I am the woman of myth and bullshit. @ofmythandbullshit - Tumblr Blog

I told a kid in my class the other day that it was going to be the year of the tiger! This kid is a kindergartner, five years old.

Usually there’s some interest when I bring this up, but this kid sort of sat with that for a couple minutes, expression settling into a thousand yard stare. Just as I was wondering if something was wrong, he looked at me with his haunted eyes and asked, in a tone of resignation: “When are the tigers coming?”

I had to quickly reassure him that the year of the tiger was like…an animal assigned to the year, and not another plague or natural disaster! Between the Covid, lockdowns, and huge flood of cicadas last year this child probably decided that this was in line with how the world worked and was mentally getting his affairs in order.

yournewfriendshouse

‘I guess a plague of tigers might as well happen’

swanjolras-blog-archive-deactiv

gosh but like we spent hundreds of years looking up at the stars and wondering “is there anybody out there” and hoping and guessing and imagining

because we as a species were so lonely and we wanted friends so bad, we wanted to meet other species and we wanted to talk to them and we wanted to learn from them and to stop being the only people in the universe

and we started realizing that things were maybe not going so good for us— we got scared that we were going to blow each other up, we got scared that we were going to break our planet permanently, we got scared that in a hundred years we were all going to be dead and gone and even if there were other people out there, we’d never get to meet them

and then

we built robots?

and we gave them names and we gave them brains made out of silicon and we pretended they were people and we told them hey you wanna go exploring, and of course they did, because we had made them in our own image

and maybe in a hundred years we won’t be around any more, maybe yeah the planet will be a mess and we’ll all be dead, and if other people come from the stars we won’t be around to meet them and say hi! how are you! we’re people, too! you’re not alone any more!, maybe we’ll be gone

but we built robots, who have beat-up hulls and metal brains, and who have names; and if the other people come and say, who were these people? what were they like?

the robots can say, when they made us, they called us discovery; they called us curiosity; they called us explorer; they called us spirit. they must have thought that was important.

and they told us to tell you hello.

zetrystan

Technically true.

zetrystan

He got the job.

zetrystan

He takes his job seriously.

amygdalae

Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper

yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*

melyzard

My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.

So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.

And then she forgot.

Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”

My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.

great-tweets

I love you, Mr. Murderbritches.

ladytesla

I would die for Mr. Murderbritches

journeymanfool

You will

rthstewart

I love Mr. Murderbritches and every time I see him I retweet or reblog. Be Mr. Murderbritches.

ofmythandbullshit

WILD RIDE.

daylighteclipsed

why does Edward give off such strong cat energy

daylighteclipsed

sparrowhawkandco

#broke: al never gets a cat#woke: edward is the cat (daylighteclipsed)

daylighteclipsed

#the reason Al likes cats so much is they remind him of Ed

op your mind

boyga-king

soracities

god to be a prehistoric fertility figurine carved with utter devotion by the hands that made her !!!

valtsv

gender repeal party

valtsv

we all meet up in the woods and release our genders into the wild

valtsv

then we hunt them for sport

normal-horoscopes

GOD MADE TRANS PEOPLE FOR THE SAME REASON HE MADE GRAPES BUT NOT WINE WHO ARE WE TO DENY THIS DIVINE ALCHEMY OF THE SELF?

buzzfeedlgbt

slothful-rabbit

Legit it’s what happened but it’s hilarious when put like that

cindersart

that one friend who hates the same shit i hate: can i be petty abt — me, thru 10 loudspeakers: release the salt

lgbtbooklr-deactivated20230404

“Gender is a shell game. What is a man? Whatever a woman isn’t. What is a woman? Whatever a man is not. Tap on it and it’s hollow. Look under the shells: it’s not there”

— Naomi Alderman, The Power