There are so many things in this great wide world and I have so many things to say about any one of them. Oh yeah, I'm gay and like dicks. There will be a varying amount of gayness and the occasional dick on here. Just a small warning.
out of the backyard gang baljeet is one of the worst to make into a coffee table. ferb would also be pretty bad. phineas and isabella would be mid because they have those bigass heads but the skinny bodies. might be worse than baljeet and ferb if you're a person who cares about symmetry. buford would objectively make the best coffee table because his silhouette has the most evenly-spaced surface area. now if you wanna talk about pnf characters in general i think pet mode perry would be the best coffee table out of all of them
Analyzing the politics of a work that's meant to be apolitical is actually a really interesting exercise because it asks you to critically examine what the creator considers to be "political" in the first place. Which ideas are just How Things Are, and which ones are Political, and how is that influenced by the creator's beliefs?
Angrily lashing out at the suggestion that it's possible to do basic media analysis was foundational to the ragebait ecosystem of the 2010s, from which we got basically the entire culture of modern far right politics, btw.
I went outside and got an education, that's where I learned that you can obtain knowledge and insight through analytical methods, then noticed that some people who sit on the internet yelling at strangers get really mad about that constantly.
The parking attendant paused by the double-length bay. Intended for mobile homes and cars with trailers, it was currently occupied by a sleeping dragon.
No parts of it extended beyond the lines, and the paper ticket was clearly displayed, impaled on a horn.
I told my friend today that Kars4kids wasn't a charity for needy children and it blew his mind so I figured you guys would wanna know this too.
Not only is Kars4kids not a charity for needy children, it's actually an organization with deep ties to Israel. Specifically it's linked to Oorah in Israel. If you're unfamiliar with Oorah the only thing you need to know about them is that they'll fund trips to Israel for youth groups/students looking to take a gap year in Israel and contribute to the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians.
K4k sends 60% of the money they receive to Oorah and the rest goes back into marketing. They even spent like $20 million on real estate purchases in Israel.
They just got banned from advertising in California because of how they have mislead donors. Anyway if you didn't know now you know.
Mystery car trouble incites Claude to figure out his way home. He can think of five options. No matter which option he chooses, the resulting changes are sure dull his mind into a younger man he'd dread to have in his lectures.
Five more short TFs, each following one man's rough ride home! All include some degree of musk, muscle, and a regression back to his own college days with far less brain weighing him down Hope you enjoy! -Occam
Claude was barely able to steer his car off into the shoulder as it started spewing smoke. Idling forward into a nearby parking lot to try and figure out his next steps, the young professor is beyond pissed at his stroke of bad luck.
After taking his time to recover and go over his best options to get home he finds himself of five minds. Six if you count just steering it back into traffic without looking both ways, but he’s not actually humoring that. Leaving him with this peanut galley of ideas:
He’s got a tool kit, he can give it a go. (Latino Twunk)
Get it towed to a shop and drive a rental. (Brainless Influencer)
He’s got the money for it, might as well uber. (OF Jock)
He does get free bus fare. (Football Bro)
Fuck it he can walk. (Horny Slob)
Fix It:
“God damnit!” After burning his hand for a third time Claude was ready to reconsider this whole approach. Just before throwing in the towel the young professor notices the dilemma. Holding his phone’s flashlight into the labyrinth of pipes under his engine he sees the glimmer of leaking oil.
‘Oh? Well that’s not too bad right?’ He thinks to himself squinting to find the origin of the sprung leak. He’s immediately distracted from his hunt as from across the parking lot a younger man shouts, sounding about the age of one of his students
“‘Ey Hermano! Nece- Need a hand?”
Yeah he’ll take whatever he can get, “S’yeah, please!” scowling at the pipes he tacks on an, “Hermano to hermano yeah?” The sound of flip flops echoes under the car and he second guesses inviting the man over. Preparing to chide the too casual footwear he gasps as his own feet cramp.
Quickly looking down to check his shoes he frowns as he feels his own sandals hug his wider feet tighter, Claude’s mouth falls open as something feels off. Didn’t he hate open toed shoes. Ademas- er also, are his feet darker?
“So bro! ¿Qué pasa? What do you need?”
Mouth still open, the fumes from his car must be making him lightheaded. His arms feel heavier as the sleeves constrict and shrink into a jersey. Buttons dissolve into the same shiny lycra material of the rest of his shirt as it hugs a torso hardening as it grows to fill the clingy top.
“Can you get me el eh- the epoxi” His words are increasingly accented as his rougher palm awaits the sealant from his little bro. You shortens as if he’s more familiar with some other word for it? Words begin to swim through his head before they’re replaced with ones that feel more correct. More him.
His dress pants suction to his bulking thighs as they rapidly shorten into tight athletic shorts. With every lost inch they brighten into his fútbol team’s trademarked verde. So too do his atrophied legs darken and grow into meaty legs far more at home on the field than in the stands.
His companion shifts to speak entirely in Spanish. “Ves la fuga, Claudio?” (See the leak?)
Firmer arm lengthening to throw on the most temporary of seals, Claudio smirks as he feels some oil trickle down his arm. It’ll just make him look more like a man, getting cockier he begins to smell his own heady musk even more prominently than the motor oil staining his sweaty arm.
And there’s nothing those twinks down at college want more than a real man. Dreamy look in his eyes he starts to get worked up as his sweat begins to suction lycra even tighter to his tight bronze skin. Well he can think of one thing they like more.
“Ay guey! Don’t you have shorts that actually fit!?”
Dumb smile on his face, Claudio reaches down to bounce the still growing package only highlighted by his tight shorts. Mustache and goatee knitting itself across his face, his voice cracks lower as he claws out from under the car. “Es para sus, eh, classmates, si? Ellos love mi Claudito, mano!”
Scoffing Claudio’s little brother hops in the passenger seat as he waits for his older brother to drive him to class. “Rapidamenta Claudio!” Doing his best not to watch as his once role model waddles to put a tool-kit in the trunk before hopping in the driver’s seat and blaring reggaeton, Claudio’s brother wonders if he just should have taken the bus…
Rental:
By the time he figured out how to unlock the rental that AAA dropped off for him, their tow truck had already made off with his own pitiful ride. Sighing as he sees a trickle of oil left in its wake Claudio takes a deep breath before sidling into the driver’s seat with a grunt.
Good thing he did so before getting in as the scent of the car he’s now set up to drive is in not so many words abhorrent. Covering his nose with his hands, Claude’s lungs struggle against the air of a cabin that seems to have primarily stored some frequently used gym clothing. The pitiful attempt to cover it up with body spray did nothing but highlight the unmistakable odor.
As soon as he smells the musk, Claude begins to feel the heat that would surely cause it. Stodgy suit jacket still on he hurls it to the back seat before pinching the bridge of his nose at the humiliating state of his temporary accommodation. Feeling sweat trickle down his cheeks, he reaches up to wipe it with a sleeve only to be surprised at the lack of friction against his beard.
Right, his beard? Usually it’s way more annoying when he’s sweating but now the hair on his head seems to be holding way more sweat. Still almost panting in the humid air of the car, Claude reaches to turn on the air which does a great job circulating the b.o. if nothing else.
Scratching his cheek to find it sweaty and smooth, the adjunct, or T.A., whatever he is, shakes his head like a dog to try and find lucidity. The only thing this tactic produces is flinging globules of sweat as his straight previously-thinning hair lengthens into messy, sweat-filled curls.
Mouth dry despite the atmosphere of sweat, he clears his throat a few times and speaks to check his vocal chords like a mic. “Ugh I need- woah…” Grasping at his throat he can’t believe his ears as his tone sounds lighter, unburdened by a decade of lecturing and office hours. Beyond that it sounds well past the line of unintelligence “Fuck bro I feel weird. Like, good killer but weird…”
Where his sweaty hair sent stains cascading into his made for a lectern slightly dressy suit, the fabric begins to cheapen and stain with even more salt as it reshapes into his cheap gym fit. Scratching at his chest as his thin, barely present pecs begin to pulse and fill his forming tank, Claude pulls down the mirror to look at his reflection.
This half moment of stunned silence drives him up a wall and he begins to fill every waking moment with his droning commentary. “Shit I look so good? Like I’m 22 again, erm. Wait I am twenty two right uhh, right chat? Wait uh, no who’s chat?”
Averting his eyes from his reflection as what’s left of his facial hair reforms into a mustache so blonde and sparse that it may as well not even hide on his upper lip, Claude turns to find his cellphone in a stand on his passenger seat.
“Awh shit I was gonna stream after the gym wasn’t I?” Thoughtless eyes stare at his phone as his arms weary from a pump send a few tears through his sleeves before it entirely reshapes into a tank. “Well they won’t mind, they’ll eat up whatever they can get.”
Acting nonchalant as he starts the timer he waits as long as he can before speaking up, which ends up being one second as his body finishes readjusting. “What? You guys pissed? Trust, trust if you could smell my post-gym bro stank you’d be grateful I’m streaming at all steada just pumpin’ one out. LMAOOOO Chat- Chat C’mon heheh!”
Turning his car into drive as he hears donations and messages pour into his inbox, the antithesis to a professional streamer hits the road. Left and on the wheel his watch reforms from a luxury timepiece to a cracked e-watch.
“Shit might have to end early bros…” Taking a deep breath of his car he hears the water bottle crinkle against his crotch as he feels a post-gym nut calling to him. Side-eying the chat to see if anyone notices, keeping up the mindless charade of content creation until it is no longer a charade but who he is.
Uber:
“Hey thanks for the ride!”
“No problem no problem? Spose that smokin’ hunk of junk right there is yours?”
Slightly annoyed at the slight, Claude frowns as he gets into the rear seat. Given it is indeed immobile in a parking lot he lets it slide. “Yeah right on the money, I guess. Sir.”
“Hooah, wouldn’t expect someone like you to be callin’ me sir! I’m tellin ya, everyone’s always sayin kids yer age got no respect well I’ll tell em there’s good kids like youse out there!”
Having already assumed the driver was just complimenting him for being polite to someone below his station, when he suggests Claude is generationally younger than himself, the prof feels something isn’t adding up.
“Right. Kids my age.” Already feeling less charitable to the man, Claude yanks out his phone and inspects himself to see why this dumbass thinks he’s apparently some fuckin’ runt. Talking about respect like he’s not- Scowling at his reflection the anger rests heavy on his mind and brow before he realizes how aggro he was all of a sudden.
Claude brushes some hair drooping slightly lower out of his eyes before it stiffens and sticks up into some bushy crew cut before reaching to scratch his itchy cheeks. Surprised at his stubble being slightly thicker, really almost a beard, he does his best to raise his eyebrows out of a glare but they seem to just be resting lower on his face. Probably thanks to listening to that asshole in the driver’s seat yammering.
God he’s itchy. Why’d he even wear this jacket!? Struggling to get it off he undoes his seatbelt which the driver would surely make a reasonably big deal about if he didn’t gasp in shock to find his car suddenly filled with Claude’s pridefully maintained musk.
Adjusting his mirror to look at his increasingly crude customer, the driver can hardly believe what has become of the polite young man he thought he was driving. In the process of raising a cheap sweat-stained gym tank to take a selfie, he scratches at wiry and thick hair racing to cover his slight muscled chest and tight waist.
Tongue drifting across his teeth, veins bulge out of his arms as his nipples puff out to a degree begging for a piercing. Stainless steel encircles every more usual site, piercing his ears as more than a few fingers feel cold metal tighten on his knuckles.
“Hey kid, yer uh kinda in my… car…” Still half-watching his passenger as they drive down an empty straightaway, the driver sees a ringed hand reach down to pull at his pants. His newly formed treasure trail widens as it stretches tantalizingly close to a dick fermenting in its own sweat.
Pubes trimmed neater than the bushy stubble on his face, his thin fingers keep his free-balling cock just out of sight. After snapping a pic Claude’s eyes shift from a warm brown to a stormy blue as mysterious as the storm cloud surrounding them. They then make direct contact with his driver’s in the rearview mirror.
“Yo bitch, eyes on the road. This shit ain’t free.”
Immediately gripping the steering wheel enough to cramp, the driver focuses on the road as much as he’s able with his nose still being assailed by his passenger’s post-gym aura. Hearing the man scratch at some bushy body hair, desperate to know which patch, the driver barely finds it within him to obey the man’s command. But he does. He’s a good- uh…
“Tell ya what bitch. You’re drivin’ me to a meeting with a ‘coworker’ right now. Gotta feeling I won’t be completely satisfied by the time we’re done working. You sit outside and wait for me and maybe I’ll find it within myself to give you somethin’ I know you want.”
Struggling to not pant, the driver can’t believe he’s being talked down to like this. Some small shred of his lucid mind swears he wasn’t even into men like this. Into men at all!?
“Yo. I asked you a question, answer.”
Stumbling over himself the driver nods, “Y- Sir yes sir. I’ll be right here.”
Sneering as he kicks open the door, he laughs as he wanders over to some other content creator’s house. “‘Sides it’s the only tip you’re gonna get from me so you better get ready, heh. Be out when I’m done.”
Bus:
It’s only right he uses the bus. He’s always telling his students to use more public transit. It would be hypocritical of him not to take advantage of the very same resource at this juncture. Finding it mostly empty, Claude’s prepared for a nice quiet ride home.
It is not to come as at the very next stop some less than considerate man sits directly next to him and begins humming along to something in his headphones. Immediately the young professor yearns for the bubble of personal space that a car allows. Quickly digging through his bag to find some headphones, Claude yearns to at least pretend like he’s alone.
Finding his go-to wireless earbuds dead, Claude sighs and prepares to simply raw dog this bus ride, as his students would say. Then miraculously at the bottom of the bag he finds some long neglected wired headphones in a tangled mess. Throwing one earbud in, he does his best to get the wire straightened out while listening to a podcast.
Frustration comes quickly. Usually adept at untangling and cleaning up wires, something about Claude’s hands just feels clumsier today. Struggling to get his fingers to undo the simplest of knots is only making more of a mess. Beyond that his trusty NPR radio host is increasingly grating to him.
If he wanted to be talked down to he’d be back at school with uh, with Coach. What? No, with his dean or supervisor, he means. Obviously. Tabbing over to a playlist he doesn’t remember making, the sound of Drake is like a balm to his nerves.
Tension drips away from his shoulders as he rolls them back. Focussed intently on undoing the knot as he mouths along to a song he’d never be caught dead listening to. With each pumping beat of blasting bass and every slurred bar, Claude’s stick-thin arms begin to twitch larger.
Slowly bopping along to the music his arms bloat to a size that would require daily trips to the gym to earn. Sinking slightly paler as they put on mass and strain his once baggy button-up, his dulling mind doesn’t even notice the inky patterns staining his rapidly developing forearms and biceps.
When he’s so intently focused on a particularly annoying kink in the cord, he raises his left hand to thoughtlessly start chewing on his nails. Realizing what he’s doing only when he finds the already chewed-up fingernails scratching at his teeth, he shifts to instead throw the wire straight in his mouth. Finding progress far more pleasant with the cord in his mouth, Claude smiles vaguely and redoubles his effort.
Arms absolutely tear his long sleeves to tatters as his wider chest pops off the top few buttons of his short before it reforms into a presentable gym tee. Needs to look good for the program. Oral fixation notwithstanding. Feeling a small cowlick on his forehead tickle his brow as it curls into a pouf of curls, Claude throws his hand into a much lighter backpack to retrieve a ball cap.
Tossing it on backwards, duh, the king of his team’s locker room smirks as he at last gets it undone. Immediately throwing up a celebratory flex that strains his just reformed sleeves, the team captain bumps into some nobody pencil-pusher who scoffs at him.
Not taking that sitting down the alpha just stares at him until he apologizes and gets back to whatever lameshit he’s doing on his ipad. Probably some jerkoff prof taking the public bus to set a good example, lmao. Claude wouldn’t be on this shit right now if his coach didn’t pay him to set a good example. Whatever that fuckin’ means.
Whatever coach wants, coach gets.
Fuck It I'll Walk:
“Fuck it, hehhuh… I’ll just ugh- walk he says…” Panting as his undone tie and suit jacket are already tossed into his bag, Claude is finding the spring day unseasonably warm. Dress shoes do their best to give him blisters more with every step as his slacks and starched cotton dress shirt continue to chafe.
Stomping up a hill, Claude moans that he’d rather be wearing any other shoe in the world right now aside from these expensive loafers he picked out exclusively to teach in. It just so happens after his next stumble his wish is granted.
Looking down past his untucked top dripping with sweat, Claud can hardly believe his eyes as his leathery shoes burst off his feet to reform into significantly larger tennis shoes. Somehow not affecting his gait, Claude sees his feet balloon in size before they’re covered in tennis shoes that- well, let’s just say they’re not to his taste.
Frowning down at them, as he continues barrelling forward, Claude watches as in real time they get even worse. Initially they’re at least clean, if not gaudy. With every dragged step onward they grow more scuffed and worn. Despite being a fair few sizes larger than his feet the man would swear he can see his toes and foot strain against the sides every so often.
Scoffing at the paltry sneakers, Claude finds a stoop to sit on and inspect them closer. Plopped down he yanks off the right shoe and is aghast at the intense scent that spills out. Exploding forth like he removed the cork from a bottle of wine, Claude finds far more sweaty stink within than this quick trip should ever be able to produce.
So intense his eyes begin to water and something burns in the back of his mind, he forces his shoe to abate the stink at any cost. The professor(?) takes some time to make sense of the impossibilities now hanging at the end of his legs. Wiping the hands that touched those wretched shoes thoughtlessly on his pants, he takes a short breather. Not short enough however. As he sits there reposed, Claude begins to feel his shirt strain in the front.
Looking down, no longer surprised at his rank choice of shoes, he is instead surprised to find a small stomach suddenly sitting larger on his waist. Reaching up to feel the gut slowly filling his button up, he feels an urgent urge to burp. One he simply can’t ignore.
“BUURRRRPPP”
Aghast at the break in decorum, Claude starts to reprimand himself when he feels his stomach bloat decidedly larger in response to the belch. When he feels a second, even more pressing burp rise from his growing stomach he bolts to his feet and begins sprinting homeward.
As the wind presses his shirt into his thickening torso it begins to tear into tatters. Exposed to the open air, his slightly thicker waist feels a new garden of curls drag through the soaring wind. Out of breath, he feels trickling sweat pulling his stubble into a messy beard as his usually neat crop thickens into a look more like to be found at one of his student’s wild parties.
In desperate need of water, Claude stumbles into a park for a fountain. Seeing a line formed he instead sprints straight into the public bathroom and forces his head under the sink’s faucet. Gulping down acrid metallic water he turns to inspect his reflection to find what has become of him. Shirt more akin to prisoner’s rags hanging off his shoulders aside, Claude’s gotta admit he looks fucking good.
Snapping a pic for his dating profile as he uses what’s left of his shirt to sop some sweat off his hairy chest before just tossing it to the floor. Claude wipes his hair back and prepares to begin running once more. Having drunk enough water that each sprinted step home causes his stomach to glug, there’s a dire need for him to clear some room down there.
Barely stilling the rising urge to just piss in public, Claude lets his mind stew more on the still present desire to burp. There’s an omnipresent tightness in his neck that makes it clear just how easy it would be. More frequently with every few paces he allows the slightest hiccup to escape him which causes his thick thighs and ass to bloat ever so larger.
Lower body picking up size and steam, when he feels new tears lance down his inner thighs Claud looks down and blushes as he finds nothing but bare hairy skin exposed. Shocked that he’s not wearing underwear he desperately tries to recall putting some on this morning. He can hardly believe it! After all he’s a proff- uh? Profess? A professional?
Wiping his sweaty brow with a sweatier arm, he doesn’t quite remember what he may or may not have been a professional at, but when he at last storms into his newly dingy apartment just in time for his pant’s button to burst off he releases a mighty sigh of relief. Forcing his head into his pits to take a deep breath he can’t believe how good it feels to be home.
Sniffing them like an inhaler he pauses in front of a mirror poses his ass from a few different angles. “Shoooot, I needa get some pics of that, my little bitch’ll be all over that shit.” Imagining his twink of the week salivating at the dream of eating him out, Claude throws on some tight briefs and falls onto the couch.
‘Thinking of u <3’ “Uhhh what was his name again? Eh doesn’t matter…”
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