalized hostility about being on the trip and the object of miming. Now here we were in a French hospital, lost and unable to communicate. I also was under no illusions that someone who didn’t know the word for purple would have any clue what bladder meant.
And slowly I realized what had actually happened as I peered at the purple signs. My mother circling my stomach with her hands, gesturing to my middle. The woman’s skeptical face.
“Hey mom,” I chirped, syrupy and smug. “I don’t speak French. But I do know that it’s a Latin based language. And wouldn’t you know, but that purple sign looks an awful lot like it says ‘maternity’ to me.”
“Shut up!” she snapped.
A few minutes later we stood surrounded by the moans of pregnant people and the cries of fresh new lungs wailing at their first taste of cold air.
I smiled sweetly at my disgruntled mother.
Luck was with us however. A nearby father noticed us and came over to ask if we needed help. With perfect English he gave us clear directions.
As we finally approached the right area for walk in services it was clear how we’d missed it the first time. A large swathe of the front of the building was covered in tarps. A huge wall sized window was broken, and construction was taking place, but at least it had a bustle of people and a clear line. We sat down in the queue of chairs.
While we sat some police officers came in. They walked up to a man ahead of us in line and with few words exchanged they handcuffed and led him politely away.
I was genuinely so out of reality. Every new thing that happened was like a bizarre dream from the empty hallways to the maternity ward and now this tarp strewn waiting room in which people could just be calmly arrested.
It was a shock to me then when we reached the front and the nurse spoke with perfectly unaccented English to assess me. Not only did she know bladder but a whole slew of other medical words I couldn’t guess at. I peed on a stick and we waited.
When we got the results she told me it was good because they could give me antibiotics today for my now confirmed infection, but bad because I’d need the doctor to sign off. I nodded and my mom and I were escorted to yet another small room to wait.
When the doctor arrived I felt suddenly gangly and awkward. I’m not tall but I towered over this tiny French woman who radiated calm composure. She seemed to be around my grandmothers age. She looked up at my blushing face and said, “Bladder infection?” Her English had a much stronger accent than the nurse but with the same medical competence.
I nodded.
She nodded too and we sat in a still contemplative moment on my UTI.
“Do you have… boyfriend?”
My face was on fire, every cell of me wanting to flee from this tiny perfect old woman. I nodded.
She nodded too. We sat still in the knowledge that I had a boyfriend and a UTI.
“Do you and your boyfriend do… it?” Her delicate accent stretched it into “eet.”
I don’t know if she didn’t know the word for sex or if she thought saying “it” was kinder but I wanted to melt into the floor and cease to exist to escape my increasing mortification and her meaningful pause. I nodded.
“Okay,” she said kindly. “When you and your boyfriend do… it… you must make pee pee.”
I writhed slightly under the psychic damage of this elegant medical professional saying “pee pee” and I nodded more emphatically hoping she’d desist this torture.
She continued. “If you and your boyfriend do… it… five times? You make five pee pees. If you do it ten times, you make ten pee pees.”
My face had never been hotter, all the blood in my body had volcanoed to my head, pounding in my ears and valiantly attempting to give me an aneurism to end my suffering. There is no mortification as acute to a teenager as an adult talking about sex and here was this medical professional telling me about… it.
Meanwhile, my mother. Who should have been regretting her poor parenting and reflecting on her neglect in failing impart this vital part piece of sex ed to her kid. Alas, she was laughing herself sick the corner. She added to my embarrassment by quietly repeating “pee pee” and “it” under her breath as she wheezed and chortled.
The doctor patted my hand kindly and handed me the antibiotics. I got to spend the rest of my trip in Europe avoiding direct sunlight and listening to my mother parrot “Do you do… eet?”
Amazon: After that absolutely WTF, lackluster The Boys series finale, have some more Vought so that Eric Kripke can have fun with his bestie, Jensen Ackles some more.
No, thanks, I can drive.
I love Jensen Ackles, but man, oh, man, did they do Karl Urban dirty. Man carries The Boys for four seasons and they kick him in the ass to make it the SPN reunion jamboree.
For shame, Kripke.
@johannavoelkel Instagram
Schneider's birthday celebration in 2026
He is absolutely toasted, but nobody should make that doofy crown look that natural.
By California-based artist Maybell Eequay.
Libraries are sneaky, because once you go in, it's soo easy to get a library card, and once you have one, you can pretty much grab one of everything of all the stuff they have there with no consequence, and take it home. But then once you're home and you've read all the stuff you'll have to go back to the library to return the stuff, and once you're at the library again, you're at the library again, so might as well pop in to see what they got, and then you're hauling half their shit home again, and then you'll need to return to the library to return them, so you're at the library again
And the next thing you know you've read 3000 books, your crops are clear and your skin is watered, an angel descents from the heaven to suck your dick twice a week, and also you've got some books to return so you've got a perfectly valid reason to go pop in to the library. Just a little bit.
official library post
Happy Birthday, Schneider! Here's to celebrating all sides of you. 🖤
Absofuckinglutely, ma'am.
I absolutely would put this in my yard.
Moscow journalist interviews a penguin (1966)