Non-Britons! Instead of being distracted by the pomp and fanfare of the coronation, here’s a reminder that:
- The coronation was funded by tax-payer money. This same tax could have gone towards the cost of living crisis. People are starving and freezing to death as this is going on.
- Protests (peaceful or otherwise) are illegal now. A lot of anti-monarchists are being arrested for simply holding signs.
- Our government is currently trying to push through a revision to the Equality Act that will exclude trans and non-binary individuals.
- Oil companies have made a record profit in the past couple of years. Oil and gas prices aren’t rising because of an inflation issue.
- Our NHS is crumbling because funding is going to stupid projects like this coronation.
Food banks are getting cuts to fund this coronation. Like, literally, non-theoretical money that regularly goes to food banks and stuff like that and is planned for by everyone is being withheld so it can pay for a guy who wants you to voice an oath to your TV
More inadvisable diegetic explanations for why your soulslike protagonist keeps coming back from death:
- Something happened with you and Death that's made things, like, super awkward between the two of you, and Death has been deliberately avoiding you ever since. You don't like to talk about it.
- A mad scientist who's experimenting with the reanimation of dead tissue keeps resurrecting you by mistake. They aren't even looking for you specifically – you just keep coincidentally ending up in their corpse pile, and they never realise it's you on the table before pulling the lever; they're extremely sick of seeing your face.
- God has a gambling problem, and He made a bet that somehow requires you in particular to be alive. Every time He brings you back He's going double or nothing on the wager; at this point He couldn't stop even if He wanted to, because the consequences of cutting His losses would literally be unimaginable.
- You're a rogue member of a secret society of anthropomorphic cat sorcerers who've conquered death by sealing the entire city inside an enormous enchanted box, thus rendering your dead/alive state ontologically ambiguous; your quest is to open the box, thereby making your erstwhile peers – and yourself – mortal again.
- The sin that damned you to Hell was so fucking weird that there genuinely isn't a page in the big book of punishments for that, and it turns out that there's no particular mechanism in place to stop you from just wandering off and doing whatever while they're trying to figure out what to do with you.
- You're actually playing as an endless series of eerily similar cousins out to avenge the original player character's cutscene-mandated prologue death, and that's why you need to go on a corpse run to get your shit back every time you die: you're literally retrieving the previous cousin's stuff.
- Have you ever wondered what actually happens if you ignore the warning in the erectile dysfunction medication's fine print to see a doctor if your erection lasts longer than four hours? Well...
eating buttered bread with honey and some cheese like a medieval peasant . this shit is sublime
where did society go wrong . why cant i just eat slices of meat with bread and cheese and butter and honey and fruits . why do i have to nuke something in the microwave
fucking post cancelled i just remembered chuck cutlery boards exist
dear god we boogified scharcookie boards
bougeie-fied
nobody fucking look at me
ALOK VAID-MENON Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness 1x03 (2022)
Alok’s book report of The Biopolitics of Feeling: Race, Sex, and Science in the Nineteenth Century by Dr. Kyla Schuller
You ever look at the big shawarma in kebab shops and just want to ask them to give it to you. I want the King Meat. I want the big dinosaur drumstick. I want hold my mouth up and use my teeth to peel it as it spins.
When I was like 18 I worked for a gyro place for a few years and was good friends with managers, important later. We had 3 of the machines that spin and cook/ heat the gyros, it's important to mention that our gyros came precooked but frozen and the machines only really cooked a few inches in at a time, you could only really get 2 or 3 shavings in before it got cold and mushy.
I don't remeber the circumstances leading up to it but there was 1 full hunk of gyro, the thing weighed to 25 - 30 lbs of pure meat, just spinning. We couldn't sell it, couldn't throw it out, couldn't take it home, it was just there cooking away. At some point during the day I was left alone, never a good thing I will cause chaos when an opportunity arises. I KNEW this thing was going in the trash at the end of the day and that I was good enough with the managers to not get into to much trouble.
When enough time by myself passed I did it. I put my apron up to my chin, lowered the temperature on the machines and started digging in. I turned my head to the side and started ripping into this hunk of meat. I felt like a shark, I wasn't chewing, I wasn't tasting I just went. There was oil all over my face it, i could feel my cheeks press against the more rounded bits of the gyro, there was gyro just everywhere it was a mess. I got maybe 6 or 7 bites in before I heard the back door open and I ran to the bathroom to hide and hopefully enjoy the sensation I've just allowed myself.
I slam the door shut, back pressed against the wall and I hear my manager, normally a loud and fun guy who is trying to get through the rest of the day like the rest of us, very quietly, destroyed even, say to himself 'what the fuck'. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it's so horrible it's hilarious. My apron and shirt are drenched in oil, I have gyro meat in my hair, I can feel the pimples on my face forming as the oil just gets absorbed by my decision, my cheeks are so full of gyro that I look like a hamster, absolutely stuffed.
I try to actually start chewing on my newly acquired lunch and at first it's good, great even!! The gyro was nice and hot, some parts even crispy, the flavor was amazing. Something about cavemaning a full thing of meat really does enhance the flavor of it. But as I started to enjoy it more it got worse. Some of the bites I had taken, in my overzealous of giving in to the intrusive thoughts and not wanted to get caught, I bit into parts that hadn't been cooked yet. What crispy and flavorful food turned into cold mush, not unlike playdoh, in only a few bites. I ended up spitting everything out and trying not to throw up.
After a few minutes hiding I come out, face washed, gyro removed from wherever it decided it wanted to be in the aftermath and apron tossed in the trash wrapped in a burial dress of paper towels to hide the smell. I see my manager just staring at the slowly spinning gyro, one side untouched as if nothing happened, the other absolutely decimated. Full mouthfuls gone, strips of meat hanging off the sides of dents I had put in, there was one that was just teeth imprints from where I thought I was going to get caught and didn't finish the bite. I walk up to my manager, he doesn't look at me, eyes dead set on the meat just carouselling in it's warmer. We spend maybe 30 seconds looking at it together, him probably wondering why I smell so strongly of gyro even though I don't even like it, me wondering if he's going to catch on to the fact that I did this and have no defense for myself other then ' I saved you the other half'. During my managers mourning of this gyro we couldn't even sell I clocked out and went home, this event never spoken of again.
This story feels biblical to me. In every way. This could be a new religion.