Me: Fuck, the paper towels I want are on the top shelf.
The Sir David Attenborough That Lives In My Brain: Being smaller-than-average presents an added challenge to foraging ... but necessity is the mother of invention. A little creativity turns a baguette into a tool, and voilà--
so i go to a fuckass liberal arts college and i work at the art museum right. we recently got a yves klein piece and besides being an absolute bad bitch at judo he's mostly known for Blue. like Blue, as in he created International Klein Blue (IKB) (most blue to ever blue). this is his main thing. so we got his piece in the mail and it was flaking so we had to call in the klein foundation's restoration person and she pulls up, mixes this patented color, and sprays the flaky bits of the sculpture. beautiful wonderful it is fixed, but she has some extra left over. so very kindly she turns to the staff and goes, "does anyone have something they want me to paint." and one guy fucking lights up and with the world's most evil glimmer in his eye he asks, "will you paint my labubu." and that motherfucker, she says YES. so now. in the mueseum. in an office. in or someone's house. theres a fucking genuine klein blue labubu.
In 1944 a kitten named George (short for General Electric) was saved from drowning by a U.S. Navy crew member. George was then photographed and given a liberty card and detailed health record. Source.
Okay so one thing I love about Knights of Guinevere is the lack of cynicism about Guinevere herself. Despite the fact that she's an android and not human, despite the fact that she seems stuck in a pre-programmed fantasy world, despite the fact that she is the face of a marketing empire, Guinevere herself is not evil.
She's everything we were told as kids that princesses are meant to be. Friendly, graceful, wanting to be there for and protect children. She is a princess in need of rescue who tries over and over again to rescue herself while waiting for her knights. She is just as abused under the corrupt system in place, if not more so. Yet she still fights to protect the people who are trying to save her when she is broken. The surveillance system used by the corporation over it's citizens is something she uses to fondly remember the children she befriends.
I just love that despite how scathingly and rightfully this show criticizes Disney as a company, it never points the finger at the audience for loving princesses and wanting to indulge in fantasy, and the creativity that brought these fantasies to life were done so out of genuine love.
And anyways, that's why I'm crying over an animatronic park princess from cyberpunk horror cartoon on a Saturday morning, have a good weekend everyone.
are you fucking kidding me the red line beads are a FAR more compelling texture than the blue line. “oh but the red line is booring.” the appeal is in how it interacts with and highlights the other lines you philistine. without the red line there’s no cohesion at all. read a book.
Literally hop off. Red doesn’t even use gravity as an element in the main route. Orange is one of the only three lines (with green and yellow) to actually use gravity to add complexity to the route, and is honestly an underrated pick. Have fun playing “push left” simulator with red. Idiot.
Okay so some people can’t see objects in their imagination and some people don’t think in words and some people hear their thoughts like a voice and others don’t. I get that
But how many distinct channels do most folks have playing at once? cause my normal range is 2-4 and I though that was just what thinking was LIKE but CBD brings that down to just 1
i love the conclave. what do you mean the entire world has tv cameras trained on the chimney of an old italian palace waiting for days or weeks until the color of the smoke changes and we find out who’s been elected as the next supreme dictator of catholicism
if i was trapped in the time loop i would do the correct sequence of actions to break out of the time loop on my first try, thus resulting in me unaware of there being a time loop in the first place
that's because you're stuck in the time loop so you hear me say it every time. i on the other hand, got out perfectly so i'm experiencing time linearly as normal
ok so, I can't, like, set a precedent for every time there is a catastrophic event in my country I post a TLE spoiler because let's be real, that's gonna be every day for the next four years at least and I only have so many non-major-spoilery TLE bits to share. But I'm making my way through an emergency bottle of prosecco and texting my friends about how in the face of the endless onslaught of late stage capitalism, fanfic -- a community built purely around love and joy and not a single drop of money being exchanged -- is in a small way something radical and precious and dare I say holy (did I mention I was drunk) and that should be honored on today of all fucking days, and ALSO we should all spend less time staring at gifs of that evil-ass motherfucker doing nazi salutes and more time crafting joy and creating community with each other so
here is a lil snippet from TLE3
as with all my spoiler snippets, I reserve the right to completely rewrite this before the final draft because honestly this was mostly an exercise in me learning how to craft sentences again mid-burnout, but!!!! here, have a lil moment of joy, maybe. i love you.
Excerpt from The Last Enemy: Marauders’ End
“So, what do you think?”
Sirius turned expectantly to his best mate, who stood beside him as the boys peered through the doorway of Sirius’s second bedroom. The room had been unoccupied at the time of Sirius moving into this flat a few weeks ago. Now…it decidedly was not.
“Er…” said James, who did not quite seem to know how to answer the question.
“Her name is Lola,” Sirius added in a reverent tone.
“She has a name, does she?”
“Of course she has a name, you pig.”
“Right,” said James. “Well, then frankly, I’m a bit hurt you moved out and left me for Lola.”
Sirius knocked his shoulder against James’s. “Come on. I didn’t leave you. We’ve been over this. I’m of age, I was going to have to get my own place eventually.”
“Yeah, okay, sure, but you barely made it a month before you shacked up with your new flatmate, Lola.”
Sirius grinned. “She’s sexy, isn’t she?”
“She’s…very shiny.”
“She’s the goddamn love of my life.”
“Okay, ‘she’ is a motorbike, mate. You’ve gone completely batty.”
Sirius laughed and strode further into the room where indeed the Muggle motorbike had been set up, dominating the space. It was a thing of beauty, all sleek lines and silver glint. The floor around the motorbike was haloed with the detritus of Sirius’s last few delicious days: all sorts of mechanical bits and bobs, empty beer bottles, an ashtray, a crumpled up bag of crisps, a few oily rags, and a confusion of Muggle tools, the names of which Sirius kept mixing up — a socket wrench, he thought that one was called. The spare bed that had once been the primary feature of this room — a springy mattress James had transfigured for the nights he was too pissed to apparate home (“Mum won’t mind, she put the security spells on your flat herself.”) — had been shoved into the corner to make room for this new sacred altar.
James did not seem as impressed with Sirius’s new acquisition as he felt his friend ought to be. “You’re just jealous,” Sirius told him, “that you’ve never known a love so true.”
“Ha. Touché.”
Sirius pulled a rag from his back pocket and began to lovingly polish a spot on the seat of the motorbike.
“You know,” said James, still observing from his post at the doorway,
“I’m not sure it’s healthy, you spending so much time by yourself.”
“What time by myself?” laughed Sirius. “You’re here almost every day.”
This was true. Hardly a day had passed so far this summer that James hadn’t found a reason to come by. Not that Sirius minded. Though he’d never admit it, he liked living on his own rather less than he’d expected.
“Yeah, well…” James strode closer to inspect the motorbike. “Someone has to make sure you don’t go completely bonkers, all on your own here. Lola, I ask you. You know, if you start talking to the bike, mate, I’m hauling you off to St. Mungo’s too.”
Sirius leaned down and whispered to the handlebars: “Don’t listen to the mean man, Lola. I’d never leave you.”
James sat down on the spare bed with a mournful creak. “Besides,” he said, “Potter House is too quiet now, with you gone and dad all…entombed. Some days I think if I don’t get out, I’m the one who will go bonkers.”
Sirius turned back to his friend, suddenly somber. “Hey, you know I’m just joking, right? You’re always welcome over here. I love having you here.”
“Yeah,” said James, though the faintest tint of melancholy compromised his credulity. Sirius watched as James plucked an oil-stained rag from the bed, sniffed it, then tossed it aside with a wrinkled nose.
“How are things…?” Sirius ventured. “With your dad?” Fleamont Potter’s health had been in steady decline for years, but last Christmas things had taken a turn for the worse. The diagnosis seemed to be simply that he was old…though Sirius had a hard time wrapping his head around that. “Have things gotten any better?”
“No,” said James shortly. “And they’re not going to. It is what it is.” He glared at the wall for a brief moment, then sighed — a deep, intentional sigh, as though exhaling all his miseries in order to transform himself back to Sirius’s good-natured friend. “So…does she work?”
“The fuck d’you mean, ‘does she work?’”
“Well,” said James, “it hasn’t escaped my notice that the bike is in your spare bedroom, rather than, say, on the street. So either you and Lola have a far kinkier relationship than I care to know about…or she doesn’t work.”
A pause.
“She’s a work in progress, okay?”
“Knew it,” grinned James.
“Hey, have some respect,” said Sirius. “I’m fixing her up myself. It’s far cooler than just buying some shiny toy from a shop. This is my bike. Mine. I’ll make her fly, just you wait.” He stroked the bike handle. “Isn’t that right, Lola?”
