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With NaNo joining the ranks of AI shills today, it’s time to remind everyone I fucking despise the use and sharing of PISS (Plagarized Information Synthesis System) garbage, and I do block for it. Credit artists from whom you have permission to share their work, and don’t have a bot do your damn writing/editing/tone checking/sensitivity reading (have the ‘tell you to make pizza with glue machine’ tell you if something is pc- laughable).
Gentle reminder that while there are plenty in fandoms who enjoy f.eeder content, there are those who are not, either because it’s a squick or they have an E.D. Please tag your f.eeder posts as such.
This is your not so friendly reminder that if your dogs are acting non-friendly in any way, do not approach a fence with another dog. Especially don’t expect the person to say yes come into the dog area after your dog snapped at mine. In fact, just plain don’t allow fence greetings or leashed greetings with your dogs. That’s how fights start.
It’s Wednesday so it’s time for ‘Tagg is going to bitch about the fact Rogue is referring to her husband as Gambit, and bitching about her relationship, to the raccoon, when after years of no touch only talk she should have been hashed out any grievances with her workload WITH HER HUSBAND’ hours
The curse that’s above wishing someone step on a Lego every day for the rest of their life is wishing someone have a comic favorite that gets progressively shat on more and more in current comics until they’re the same character in name only.
Also raging about how Remy is being written as a fucking moron {still} and Anna is naggy momming him. Like this is not the man that gets told “yeah so those are very explosive don’t touch” and then just fucking touches them??? This feels like Phillips was just “oh he likes cats? Let’s make him the cat pushing a glass off the table cuz he was told no”. Scuse you, but he’s not endangering himself and others with explosives for the sake of being a spiteful idiot. I’m making every comic writer portraying him as dumb write “Remy LeBeau isn’t an idiot, I am” five hundred times.
The chronic illness problem of “is this just another flare, or is this something else, neither of which I have time for”
If i disappear, know that this man gave me a fucking heart attack or some shit. He decides just now to tell me the day…before supposed move out day…to tell me he’s moving NEXT. WEEK??!!!! I’m…I can’t. I fucking can’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved I’ll be able to work the weekend properly, so now I have hope of reaching both bills even though it’s gonna be a squeak, and it gives me a chance to try other places for a better match for the carpet, but WHAT. THE. FUCK. Gee. Couldn’t fucking bother to tell me sooner?? Considering idk, I’m probably working my logistics for the first fucking day you told me, and then repeated to me. 🖕🏼
