Dude Nice

i'm not paralyzed, but i seem to be struck by you, i wanna make you move because you're standing still 🎸

the way tumblr is trying to distance itself from being a blogging platform is fucking. infuriating!!

like do you not know this is your strength!!! I want to be able to visit other people’s pages that have been CUSTOM MADE for their purpose!!! ARTISTS HAVE LINKS AND TAGS FOR THEIR ART!!!  COMMUNITIES AND HELP/TUTORIAL BLOGS HAVE TAGS FOR SPECIFIC QUIERIES!!! WRITERS CAN LINK ME TO THEIR STORIES!!! IT HELPS BOTH THE POSTERS AND THE CONSUMERS TO MODERATE THE EXPERIENCE TO THEIR LIKING!!!!

SENDING PEOPLE TO THAT UNSLIGHTLY “BOARD” OF A “BLOG” THAT APPEARS NOW WHEN YOU CLICK THE NAME OF THE BLOG INSTEAD OF SENDING YOU TO THE ACTUAL BLOG IS SUCH A DUMBASS MOVE? IT DOESNT EVEN ALLOW LINKS!!! I CANT DO SHIT ON THERE!!! I CANT FIND WHAT IM THERE FOR!!!! IT MAKES ME NOT WANT TO USE IT!!!!

TUMBLR IS/USED TO BE THE MOST FLEXIBLE AND THAT WAS ITS BIGGEST MERIT!!! YOU HAVE ONE OF THE BEST TAGGING SYSTEMS AND YOU WONT LET ME USE IT TO ITS FULL POTENTIAL!!! 

YOU CAN FOSTER COMMUNITIES, YOU LET PEOPLE KEEP MULTIPLE SIDE BLOGS WITHOUT HAVING TO SIGN IN WITH A DIFFERENT EMAIL, YOU ALLOW VIDEOS AND AUDIO AND +4 PHOTOS PER POST!!!! TWITTER CANT HAVE THAT!! TIKTOK CANT HAVE THAT!! REDDIT CANT HAVE THAT!!! FACEBOOK CANT HAVE THAT!!!

IM SO SICK OF THIS TWITTERIFICATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Day 3 of making my own "Warriors-inspired" figures: "Ravenpaw!"

I think he might be my favourite of the ones I've made so far, little skrunkly man,,,

Propaganda below!

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.

Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.

Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.

You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.

As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.

Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.

This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.

A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

Gonna watch a video. It better not kill the fucking radio star

You have got to be shitting me

Sharecropping.

FYI if your employer does this, if they have done it for a long time especially, you and your coworkers could be owed huge amounts of unpaid wages and it would be an easy suit if there is a paper trail like this and your employer is placing strict requirements on your behavior while not at work. Employment lawyers generally work on contingency. Just food for thought.

I hate the "Oh ur posting without tags? how is anyone supposed to find ur post🥺" warning shit tumblr does now. the hand of god will deliver me unto others

sometimes plushies make me cry because it’s like. they’re little guys made to be loved. their only purpose is to be held and hugged and loved. we made them because we love making things and we love loving things. and they’re so cute

Years back, I was working at a specialty store, and we got this HUGE crate of plushy toys. They were all insanely cute and squishy. I knew kids would go nuts for them, as it was the first week of December, so parents and grandparents often had kids with them while shopping for furniture, lamps, cooking equipment, lights, etc.

One night, I was working my last hour of my shift covering the Customer Service desk, which meant when I wasn't busy, I was supposed to help clean up around the cash registers, including taking back items people changed their minds about at the checkout. Earlier, I had witnessed a kid carrying thos cute plushy toy. It was a brown and white hedgehog. The kid, at the checkout, saw a remote control car and he told his dad he qanted it. The dad told him, "The plushy or the car- you can't have both" (by the way, I respect boundaries with kids and parents sticking to their guns about it), and the kid picked the car.

So, I'm cleaning up, have less than an hour left of my shift, and I see the little plushy hedgehog. Somehow, he never got put back nor had anyone else seen him and decided to buy him. He was just sitting there, slumped to the side, unattended.

It's Christmas and I'm a sentimental old sap at heart. My brain starts replaying the scene from RUDOLPH where he's on the Island of Misfot Toys, and is told a toy is never truly happy until it is loved. I picked him up and quickly took him back to the bin with the plushies but... It was empty. He was literally the last plushy toy and my boss was about to wheel the bin out. We weren't getting any more toys till November, so that meant any toys left at this point needed to sell or they'd be sent to the dump.

I brought the little hedgehog to the front, figuring someone would see him with the candy, candles, & Christmas brick-a-brack, and fall in love with him. When I finished my shift, I went to ask my manager a question and as I passed the Christmas candle display - there he sat, the sad little slumped over hedgehog plushy. No one had bought him, or even moved him.

My manager, Phillip, saw me and the hedgehog. He asked how the hedgehog got there. I told him how I'd put him there when the bin got sent back, and he was the only plushy left. Philip had kids, I figured he'd probably get sentimental and buy it for his kids. Nope. He shrugged and said he'd send it back to be disposed of.

That night, I came home with a plushy hedgehog in my passenger seat. My mom saw him and just thought he was the cutest little hedgehog and asked what I wanted to do with him. I told her the story, then added I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do with him.

My mom is a child psychiatrist, specializing in children with PTSD and brain damage that results in learning problems/issues with processing their emotions. She asked if she could have the plushy hedgehog (even offered to pay me for him, she didn't expect me to just give him over), so kids could hug him when they were upset in session.

Murphy, the plushy hedgehog that still slumps a little to the left when seated, has been hugged by hundreds of kids. Little girls have held him tight while explaining about bullies, little boys have held him tight while crying over their panic attacks, younger siblings have held him to whisper secrets while elder siblings and parents talk about self-soothing techniques, teenagers have hugged Murphy while talking about the worst day of their lives. Murphy has also been hugged by kids excitedly chatting about a new friend at school, a teen girl excited to be called by her name instead of her dead-name, little kids proudly saying they've mastered their ABCs, and even staff members who just need to come chat over a case they are having trouble with.

Every now and then, my mom brings Murphy home for a weekend. He gets washed (she calls it a Spa Weekend, to her coworkers, all of them laughing), dried, and sits outside with my mom in the sunshine to get aired out, then on Monday, they are back to work. Some kids even just ask to hold Murphy while they talk, no matter their mood or what they want to talk about. They just want to hug Murphy.

So yes. Plushies are made for one purpose. To be hugged and loved. To be a comfort.

Holding the laptop’s power button down because it’s crashed and there’s no other way to turn it off feels so unsettling. It makes me feel like I’m holding a cushion over its face while the life slowly ebbs out of it.

Phenomenon I feel happens a lot

[ID: a doodle of two people looking away from each other. The first person is thinking, "If they wanted me to know they would tell me. I shouldn't ask about it." The second person is thinking, "If they cared about it they would ask me. I shouldn't talk About it." End ID.]

tumblr in 2020:

i forgot i rlly liked this and didnt postit anywhere but pinterest... heyy guys

ctubbo would’ve helped make las nevadas’ slime clones if he was allowed to show up in the lnv arc i know this in my heart

live in this world for me for a moment please. a world where ctubbo gets a coherent character ending arc instead of aimlessly wobbling through Even More Bullshit for awhile before . yknow. he’s working with las nevadas, he has a purpose, his family is fine, he’s back on his mad scientist arc and having a wonderful time. foolish is his lab assistant. picture it with me. are you picturing. can you see it. i can see it, this world we’ve created. it’s beautiful

reblog to enlist your mutuals in building the House :)

I finished putting together the Irish-American heritage month display and Jesus CHRIST there are so few books about Ireland in our collection?? Once more, I must say:

Oh and for the people who asked me last time what "a lot of stuff" entails

How the FUCK did I forget this

SURPRISE. I HAVE MORE. 🚀🌕