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JBB: An Artblog!
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Janaina Medeiros
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Not today Justin
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@selphie-chan
Ooof. Okay so since I got SMITED & dumbler doesn’t fucking TELL YOU what reblogs to delete to get UNsmited & I am NOT going back over 4+ years of archive to figure it out I’ve moved to hellkuoki760.tumblr.com so if anybody still uses this hellsite please follow me there.
(I will be keeping this blog up bc it’s connected to sideblogs that DIDN’T get smited & are kinda important & I can’t delete this blog without deleting all of them too but my main blog will be inactive sorry)
Sandra Dee Lutheran
Lost in the sauce
im extremely cute but im MAD!!! AND FULL OF HELLFIRE ONLY REVOLUTION WILL DOUSE
I found the most cursed most ominous thing on amazon today….. the offsetting sickly yellow, the ghost of him in the background staring into your soul disapprovingly, the unbalanced little guy off to the side, the mcdonalds logo, how off kilter the picture was taken, but worst of all it was just titled “seto kaiba” and that was it. I feel like his soul has been trapped in this disk and I am afraid.
free him
OK ok i know i never add on to posts but i own this and its always in my computer 24/7
two things of note about this: this is what the icon looks like
and for some reason they decided that they should make kaibas eyes follow your cursor and its terrifying
also there’s absolutely no way to describe how ominous the feeling of being in this main menu area is. yugi reads you this weird message, then kaiba repeats the exact same advertisement phrase three times in a row, and then the music changes to a very scary song thats just two notes repeated over and over again
rip santa.
Working in Retail in under 3 minutes
i had to watch this like 5 times because of no captions but lmao if someone makes a transcript for this it would be bomb
transcript: “So we have these Santas at work, right, okay? We have black and we have white Santas. And they’re like creepy, five-foot tall, lifelike animatronic… like, Santas that hold plates of cookies and milk, and they kinda look like they could wake up and come to life and murder you in your sleep– and they don’t include batteries, but we have these Santas. Like nothing screams ‘festive holiday cheer’ like a big, hulking Santa. Um. Nothin’ will jingle your jangles more. So, um, this woman comes in and she’s like, “Do you have these?” and I’m like, “Oh my god, yeah!” So a couple weeks ago we sold out of our white Santas, and we are down to like, three black Santas. And so, I take her to the aisle, I show her the Santas, and the first thing out of her mouth is, “I’m not racist, but…” and I’m like, well, I can’t– I’m not in the position to decide if you are or not, but if like– if I could use context clues and infer, uh, I would say maybe that you might be. And three, we’re talking about Santa. Like– (stuttering) did we switch subjects? And so, um, I’m in like, I– the next thing that pops out of her mouth is like, “This is not right.” and I’m like, okay, I’m sorry, but this is what the picture was. And she’s like, “No. Santa is white.” And I’m like, oh no, okay. Okay. So I’m in– I’m about to tell her, I’m like, mid-sentence, like, “I’m sorry, do you want me to go call another store, do you need me to, like, write you a raincheck just in case we we get any more.” And she’s like, “This is wrong, I want them taken down.” She interrupts me, says that, and I’m like, (pause). I like, look around, and I’m like, is she talking to me? Is this, like, my own, like, personal hell? But like, of course it is. So, um, I’m like, “I can’t take these Santas down.” And she’s like, “Why not?!” And I’m like, “You either have to buy them, or take them down yourself.” And that was like, the stupidest thing I could have ever said, because– (sighs) she takes this bag, with like, Jesus’s face, like, slammed right in the middle as a design– it’s big– she takes it off her shoulder, and starts beating these black Santas! She starts beating these Santas down, they were like, falling down… and I’m like, oh my god! What– what is happening? So like, I step in the middle of her and these Santas and I’m like, “Ma’am, ma’am, you need to leave, you need to stop, or I’m going to have to call someone.” So she like, stops, and she’s like, beet red, and like, huffin’ and puffin’, and she like, looks at me and I can tell she’s just trying to get like, a one-liner in, and she’s like, “The Santa I know is white.” And then she walks away. And I’m like, well– I’m processing what’s happening, while also thinking, like, the Santa you know? Santa’s not real. So unless you’re using an ouija board to contact good old Kris Kringle, um, from like, B.C. or whenever, I’m like, that’s pretty impressive, but how ya doin’ that. And, um, I– the last thought that ran through my mind is that, I’m like, I would hate to be in the room with her when she finds out that Jesus is not white.”
BOI
I dare you to tell another story from the apartment
ALRIGHT BOYS GIRLS AND EVERYONE WHO THINKS THE GENDER BINARY IS FOR SQUARES IT’S STORY TIME.
Today, we’re going to talk about the time Paul’s desire for superior firepower turned into a mini arms race that ended with me setting Eric on fire with a homemade flamethrower.
No, Matt Boomer, you sexy motherfucker, I am not kidding you. Let’s begin with some details.
So when I was at the University of Iowa, several people, including myself, bought Nerf guns for impromptu battles in the hallways when we had free time. Mostly this was all good, clean fun, except for two of the guys down the hall, my roommate, and I.
We all thought, rightfully so, that factory built Nerf guns are bullshit. They’re weak, darts are too fucking light, the barrels cause too much friction, which makes them inaccurate and slow, and you have to re-cock them after each shot. That’s some fucking bullshit right there. So we fixed it.
We bought new, higher tensile springs. We bought PCP pipe and lubricant. We put BBs in the tips of our darts, and my roommate and even put in a second spring to automatically cock the gun, essentially turning them from bolt action pieces of shit into semi-automatic friendship-ruiners.
So when I moved back to Chicago, and into the apartment, I obviously brought my Nerf guns (my roommate gave me his when we moved out), and I obviously attacked my roommates the first opportunity I had. OBVIOUSLY this led to everyone buying Nerf guns and modifying the shit out of them.
However, some of us were terrible shots, so certain measures had to be taken to make it possible for them to keep up. Brad practiced in his room every day, Josh built an extended clip for his gun, and Kyle bought the fucking Vulcan and built a 600 dart belt for it because he decided aiming is for people who can’t fire 6 darts a second (he modded it for doubled firing speed using a small car battery and replaced mechanics).
And then there was Paul.
Paul was fucking terrible. Like almost so bad it couldn’t be for real. He once tried to ambush me coming around a corner from 2 feet away and missed by a good 6-7 inches. He literally could have slapped me and he missed. Whatever moving on.
So Paul decides to solve his aim problems in the most Paul way possible: online shopping. He bought 500 foam pellets for a marshmallow gun, two dozen foam discs, and a motherfucking t-shirt cannon.
You see, Paul, much like Kyle, decided aiming was for lames. So he would pour foam pellets into the cannon until it was half full, slip in a disc to keep them from falling out, then shotgun people in the face. I was his first victim and boy let me tell you that shit is terrifying.
So Paul became the big dog in the house during Nerf battles, and the rest of us found ourselves unable to compete. So we all escalated in our own insane ways. Eric and I, the former champions, modified our guns to fire faster, Brad added an extended magazine to his gun, Kyle built a harness so that he could shoot his fucking stupid fucking bullet-storm piece of shit while moving. Josh booby-trapped various parts of our apartment. Suddenly, we were all better than Paul again, so he decided to step his game up.
He started making paper cartridges that would explode open once fired. Suddenly, he could actually fire multiple times a minute, which meant once again, he was at the top. It didn’t help that our reluctance to shoot back out of fear of getting shot was allowing him to take his time, therefore drastically improving his aim.
So we stepped up again. I smooth out the cocking mechanism on my guns, improving my firing speed even faster. Eric adds more weight to his darts, making them heavier and faster and much more painful. Kyle buys a bigger battery, newer parts, and he perfects his belts, which increases his firing speed to 12 darts a second.
So Paul steps up to take advantage of his improved aim and buys something called a Pucker Chucker which basically is a t-shirt cannon except it shoots foam pucks. This means we can’t just shoot at him from the other side of the apartment anymore, so we all step up again. I modify the rail on top to make aiming easier, Eric modifies his grip to make it more comfortable, Kyle and brad modify their barrels to make them more accurate, and Josh jumps on board the crazy train and builds a goddamn under barrel cherry bomb launcher.
And this is where shit starts to spiral out of control.
Brad starts making smoke grenades, Kyle solves his weakness against close quarters combat by using his battery to create a cattle prod to keep people back. Eric breaks the head off an old golf club to use the shaft as a weapon, I put pins in the tips of all of my darts, and Paul realizes that the Pucker Chucker can also shoot real hockey pucks after he steals my bucket of pucks from my room.
So it escalated a couple more steps but I’m going to leave them out partially out of a desire to keep moving forward and partially out of shame anywhoozle when we pull out our final contraptions and modifications that day we shifted from light-hearted fun that was a bit too far to literally combat. Josh had a sword. I don’t know where he got it from.
That battle was terrifying. Our normal fights were like an hour, two hours tops, then we would clean up, get together in the living room with some beers, and laugh about what happened. Honestly we should have known this was going to happen because when we did this after our previous fight, the laughter was less “haha remember when I shot Josh in the butthole? Classic.” and more “haha remember when I missed your face with that puck? Next time I won’t miss.”
So we somehow get into a battle again and this time things go south quickly which is bound to happen when you have a dude in a speedo swinging a sword around while rolling fireworks down the hall. It was literally chaos. There were fireworks and homemade smoke grenades and Kyle made the electrical current in his cattle prod too strong and it was too close to the muzzle of his Vulcan so every few seconds you would just see a flaming dart wiz past and I built a fucking flamethrower and I don’t know what the fuck is going on so I’m just firing it in the general direction of Josh to keep him the fuck away. At some point Brad barricades himself in his room, and so we all run back to our rooms and hide.
We do this for three days. THREE DAYS. I missed classes. We all had junk food in our rooms, and private bathrooms, so that’s what we sustained ourselves on for three fucking days. I, however, try to eat healthy, so I ran out of food almost immediately. After not eating for a day and a half, with food literally less than 50 feet from where I was hiding, I decided that I was willing to risk a trip to the kitchen.
So here’s something important about our apartment: I was the only one who knew how to cook. I had tried to teach the others, but all that had accomplished was several kitchen fires. This meant when Eric also ran out of food, he knew the only way to get a meal was to make peace with me. So he had snuck down the hall to my door, intent on asking me for help.
I did not know he was there.
So when I opened the door and saw a crouching figure in the shadows nearby, I assumed, I think justifiably, that it was the guy who had been swinging a sword at all of us the last time I saw him. So I pulled the trigger on my homemade flamethrower, only to see Eric’s horrified face illuminated by the flames for a split second before they hit his torso.
Luckily, I was using a scavenged fuel source (computer screen cleaner), so the flames were weak, but still fire is fire and fire fucking hurts. So Eric is rolling on the floor with first degree burns on his stomach and chest, and I’m freaking out because Eric is my friend and I just set him on fire, so there is now a lot of screaming coming from the hall.
Now, to lighten the mood slightly, here’s a personality test. You hear the sounds of fire, followed shortly by screaming coming from the hall outside your room. What do you do?
Do you assume the crazy sword guy has finally snapped and is going to kill you all, so you climb out the window onto the fire escape? Congratulations, you’re Brad.
Do you hear the cries of pain and grab a first aid kit before sprinting into the hall to help? Hey! You’re Kyle!
Do you hear the flames so you sprint into the kitchen to grab the fire extinguisher? You are Paul.
Do you come out into the hall to see what’s going on but also bring your sword just in case you have to stab someone? You are Josh and also mentally unstable please put your sword away.
So Kyle comes out and he and I start administering first aid and luckily through a combination of the weakness of my fuel source, how quickly I stopped the flames, and the quickness of our treatments, Eric only gets some first degree burns on his torso. Paul puts out the last of the flames, Josh decides he doesn’t want to stab anyone today, and Brad decides that the lack of screaming is a good thing and he comes inside. I spend the next hour apologizing profusely while cooking everyone dinner, and we decide that hey we should probably have some rules for our Nerf fights to prevent this from ever happening again.
So we all eat, we establish rules about modifications and ammunition, and at the end of it all, we grab some beers, head into the living room, and tell Josh he needs to get rid of the sword seriously dude where did you get that from?
Please do enlighten us...how DID you come to be hit in the face with a severed leg?
I can honestly only laugh about this because it was like six years ago. At the time it fucking sucked but in retrospect it’s as hilarious as it is intense, so strap yourself in, friend.
When I was in high school I worked on pretty much every production we did–if I wasn’t in the show, I did tech, and since I’m not much of a singer (for reals I sound like I’ve got a mouth full of gravel and only Tom Waits can pull that shit off), when we did musicals I was in the wings. Or, as in the case of Little Shop of Horrors, inside a giant fucking plant puppet.
Now, we were a little ambitious and decided to build our own Audreys instead of renting them from New York for a small fortune. The first two were hand puppets but the third one weighed a over a hundred pounds and required a full body harness and the last one was roughly the size of a VW Bug. (I’m not fucking exaggerating–this thing was engineered to swallow live actors, one of whom was wearing a fucking fat suit. ‘Epic proportions’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.)
I don’t know how familiar you are with the plot of Little Shop, so here’s a breakdown: nerdy botanist grows man-eating space plant in order to impress girlfriend of sadistic dentist. (I shit you not. Broadway is fuckin’ wild.) So this was my junior year and because my school was brand spankin’ new I had departmental seniority and for some jolly reason this meant that the ridiculously awesome title of ‘Puppet Master’ was levied upon me. The less glamorous reality meant sitting in a fucking box for most of Act One to sing to the twit playing Seymour and then getting strapped into some kind of mental bondage harness attached to a giant fucking flytrap made of felt and foam and PVC and trying to match the articulated mouth to the words of a voice actor standing fifty feet away on the stage right wing. This shit was a fucking job, let me tell you.
So Audrey 2.3 (as we called the third puppet) is supported by two long ‘crutches’ that are meant to take some of the weight so not all 100+ pounds of it is just hanging on my back. I’ve got my hips braced against a giant ceramic pot and my arms in these like fucking alligator jaws and I can’t see a fucking thing because the mesh is too dense and I’m sweating like absolute hell because BEING IN A GIANT FUCKING COCOON OF FOAM AND FELT UNDER THOUSAND-DEGREE STAGE LIGHTS WHILE HOLDING THE EQUIVALENT WEIGHT OF BILBO FUCKING BAGGINS ON YOUR BACK IS HARD FUCKING WORK.
Right, anyway, it’s a long story but the dentist dies and Seymour chops him up into little Dentist McNuggets to feed to Audrey 2.3, who isn’t big enough yet to be swallowing people whole (we save that shit for Act 2). Our second night of show Seymour is like kind of high on success from the night before and getting really overzealous with the feeding. He’s got a chum bucket of ‘body parts’–most of them are like intestines made of pantyhose and cotton wadding (tech people are ingenious) and that sort of shit–soft and harmless–but at the bottom of the bucket is the piece de resistance, this fucking stupidly realistic severed leg with a giant bone sticking out which was used on a film set for some kind of war movie and honestly I have no idea how we ended up with it, but it was gruesome and horrible and made out of hard fucking industrial plastic.
Anyway we’re like halfway through the song and it’s the big bombastic Act 1 finale and Seymour is absolutely fucking losing his shit and flinging intestines and kidneys and fingers into the puppet mouth and I’m like frantically grabbing them as fast as I can before they can go dribbling out again–if you’ve never seen this show you absolutely do not understand how fucking gross it is–and one of the intestines gets away from me. I need one hand for the jaw and one to grab the snacks and I’m like shit shit shit this intestine is sticking out of my mouth like a goddamn Cuban cigar and I’m leaning forward to grab it and WHAM. I get kicked full in the face by a severed fucking foot and honestly, I can’t even explain, it felt like getting a roundhouse to the jaw from a fucking kangaroo.
So I go reeling backwards–and bear in mind this freakin’ giant plant is in no way anchored to the floor, just my body–and I knock one of the ‘crutches’ off the back of the platform. Seymour is still belting his fucking lungs out, totally oblivious to the fact that Audrey is like imploding behind him–and 100+ pounds of man-eating plant suddenly drops off the back of the platform, drags me down with it and crunch crunch snap the weight cracks three of my ribs like fucking matchsticks. The song ends, the crowd goes wild, the lights go out and I’m falling halfway off the back platform, all the dead Audrey weight still strapped on and hanging on my shoulders and it literally hurt so fucking badly I couldn’t even breathe to start swearing.
Anyway thank God someone (unlike Seymour) was paying attention, and as soon as the drape closes Mushnik comes thundering onstage and stars tearing the plant open like it’s a deleted scene from Jaws or some shit, going “OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT ARE YOU OKAY” and I’m like “NO I’M FUCKING NOT I’M SUFFOCATING AND MY RIBS ARE BROKEN AND I’M PRETTY SURE I HAVE A FAT LIP FROM GETTING KICKED IN THE MOUTH BY A DISEMBODIED FUCKING FOOT.”
I spent intermission lying shirtless on the floor with a sack of ice on my back and enough tape around my ribs to stick a walrus to the ceiling and you know what? We finished the fucking show and did four more after that. Don’t even fucking tell me theatre people are not hardcore.
And that is the story of the time I got kicked in the face by a severed leg and a carnivorous alien plant broke three of my ribs.
METAL
Theatre People: When we say “The Show Must Go On.” we aren’t even close to fucking around.
oh gods my boyfriend isn’t home and I forget the english word for this thing and it’s bAD he usually helps but i cAN’T
I WILL ASSIST?
you know that little sea bug with the stupid hands and it has a home but it changes homes sometimes because it gets too big for it?? what is it???
Hermit crab??
THAT’S THE BITCH
Yeah fuck that person who thinks this isn’t intimidating for patients.
I do clinic escorting at a local clinic every weekend. We have a fence and the antis aren’t allowed on our property, luckily, but let me just tell you about my experience just today.
I had a woman ask me for my name multiple times. She knew I worked for the clinic because I wear an apron that says “clinic escort” on it. She kept telling me I didn’t “have” to work for an abortion clinic. This is part of a concerted effort on the part of anti-choicers to harass clinic workers into quitting their jobs. It’s actually called “And then there were none” and it’s pretty fucking disgusting.
When I walked up to a patient as she was getting out of her car (this is policy, we have to ask if the person has an appointment because the antis try to park on our property all the time), she got really scared at first because she thought I was one of the antis. She told me how relieved she was once she read my apron. This woman had an existing child that she mentioned to me as the antis were screaming over the fence about her “killing her baby”.
Another woman told me how she was worried I might be “with them” when I walked up, just because the knowledge of how anti-choicers harass people going into the clinic is so commonplace. She was also relieved to have me there. One of the anti-choicers yelled at her about killing her baby from over the fence. She burst into tears.
These people also yell at and harass the men that come into the clinics with either their partners or their family members. One woman kept yelling out to the men coming in to “protect [his] legacy”.
This was all in one day. One day. I’ve had other experiences on other days when I’ve escorted that are just as bad or worse.
It’s not like these people stand there silently. They are actively yelling at folks and when they can, pursuing them. If an anti-choicer at my place of work can’t get to someone through the part of the fence that overlooks the parking lot, they will push their pamphlets through the parts of the fence that face the doors of the clinic. They are aggressive and totally insensitive to the feelings of any of the patients coming into the clinic.
I haven’t worked at this clinic long, but I have seen the emotional effects that these people have on patients coming into the clinic. So like yeah, in one picture it doesn’t appear that they’re harassing anyone, yelling, or threatening people. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. And either way, who wants people staring at them when they’re going in for a medical procedure? Or when you come out of one, and you’re still so groggy from anesthesia that you need one of the clinic nurses (or even myself or someone else in my kind of position!) to hold you up and put you in the car?
Anyone who thinks the people standing outside of clinics are not doing it with the intent to harass and bully is wrong, and patients deserve to be protected from this kind of bullshit. My clinic has a big fence and the patients that we serve still feel harassed and bullied. I can’t imagine what it must be like for people going into a clinic without that, like what is pictured.
Thank you for the work you do. Clinic escorts are so brave, and so needed.
lactose intolerant people in fiction: i can never eat dairy…i order cheese-less pizza and cry myself to sleep
me, a real life lactose intolerant person: *chugs my 10th straight glass of chocolate milk* lmao see you in hell god
IT’S NAME IS FLOP
that’s it, folks, we’ve reached peak cute
MY FUCKING HEART
@anidlebrain
Blue Jays are actually Corvids! Yup, in the same family as ravens and crows, so these guys are heckin’ smart.
Your pokémon is remembering the first time it met you…
Your pokémon is relaxed. The sight of you might have made it feel more secure.
Your pokémon gathered all its energy to break through its paralysis so you wouldn’t worry!
Your pokémon toughed it out so you wouldn’t feel sad!
During Ramadan, when your Muslim friends are fasting, is there anything you should be doing? You can follow these tips
Read this & be mindful of those partaking in Ramadan.
I would rather everyone read and shared this instead of “remember to tag your food/nsfw/etc!” post that’s going around every year. (None of these things actually break your fast and if you’re fasting and worried about seeing them, you shouldn’t be on tumblr).
Being considerate and kind goes a long way, so I’d appreciate if this post went around instead.
Queen Hatshepsut of Ancient Egypt. She has a lovely smile for someone who’s been dead for thousands of years.
she wasn’t a queen. she was a pharaoh and wanted to be referred to as such. she even had her statues modeled after the male pharaoh’s statues to state her dominance and authority. she was actually one of the most successful pharaohs in all of ancient egyptian history and she reigned longer than any other woman in power in egypt.
damn no wonder she died and smiled for a trillion years afterwards
The fact that we know about her is marvelous.
the next Pharaoh after her Tuthmosis III tried to erase Hatshepsut out of history ,chiseled her name off her monuments ,covered the text on her obelisks with stone,knocked down and defaced her statues .
she was even left off the list of pharaohs ..talk about some patriarchy bullshit
her name was lost for a couple of millennia, her body was found in a unmarked grave in early twentieth century
sad part is in Egyptian belief is if your are forgotten in the living world you don’t exist in the afterlife,so he was trying to kill her even in death
My best friend throwing down some herstory. A+ commentary
She wore a fake beard, you guys. She was the fucking boss.
If we remember her now does that save her from an awful afterlife?
I’m just picturing the Kemetic afterlife. All the Pharaohs are hanging out in some kind of swanky club, drinking and congratulating each other on being bros.
The doors slam open and Hatshepsut strides in, glorious, robes swirling, rocking the fake beard and the insane amounts of wealth and power. “Miss me, bitches?”
Then she punches Tuthmosis III straight in the dick.
Reblog so Hatshepsut can dick punch tuthmosis in the afterlife.
As a child, you often daydreamed about a world you invented and you would occasionally write about it. 10 years later, you hear many different voices whispering to you. They are the prayers of the inhabitants of your imaginary world. To them, it has been 1000 years since you abandoned them.
Tough shit, kids, God has to write a fuckin thesis.
This is literally the plot to Myst.
On Battlegrounds, the first and the last.
@goldenangelwings wrote the best damn Otegine fic & I’m still crying. I imagine when Nansen comes to the citadel, he still has nightmares about his curse. So when the nights are too long and dark, he ends up in Otegine’s company and fiddles with the yari’s strings/fabrics while Otegine does his needle work/stabbing.
Bonus points: Otegine’s first needle felt gift to Nansen is a little baku, since they’re said to eat nightmares (Otegine figured the last thing Nansen wanted to see first when waking from a nightmare was a cat so….).
