oh my god this vid from a /ck/ thread is incredible
my kinda diet
What
This video looks like how it feels when youre crying in your bed at 3 am out of anxiety and youre trying to cheer yourself up by watching videos but all it does is make your brain feel more erratic.
The :)
What the FUCK
The lack of music makes it 10x more brain-fucking
Sweet generalization.
It’s not about whether a character is trans or gay. Gay characters make sense. People have been gay for millennia. Trans however. Not the case. In a high fantasy setting, how in the balls are they going to perform surgery where they change the sex of the character??? It makes no sense at all. They’d have to explain it. And remember, this is high fantasy, Game of Thrones is also in that category. This is a time where they would reach into your body with an object strikingly similar to a salad tossing spoon to yank out a small piece of arrowhead. Pretty sure they hadn’t figured out a surgery as complex as a sex change…
The people complaining that there aren’t enough gay/trans people in stuff like this are just as bad if not moreso than the people who complain about gay/trans people being in stuff like this.
Create your own fantasy world filled with nothing but gay/trans people. Make it so that being heterosexual is the minority. All the power to you. Good luck trying to create it.
You don’t have to have surgery to be transgender. Lots of transgender people don’t. Transgender people, people who identify with the gender not corresponding with their birth sex, have existed before the surgery. And the existence of and recognition of a third sex or dual sex existed in pre-modern times in lots of places are the world. So, for one, your “how in the balls are they going to perform surgery“ question doesn’t actually matter. They don’t need to in order for transgender people to exist. But if they did want to include transgender people who undergo physical changes to reflect their gender/sexual identity, in a HIGH FANTASY world, there’s actually a really easy answer to that:
“How are you going to make someone trans in a fantasy setting full of magic spells, potions, and artifacts?”
shout out to the elixir of sex shift for covering more than just a gender binary.
also lets not forget that in ye old days (aka time of the ancient greeks (aka the bc years)) that people drank the urine of pregnant mares to feminize themselves. like, trans people find a way ;)
…the fucking Sumerians had trans people, brosky.
Sumerians.
They didn’t even have fucking iron, but they had trans women.
dude lemme find you a fucking. girdle of sex change from 1st edition
woah what’s that?? the first edition efreet cover???
OH HEY ITS A FUCKING GIRDLE OF SEX CHANGE AND THERES ALSO A POSSIBILITY IT REMOVES ALL SEX CHARACTERISTICS FROM THE WEARER
it’s on page 145 of the dmg 1st ed. want an easier-to-read screenshot of a pdf??
it’s pride month welcome back to “tldr fuck you” anyways dnd says trans & nb rights
@dungeonmastersconsortium I feel like this fits your aesthetic!
Trans people have existed since we became complex enough to be able to look at ourselves and know who we are.
Also, just because Game of Thrones exists in the High Fantasy genre, doesn’t mean that all High Fantasy is like Game of Thrones. And Westerosi medical practices are not universal across the High Fantasy genre. You do not have to suspend your disbelief to believe that a fictional culture on a fictional, magical world, that hasn’t developed electricity (which High Fantasy 100% can have either way), could develop medical technologies and techniques to the point that they could perform surgeries for trans folk. It’s entirely possible, my dude. We got fuckin’ proof that brain surgeries have been performed in ancient times.
Also, are you telling me that the Witcher TV series, which is High Fantasy, which also has a scene where a woman’s ovaries are surgically removed and used by a wizard to sculpt flesh in such a way that makes any kind of modern surgery look primitive by comparison, couldn’t do perform the surgeries for trans folk?
Also?
Let’s say you live on a world where such surgery really can’t exist.
Do you know what could?
Packers and binders.
Are they ideal? No. Binders can cause tissue damage, packers only work when you’ve got something on that can hold them in place. But do they work? Yes. You can work with binders and packers. Fuck’s sake. I don’t own an actual packer, but I’ve done the “stuff a sock with two other pairs of socks” thing when I was in a drag contest, and it didn’t “feel” real, but it certainly looked it. You can make a real-looking packer with nothing but cloth. And if you want the weight of a penis, use fucking sand. You have options. Many.
Refusing to see trans people in high fantasy worlds because they “couldn’t exist” reflects a very ironic lack of imagination.
the cdc guidelines be like "fully vaccinated people can have public sex. unvaccinated people must live inside a room with yellow wallpaper."
the cdc guidelines be like "fully vaccinated people can have public sex. unvaccinated people must live inside a room with yellow wallpaper."
Unskilled means requiring no training. It’s an objective statement that doesn’t have a negative connotation. An unskilled job is poorly paid because it can be done by anyone without any special skills.
There are no jobs that require no training. There are no jobs that require no skills.
I worked as a dishwasher at a dorm kitchen when I was in college. Dishwashing is usually called an “unskilled” job, but someone had to train me to load the machine, how to run it, and what to do with the plates and things when they were clean, and I needed to learn how to do this efficiently so that the kitchen didn’t run out of plates during mealtimes. All of those things were skills I had to learn.
I worked on a sandwich line for a summer when I was in college. Food service is usually called an “unskilled” job, but someone had to train me how to make the sandwiches, how to prepare the salads, and how to prepare the desserts. I had to learn how to work with the folks in the prep kitchen, with the wait staff, and with the other people on my line. I had to be trained how to open and close, because sometimes I would get those shifts. I had to learn how to work quickly and efficiently so that our customers would get their meals in a timely manner, and so that everything was prepped and clean for the next shift. All of those things were skills I had to learn.
That whole “special skills” thing? It’s classist and probably racist.
Unskilled jobs are poorly paid because the employers can get away with it, and that’s pretty much the whole reason. They are permitted by our capitalist society to exploit workers, especially those workers who are most disadvantaged.
“Unskilled” workers make our food, take care of our kids and our elders, stock our grocery store shelves, clean the spaces we use, and do hundreds of other things that make our lives easier. “Unskilled” jobs require a fuckton of physical labor. Don’t those things merit good compensation?
Every job requires skills, every job requires training. And every job should be respected and have dignity, and should pay people enough to live on, and then some.
Look how fast the world economy crashed once the ‘unskilled’ labor had to stay home in the early part of the COVID-19 pandemic.
“Unskilled” simply means “you are expected to figure out how this works in less than a day” instead of “no worries, we teach you over 3 years how to use excel and a copy machine”.
When I sorted bills for my university, I got paid really well cause while I was only part-time, the job itself is not deemed “unskilled”. Despite me literally just sorting stuff by numbers. Look at a number, put it between other numbers. All day every day. I even was allowed to have as much coffee and tea as I liked from the office kitchen for free.
When I worked for Subway for a month, I had to learn within 2 hours:
I also had to go to a 2 hour food sanitary training before hand to give me a certificate so I was even allowed to work at Subways.
The fact that I got paid much better for doing stuff that some simple AI could do in triple the time is obnoxious. The fact that people think that if my full-time job would be “working in an university office” would be prestigious while a full-time job as a sandwich maker is “uneducated” is disgusting.
An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.
It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.
It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.
It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.
As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.
Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.
“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”
She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.
The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.
That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.
“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.
It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.
Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.
The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.
“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”
The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.
“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”
When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.
“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”
Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.
this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.
i had to
I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE
Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.
Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins
I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart
In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.
They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.
P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.
the last lines of the show:
demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?
anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.
demon: then why?
anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.
demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.
anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!
honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗
that addition is a+ :)
THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS
I’ve stumbled across this before, and I love it so much
Someone make it “todd and Anette” with the lower case t looking like a cross, please.
What “The Good Place” would be if it had been written by a Brit who had hated their philosophy class at University.
Super fucked up! wtf is wrong with these people? #IamWithMili!
What is every little girl supposed to have long hair in a ponytail? So happy to see all of the support going her way.
Everybody remembers that we absolutely knew this would happen, right?
Like, trans people predicted this from the start. Everyone was SO SURE they could identify us on sight, and we said “If you run with that assumption you’re going face-first into a goddamn wall” and here we go.
gay culture is.
……….well..
And you make for the lost time by being extremely stupid in your twenties and making so many mistakes
Because you didn’t get to be stupid in the protected space of your teen years
Trans women are WOMEN! There’s not lie at all!
Look at all these happy radiant women, out here enjoying life.
they never “used to be men” smh they were always women
I’m pretty sure even cis women aren’t born with tits and asses like that anyway. They’re born babies…
Let’s focus on the fact that a woman tweeted this. I’m calling out transphobic women too.
what’s a baby picture gonna show you anyway? a lil lump of chub. that’s what baby pictures look like. unless you mean you want to see a picture of the baby’s genitals in which case report yourself to the police immediately.
you could curse a police officer out, kick their car, throw a temper tantrum and throw trash. and that still doesnt mean they get to kill you. what the fuck is wrong with yall? why do you think police get some special license to kill when they get disrespected?
if they cant do their job without murdering unarmed people, they dont deserve their badge, or anyones respect.
Except it isn’t always that simple.
Except it literally is. I deal with verbal and emotional abuse daily at my job. I get disrespected daily. I’ve had customers throw things at me. Not one of those situations have I ever felt the need to pull a gun on them and shoot them. In fact, I am expected to tolerate that kind of abuse with a smile and often times those people get rewarded for their behavior.
If a cop can’t deal with being disrespected without murdering people then they don’t need to be a fucking cop.
Phrase watch this.
Transcript:
My name is Brandon Boulware and, Chairman, I’ll go as quickly as I can. I’m a lifelong Missourian, I’m a busy lawyer, I’m a Christian, I’m the son of a Methodist minister, I’m a husband, and I’m the father of four kids—two boys, two girls—including a wonderful and beautiful transgender daughter. Today happens to be her birthday. And I chose to be here. She doesn’t know that. She thinks I’m at work.
One thing I often hear when transgender issues are discussed is, “I don’t get it. I don’t understand.” And I would expect some of you to have said that and to feel the same way. I didn’t get it either. For years, I didn’t get it. For years, I would not let my daughter wear girl clothes. I did not let her play with girl toys. I forced my daughter to wear boy clothes, and get short haircuts, and play on boy’s sports teams. Why did I do this? To protect my child. I did not want my daughter or her siblings to get teased. And truth be told, I did it to protect myself as well. I wanted to avoid those inevitable questions as to why my child did not look and act like a boy.
My child was miserable. I cannot overstate that. She was absolutely miserable. Especially at school. No confidence, no friends, no laughter. I can honestly say this—I had a child who did not smile. We did that for years. We did that against the advice of teachers, therapists, and other experts.
I remember the day everything changed for me. I got home from work, and my daughter and her brother were in the front lawn. And she had sneaked on one of her older sister’s play dresses. And they wanted to go across the street and play with the neighbors’ kids. It was time for dinner, I said, “Come in.” She asked, can she go across the street. I said no. She asked me if she went inside and put on boy clothes, could she then go across the street and play. And it was then that it hit me. My daughter was equating being good with being someone else. I was teaching her to deny who she is. As a parent, the one thing we cannot do, the one thing, is silence our child’s spirit.
And so on that day, my wife and I stopped silencing out child’s spirit. The moment we allowed my daughter to be who she is, to grow her hair, to wear the clothes she wanted to wear, she was a different child. And I mean it was immediate. It was a total transformation. I now have a confident, a smiling, a happy daughter. She plays on girls’ volleyball teams. She has friendships. She’s a kid.
I came here today as a parent to share my story. I need you to understand that this language, if it becomes law, will have real effects on real people. It will affect my daughter. It will mean she cannot play on the girls’ volleyball team, or dance squad, or tennis team. I ask you, please don’t take that away from my daughter, or the countless others like her who are out there. Let them have their childhoods, let them be who they are. I ask you to vote against this legislation.
I can’t tell if this aged like wine or like milk.
Betty #46
LISTEN UP AGAIN KIDS STOP REBLOGGING THIS FUCKING GARBAGE POST. IT IS 100% FUCKING BULLSHIT AND CAN AND MOST DEFINITELY WILL LITERALLY KILL. DO YOU NOT SEE WARNING LABELS THAT SAY “DO NOT INDUCE VOMITING”? THEY AREN’T FUCKING AROUND. YOU CAN FUCKING BURN THEIR ESOPHAGUS BY CAUSING VOMITING, CAUSE CHOKING, DROWNING, OR MAKE IT WORSE! AGAIN DO NOT FORCE ANYTHING DOWN ANYONE’S THROAT. THEY. CAN. DROWN. IF SOMEONE IS LOSING CONCIOUSNESS ALL THE CHIT CHAT IN THE WORLD WILL NOT PREVENT IT AT THAT POINT THEY ARE IN SERIOUS DANGER. “Buuut i don’t wanna take them to the hospital!!!” WELL SUNSHINE GLAD YOU’D RATHER HAVE A DEAD FRIEND THAN A LIVING ONE BUT YOU’RE IN LUCK CALL FUCKING POISON CONTROL. THEY ARE NOT THE COPS. THEY WILL HELP YOU. AND IF THEY SAY GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL YOU GO TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL. NO EXCUSES. 0. NONE. I have seen this shit cross my dash SO MANY TIMES so PLEASE fucking reblog this and prevent some well meaning idiot from accidentally killing someone they love!
For the love of god PLEASE REBLOG THIS
I see this stupid fucking post one a goddamn week and someone is going to literally fucking die from it
Poison control may advise diluting the toxin somehow like with water or milk, otherwise do not give them something to drink and take the empty pill bottle/ blister pack with you to the hospital.
btw just searched it up, US poison control number is 1 800 222 1222
REBLOG
REBLOG REBLOG REBLOG!!!
I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
