d e v o n
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pixel skylines
Product Placement
Kiana Khansmith
trying on a metaphor
DEAR READER
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blake kathryn
oozey mess
NASA
ojovivo
h
Game of Thrones Daily
wallacepolsom
we're not kids anymore.
Sweet Seals For You, Always
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Show & Tell
i don't do bad sauce passes
seen from United States
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@snogbox-out
who else here was worked the customer service triple crown (retail, food service, call center
triple crown 👑👑👑
double crown, missing retail 👑👑
double crown, missing food service 👑👑
double crown, missing call center 👑👑
only retail 👑
only food service 👑
only call center 👑
I have never worked in customer service
special bonus crown for janitors 👑
redoing that poll bc you guys are not serious people and i need to know the actual stats here
also disclaimer the options in this poll are dumb as hell and kind of hysterical but we can't be doing this i need to know #thetruth
which of these have you done most recently
had sex with another person (NOT masturbation!)
done recreational drugs (NO cigarettes, alcohol, and CAFFEINE dont count guys)
watched bluey
none of these
do you by chance when ur employers says hey do you do drugs say oh yes indeed I had a latte this morning or I smoked a pack of camels this afternoon or I had a beer yesterday? no? okay. move on. or vote in the other poll where you can say you do drugs I am not the master of your destiny
"The most recent post was from yesterday—Christmas—and it was of the foosball table Shane had given him. No caption. He scrolled and found a photo of the exercise ball Shane had been balancing on in Ilya’s gym. One of the latest puzzle Ilya had completed with Shane’s dad. One of Ilya’s loon tattoo.
One of the two plastic heart rings, together on Shane’s dresser.
Shane realized that most of Ilya’s posts were, in weird cryptic ways, about Shane. His entire account was like a secret diary of their relationship, full of inside jokes and little references that only Shane would understand."
The Long Game – Rachel Reid
sSoeondrtpf4c522l9fl918h5a1ug65713ugmu731utgh0hllg84l47c2lc6 ·
Elizabeth MacDonough doesn’t give fiery speeches on the Senate floor. She doesn’t pound podiums, tweet clapbacks, or beg for airtime on cable news. Most people couldn’t pick her out of a photo lineup. But this week, she did more to derail Donald Trump’s legislative fever dream than any Democrat in Congress. With nothing but a binder, a brain, and a spine forged from 230 years of procedural precedent, she calmly gutted the “Big, Beautiful Bill” — and sent the Republican Party into a frothing, incandescent rage.
Here’s the part that should terrify the GOP: she’s not even elected. She’s the Senate Parliamentarian, the nonpartisan referee responsible for interpreting the arcane rulebook that governs the world’s most dysfunctional deliberative body. She doesn’t write laws. She doesn’t vote. She doesn’t grandstand. Her job is simple: enforce the rules, no matter who’s in charge. And when Republicans tried to use reconciliation — a fast-track process meant for tweaking budgets — to shove through a far-right wishlist of land seizures, healthcare rollbacks, and anti-trans cruelty, she read the fine print and dropped the hammer.
The “Big, Beautiful Bill” was supposed to be Trump’s magnum opus: a tax-slashing, Medicaid-burning, land-devouring beast of a bill that would reshape America in his image. It included everything from selling off millions of acres of federal public land to states and private developers, to gutting Medicaid for low-income families, immigrants, and trans people, to defunding Planned Parenthood and hacking away at environmental protections like they were weeds in a billionaire’s backyard. It was grotesque. It was rushed. And it was entirely dependent on sliding past Senate rules without a fight.
Elizabeth MacDonough was the fight. She reviewed the bill’s contents and ruled — piece by piece — that major provisions violated the Byrd Rule, which bars unrelated ideological junk from hitching a ride on budget bills. The land sell-off? Not budgetary. Out. The Medicaid provider tax cap? Out. The bans on gender-affirming care, immigrant coverage, and ACA subsidies? Out. The GOP was left holding a gutted husk, their legislative trophy reduced to a few tax cuts and a pile of redacted dreams.
This wasn’t sabotage. This was MacDonough doing her job — the job she’s held since 2012, appointed under a Democratic majority, and respected by both parties until it became inconvenient. She is the Senate’s quiet guardian of process, a civil servant who doesn’t answer to polls, Super PACs, or social media mobs. Her loyalty is to the rules — even as the people around her treat those rules like a hotel minibar. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t yield. She simply reads the law and applies it, with the precision of a scalpel and the force of a freight train.
And oh, how the GOP hates her for it.
Mike Lee, who tried to shove his public lands fire sale into the bill like it was a foreclosure listing, is already scrambling to rewrite the language and sneak it back in. Trump, fuming from whatever taxpayer-funded golf course he’s currently defiling, is screaming about “deep state rule tyrants.” Senate Majority Leader John Thune is getting asked uncomfortable questions about whether it’s time to “review” the Parliamentarian’s role — a polite way of saying, “Can we fire her for being smarter than us?”
Because that’s the rub. They didn’t lose because the Democrats outmaneuvered them. They didn’t lose because of public pressure or media backlash. They lost because a woman they barely understand said, quite plainly, “You can’t do that.” And when they asked why, she handed them the rulebook. And when they tried to argue, she pointed to precedent. And when they blustered, she didn’t even blink.
Elizabeth MacDonough has no political agenda. That’s what makes her so dangerous to people who do. She exists outside their theater. She answers to no party. And yet, she is currently one of the most powerful people in Washington — not because she makes the laws, but because she refuses to let anyone break them.
So no, she didn’t kill the Big, Beautiful Bill. The GOP killed it themselves — by trying to use budget procedure as a battering ram for authoritarian fantasy. MacDonough simply told the truth. And in 2025, that might be the most radical thing anyone in government can do.
Let the Republicans rant. Let them plot her removal. Let them rewrite their monstrosities and try again. But remember this: when the bulldozers were revving, when the Medicaid cuts were inked, and when Trump’s wrecking ball of a bill was barreling toward the American people — it wasn’t a senator who stopped it. It wasn’t a protest. It was a woman with a binder and a backbone.
We see you, Elizabeth. And we thank you.
FUCK YES, ELIZABETH!!!!
A few Republicans are reacting with indignation after the Senate parliamentarian advised that some of the measures in their tax and immigrat
Multiple Republicans erupted after Elizabeth MacDonough advised against key parts of the GOP megabill.
The Senate parliamentarian, often called a referee, has thrown a spanner in Trump's tax bill.
So far, the parliamentarian has determined that dozens of provisions do not pass muster to be included.
Some articles on this. Not sure what to make of the whole thing yet.
As a society we have benefited so much from successful public health measures that we now have the privilege of declaring that we must not need them anymore
Bitch before enriched flour, neural tube defects like spina bifida were far more common. Even now, spina bifida clinicians and researchers are begging to have salt and maize fortified to reach groups that don’t use as much flour. Before iodized salt, the United States had a fucking GOITER BELT. Eleven years after the introduction of fluoridated water, a city in Michigan found the rate of dental caries among school children dropped a staggering 60%— in an era where tooth decay regularly fucking killed people
I’m literally not even going to start on vaccines, which are among the most successful and robustly studied public health measures in world history
You might say “oh well today we all have access to vitamins and toothpastes and dentists so we don’t need those things in our food supplies” and boy do white people on social media loooove to fucking say that. But here’s the thing: no, people don’t all have easy access to those things. That’s privilege talking yet again
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about some of the people I interact with. I have a coworker who I am pretty sure is a MAGA type, and she is also a lovely woman who is dreadfully overworked and so good at connecting to patients when they call. I can see the conflict on her face when she talks to me, a gigantic tranny dork who speaks Spanish and affirms the LGBT community, but can also talk to her about her cows and knows about guns and stuff. I can see the fear in the eyes of my former Young Men’s leader when he misgenders me and realizes that I’m not an ideology but a person he has known for a long time. I can see the way my extended family stop and stutter over political discussions when they realize they are talking about me. And I don’t know why but lately it’s just made me think about my neighbor as a kid.
When we moved to Arizona, we moved next door to a lovely retired couple - John and Lucy. John was a veteran of WWII, he had an M.D. and a Ph.D. in radiology, and he LOVED us to pieces. His wife, Lucy, was a sharp and gifted woman - well spoken, very observant, and VERY clever. I just know that she used that cleverness as a mom to great effect, because with my and my siblings she always managed to find a way to send us home with candy and treats for a week despite my dad’s protests. We loved them, growing up, and even though they have long-since passed away I love them still, and I love what I learned from them.
John was, as stated, a WWII veteran. He was enlisted as a rifleman, and later as a front line medic, starting at Point Du Hoc and moving inwards to France and towards the Rhine. He let me do a report on him in 6th grade where he shared war stories with me he had kept to himself his whole life - he said it was out of respect for his friends who didn’t get to come home and tell their stories.
He said he told me because he knew I could respect the memories of his friends.
He showed me his collection of medals, and which he’d kept hidden away in a sock in his attic because he’d feel an immense grief any time he saw them. He had wanted to be a doctor his whole life, prior to being drafted he was studying medicine and had taken the Hippocratic oath to Do No Harm. He saw his medals as a reminder that he had Done Harm.
After telling me his stories he was able to convince himself that while he had Done Harm, it was only because his only other alternative was, to him, cowardice. He chose to be brave even if it meant acting against his Oath because he felt that if he didn’t do it someone else would have to go in his place and he would be responsible for the harm that befell them. I don’t think that’s true, but for him it was and that was something no being on earth could have ever dissuaded him from believing.
He shared wild stories - melee combat on the beach, clearing artillery bunkers, receiving a Purple Heart for being injured in hand-to-hand combat with a Wehrmacht rifleman he said he felt pity for because they were the same age and he had to imagine the man he was fighting had been drafted just like him.
He shared how he was awarded a Silver Star for charging a machine gun nest, but shared that he was most proud of not killing anyone in the process. He threw a grenade with the pin still in it and when the machine gunners jumped to avoid being blown up they were killed by someone else so he didn’t have to do it. He took the machine gun and shot the other machine gun in that French field to pieces so he didn’t have to kill the people operating it. He said they were giving out Silver Stars like candy but I knew he was being modest.
He told me about being redesignated as a medic, about how he crawled for about 500 yards on his belly to rescue an injured tank driver, then threw him over his back and crawled the same 500 yards back (1000 yards total) to treat his injuries. He said he met the man in an Army hospital in England after his spine was broken by a high explosive panzer shell was fired through a hollowed out French farmhouse and landed about 20 feet away from him.
He told me about all the people he helped and saved as a medic, he told me about his work in radiology and research after the war. He showed me a hallway that was quite literally wallpapered with academic honors he’d earned as a researcher. He told me about how his first Fourth of July back was a horror show for him because fireworks and German artillery make very similar sounds. He told me about how he woke up in a cold sweat well over half a century later hearing the screams of German artillery men being burned alive with flamethrowers, or hearing his own voice apologizing to the young German soldier he stabbed in the heart at Point Du Hoc.
He told me that when he was asked to present at a medical conference in Germany 25 years after the war ended that he was so scared he couldn’t step off the plane, and that his wife had to hold his hand and lead/pull him with her. He said he was not scared because he was worried about being triggered, but because he knew that someone somewhere outside of that plane had the course of their life irreparably altered by his military service. That to someone out there he was the cause of immense suffering and harm. That some unwitting waiter could be the son of the Nazi Officer he stabbed in the heart with a 12-inch hunting knife. That some woman asking questions in the audience would be the daughter or widow of a man he sent to judgement with a .30-06. He was scared that they would hate him.
He knew what the Nazi’s had done, he knew better than anyone I’d ever met. He’d watched the documentaries, he’s seen the PoWs returning from camps, he’d seen the civilians massacred and tortured by their regime, but he also knew that among the monsters were people like him - idealistic 20-somethings who only wanted to make the world better and were ripped away from that life by the Nazi war machine. And he spent his whole life mourning the loss of innocence and peace that was forced on so many people by such a corrupt power.
To be honest I don’t know if I could do that, but he could. He told me he could still feel the dead and lost with him, both when he slept and when he woke. He told me he thought he’d go to his grave never having told a word of this to anyone. That the stories of him and his friends and allies would disappear silently with him and those like him. That he had wanted that until he realized that he didn’t have to sell out to share the stories - that he could give the stories away for free to someone who would love the people in them, and not just the content of them. He didn’t want his stories to be used as Patriotic Pornography by some TV network or magazine. He wanted the people he knew to be respected, he wanted their memories to be honored and loved, and he entrusted me, a 12-year-old “boy” to do that.
He told me for years afterwards that after telling me these stories that he slept better than he ever had. That by sharing the stories with someone who could hear Him over the din of victory and glory and honor and revisionistic history. Someone who could see the man in the story and not just see the plot of a battle being won. He wanted to be human, and he wanted the people he saw die to be human too - everyone, not just the people on his side. He wanted someone to see and to know the anguish of having to look someone in the eye as heartblood muddies the ground beneath them and hope that they understand that this was not an act of love or hatred but an act of desperation. To hope that you had just taken out One Of The Bad Ones instead of a medical student or a poet who had been drafted. He wanted me to see how hard he had worked since then to build a world without scarcity, to build a world of peace. He wanted me to know SO badly that the cost of violence, any violence, even necessary violence, is always ALWAYS paid by both parties involved.
I think about the rise of the new right wing - the new Nazi movement’s traction in politics, and I feel sad and scared - the world that Johnathan J Yobaggy, my neighbor, my friend, and my hero, worked SO hard to build is being done away with by people who do not understand the cost of the path they are entering. I can see brief moments of recognition in the eyes of some of the people I mentioned - The former young men’s president who immediately regrets misgendering me and hen he makes eye contact with me and sees Me staring back at him and not a faceless “ideology.” I can hear it in the voice of my uncle who quietly comes up to me to apologize for some homophobic comment he made absentmindedly. I can see it in the eyes of racists and sexists being interviewed on TV when they realize that they didn’t vote for a concept, they voted for a real thing. And honestly, I have mixed emotions about it. Because while I understand frustration with the status quo, the importance of basic human needs like affordable good and rent, and I know the fear that comes with feeling powerless, I also can’t help but grieve the endless wheel of history bringing us back to this God Damned Fucking Place again. I hope we can avoid this fate, not just for our sake but for the sake of everyone who has ever tried to make the world safer. For everyone who has ever tried to make up for human nature, for everyone who has ever placed themselves on the offering plate to protect others from the cruelty they know lies just under the surface of mankind’s tenuous grip on progress. I want SO badly for there to be a solution to this, for the people who idolize the Nazi party and the impact of fascism to see that the price of this path is paid in more than just blood but in soul. That they’re allowing themselves to be devoured too. I want for the centrists and the fence sitters and the idealists who want to “change it from the inside” to see how dangerous our politics have become. I want them to see that they’re losing the things that make them great in exchange for a security blanket that’s now become far far far too small to ever work for them again.
Safety found in the past is already gone, and safety found in the future is only as real as a daydream. That any ideology that promises that by “joining us now we’ll make things rough so we can make things safe in a decade” is a promise made by those who will not have to fight the battles they send you to.
I don’t know if America was ever really great, but as long as John was alive it felt great to me. There is no ideology that can replace a neighbor. No tax plan that can replace a friend. No grocery bill that can replace community and connection. No amount of budget cuts that can replace kindness. No amount of suffering from people I hate that will ever make more love. I don’t know how to make America great, but I know how to make my America great and it is not by selling out integrity and compassion and community and fucking humanity to make eggs and gas cheaper. It is by seeing and hearing the people around me. I’m not Mormon anymore, but I still know the value of mourning with those that mourn and comforting those that stand in need of comfort. I’m not Christian anymore but I still have Eyes That Can See and Ears That Can Hear. I want to make this all stop but I can’t stop the collective power of tens of millions of people so instead I listen to my MAGA coworker tell me about how sick her kid was last week. I make jokes with my Young Men’s leader. I hug my uncle. I let them see me fully, as a human and not an ideology. As a woman and not the concept of gender. As a whole person and not someone who can be easily summarized or boiled down into something short and quippy. And I let them know I can see them fully too, and I can see all their humanity as easily as they can see mine. I just have to hope that this works - that enough people can See and Hear the people in their lives who matter to them to bring them out of their personal world of forms and into the real world.
I am probably, honestly, just spiraling a little bit. I took my ADHD meds today and in addition to helping me focus they make me a little anxious so I doubt things are as bad right now as they seem. But just in case there’s any truth to the way things seem to be going, remember, and I mean this seriously: Be kinder to each other, be gayer, and read more Terry Pratchett.
And for the love of god day hello to your neighbor.
Johnathan J Yobaggy’s oldest son is, I believe, also a radiologist. I may have written this about your grandpa. If that is the case, I just hope you know how loved he is. If not, I still wish good things for you and your family because radiology is fresh to death.
(Sound on.) Bonus clip today: Penguins navigating stairs.
Nothing could be dryer than a jolly caucus race.
ya’ll were really gonna let me live my life in ignorance thinking mr. rogers was straight???
oh whoops, did we forget to tell you? there’s a quote in The Good Neighbor where Mr. Rogers talked about being attracted to both men and women
FRED ROGERS I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE
WOOOO
Added to the pantheon of Holy Bisexuals, right next to Freddy Mercury.
Of course Mr. Rogers loved everyone equally.
do you know your bloodtype?
yes, from donating
yes, because I received a transfusion
yes, from science class
yes, from a kit I ordered
yes, for another reason (explain)
no
*if you know/have confirmed from multiple sources, pick the first one you experienced
If you come in you don’t have to come out
the way this is like baaaaarely parody
bringing in a second actor towards the end of the video to deliver a single devastating punchline is brilliant writing
NEW GIRL Season 6 Episode 7
It really is 2003 again Jesus Tapdancing Christ.
Like, all Republicans did was replace Iraq and gay people with Iran and trans people.
Being someone old enough to be fully conscious and forming memories in both 2003 and 2025 feels like this
“Big Pharma” okay are we talking about how privatization and monetization has deeply corrupted the field of medicine or are you talking about how you think chemicals in the water are making the frogs gay
“GMOs”? Are we talking seeds that grow sterile plants and patenting genetic modifications then destroying any competition no matter how small they are? Or are we talking life saving rice with vitamin a to make sure kids don’t go blind in regions not suited for other high vit a veg? … or are we talking about your chidoodle?
Conversely, “alternative medicines”? Are we talking the traditional practices of non-Western societies which have an ancient history of being the cultural tools that allowed communities to take care of the health of their members and are nowadays rigorously studied within these communities to adapt them to the needs of the contemporary life, and can offer important prompts to modern medicine? Or are we talking about a white woman who traveled to India twice, followed a five-hour seminar and knows everything about inner energies now
