abjections

Ah yes, integrity. Something the haters know nothing about. Integrity means checking your sources before posting abject rumors like the whole Groucho Club thing. Integrity means not making up awful lies about a complete stranger just because she married your internet boyfriend. Integrity means apologizing when you are wrong, something that has never happen (and God knows they’re wrong).
And yes dear @thememacat, Tumblr blogs need integrity. EVERYTHING needs integrity. If you act like a bully, don’t be surprised if people call you out for it. You’re the ones looking desperate. You’ve been wrong about every. fucking. thing. for the past 3 years. Any normal person would have given up by now.

Wanna park and act like an a**hole? Enjoy paying thousands.

Years ago, I worked as a security officer in a high-traffic tourist area (graveyard shift).

One of my responsibilities was to make sure my building’s loading/unloading zone is kept clear because at all hours of the day we’ve got vehicles coming and going for people going to meetings, visitors, tourists, cabs, etc. The curb is painted white and marked in big bold letters ✶ LOADING AND UNLOADING ONLY ✶ NO PARKING ✶. At the end of the zone there was a single handicap parking stall painted bright blue.

Now the building I worked at was nearby a few large night clubs, so every Friday and Saturday the area would be crazy busy with drunken fighting, vomiting, occasional alleyway sex, etc. All night long there’d be cute girls milling around in skimpy outfits, so the job had its perks too.

Clubbers would take advantage of my building’s valet parking service and pay to park in our garage before heading out to one of the clubs across the street.

Some clubbers would think they could get away with parking in our loading zone all night. My coworkers and I would aggressively patrol the area in the earlier evening hours and advise as many people as we could so they’d leave and avoid getting a ticket. It was also better for us if they left, because when there were too many vehicles parked out front, traffic would become a complete clusterf*ck regardless of the time of day.

Most people would be grateful for the information and leave. Occasionally, some douche would laugh in our faces, say something about pigs or rent-a-cops or whatever and leave their car anyway. In those cases, we’d call our city’s parking enforcement and they’d get a $90 ticket for their troubles.

One Saturday night, after finished a round of patrols, I went to take a leak. On my way back out, I walked past Dispatch and my buddy calls me over to the surveillance bank.

“Hey bro, you got one out front.”

I turned to the grainy feed just in time to see a piece-of-junk ‘97 BMW sloppily parking in front of our building. I murmured that I’d go out and advise the driver, but before I could leave, the driver exited his vehicle.

My buddy and I watched in silence as the driver, a young black male adorned with flashy cheap bling, hiked his pants up at the crotch and blocked the path of a couple girls walking by. He started hitting on them in the slimiest way possible, even trying to grab their hands and asses at one point, staring shamelessly at their tits while he was schmoozing them. He took out his phone and shoved it at them, presumably asking for their numbers.

Eventually the girls were able to dodge his grabbers and ran off toward the club across the street. He repeated this routine several more times with various groups of girls walking by, even taking out a small bottle of vodka from his back pocket and offering swigs. With each rejection, he’d get angry and presumably cuss out the girls as they hurried off (our cameras didn’t pick up audio but this seemed a reasonable assumption).

I sighed and looked at my buddy.

“Well, I guess I’ll go talk to him.”

I made my way out to the front and approached him just as another group of girls ducked away from him. I called out to him. He turned and stared at me blankly.

“Hey, man, just wanted to let you know that this zone is for loading and unloading. Normally it’s not a big deal to park for a bit but if everyone does it on the weekends, traffic gets backed up pretty bad here.”

The douche looked at his vehicle, then at my badge.

“F*CKYOUB*TCHASSN☻☻☻☻I'LLF*CKYOUUP. PIGASSWANNABECOPMOTHAF*CKA.”

I looked at my watch. It was about 10:30PM. I continued my spiel.

“Parking enforcement here is pretty strict. You should move your vehicle or you might get ticketed–”

“F*CKYOUN☻☻☻☻SUCKMYD*CK. BETTERNOTTOUCHMYSHITN☻☻☻☻ILLF*CKYOUUPN☻☻☻☻.”

“Have a good night sir.”

He flipped me off and went across the street, where he was promptly denied entry for dress code violations. He cussed out the bouncer and wandered off down the block. I walked over to his vehicle and saw that it was parked crooked, the rear of the vehicle partially blocking the lane of traffic. Half of his vehicle was in the white zone, the other in the blue zone. I key’d up my radio.

“8million to dispatch.”

“8million, go ahead.”

“Can you call parking enforcement for this vehicle? Lemme know when you’re ready for the plate.”

Fifteen minutes later, the parking officer arrived. He looked at the vehicle and promptly issued a $90 ticket for parking in the white zone and a $900 ticket for parking in the blue zone without a permit.

I thanked the officer and went back inside to have a snack.

A couple hours later, two of the local cops stopped by to say hi. As Officer Morris and his partner walked over, Dispatch radio’d me.

“Hey 8million, is that Jones and Morris?”

“Sure is.”

“You gonna do what I think you’re gonna do?”

“Yep.”

Officer Jones and I lit up our cigarettes as Officer Morris looked on disapprovingly. We all smoked and chatted for a bit, then I casually motioned over my shoulder at the BMW.

“Hey, Jones, check out the parking job on that piece of shit.”

We all walked over to the corner and looked at the vehicle, the two tickets stuck on the windshield flapping in the wind. Officer Morris grabbed one of the tickets, read it over and looked at me.

“What’s the story here?”

I told them what happened and the driver’s response. Officer Jones and Morris looked at each other.

“8million, you got the time?”

“Yeah, it’s… 12:27AM.”

“Well it’s a whole new day now isn’t it?”

Officer Morris proceeded to write another $90 ticket for the white zone, then another $900 ticket for the blue zone. He paused for a moment after finishing the second one.

“Hey Jones, looks like this vehicle is parked more than twelve inches from the curb. What do you think?”

“Sounds about right.”

Officer Morris wrote another ticket for $120 and slapped it on the pile of tickets on the windshield. I shook both officer’s hands and they left to continue their patrols.

The next few hours of my shift went by fairly quickly. Around 5AM, Dispatch scared the hell out of me.

“HEY 8MILLION, ARE YOU STILL ON THAT CALL?”

“Negative, I just finished clearing it.”

“RESPOND TO DISPATCH ASAP.”

I ran down to the surveillance bank, where my coworkers were all gathered and laughing their asses off. Sunday was street cleaning day and the BMW was getting ticketed again by parking enforcement.

After that, we all stopped by Dispatch every 5-10 minutes to see if the owner had returned. Finally, at about 6AM, douchebag came stumbling up the block, looking completely worn out. His formerly-white t-shirt was stained and dirty and it looked like he’d lost at least one fight.

We watched in suspense as he looked at the pile of tickets crammed together on his windshield and slowly removed them. He stood there, pants sagging below his knees, shuffling through each ticket as if he were a toddler with a handful of Pokémon cards.

With a look of abject defeat on his face, he got into his vehicle and drove off. The whole room erupted in laughter and high-fives.

As the laughter died down, I picked up the office phone and started dialing. My coworkers eyed me curiously. I put the call on speaker just as the call connected.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“Yeah, hi, I’d like to report a possible drunk driver. I have the vehicle and driver description when you’re ready.”

It Wasn't Worth All The "Horror Movie Bullshit"

Context: I am DMing a group of players through an amped-up version of the Death House from Curse of Strahd. This is meant to be a one-shot mini-campaign where many (if not all) of them will die, so I’m doing my best to make things as dangerous and scary as possible, including playing creepy music which has them all on edge. The group has made it to the third floor of the house and found two doors, one locked and one unlocked. This takes place after they fail to open the locked door.

Player 1: So the other door is unlocked, right?

DM: Right.

Player 1: I go to open the door… 13 for perception?

DM: As you look around your notice this room is mostly empty save for a desk with a large iron key on top of it. There is also a window on the far wall and sitting on it as a porcelain doll with a faded yellow dress. It’s eyes seem to follow you.

Player 1: Nope! Fuck that! I close the door.

Player 3: But the key! What if it unlocks the other door?

Player 1: Ugh, fine. I open the door again.

DM: You see the same scene, but the doll is no longer on the windowsill.

Player 1: Uh, perception 17 to see where it is?

DM: You cautiously pure around the room, looking for any signs of a faded yellow dress, however seen nothing… Until you look down.

Player 3: NO.

DM: Yes. The doll is standing by the partially open door, looking up at you with blue glass eyes.

Player 2: I roll to fucking punt it across the room! *rolls a 2*

DM: You take a step forward and go to kick the doll with all your might… only to have it grab your boot with its tiny porcelain fingers.

Player 2: HOLY SHIT! BURN IT! BURN IT!

Player 1: I ROLLED A 15 TO CAST FIREBOLT ON THE DOLL!

DM: You hear a high pitched shriek echoing from the room as the doll’s head explodes into flames, it’s worn yellow dress catching almost immediately. You watch in abject horror as it releases its grip and stumbles back. As its hair burns away, its glass eyes roll upwards to look at you before beginning to melt back into its porcelain skull.

Player 3: NOPE! I roll to slam the door shut!

DM: The door slams shut without a problem and the screaming stops abruptly.

Player 1: Guys… we still need that key…

After some argueing about whether or not getting the key and potentially unlocking the other door was “worth all this horror movie bullshit”, Player 1 again steps up.

Player 1: Okay, I open the door again and get a 14 perception.

DM: The first thing you notice is an eerie silence followed by the distinct smell of sulfur and burning hair, and lastly you see the remains of the doll. Her body is charred black, her hair has burned away along with the clothes she was wearing, and the sockets which once held blue eyes are empty, yet somehow you still feel as if you are being watched. She sits upon the desk, holding the iron key in her lap.

Player 1: FUCK IT, I’M GONNA SPRINT IN THERE, SNATCH THE KEY AND GET THE FUCK OUT AS FAST AS I CAN!

DM: Roll me an athletics check.

Player 1: 19?

DM: You do so easily, slamming the door behind you. Congratulations, you got the key.

Queue having to take a 10 minute break as the DM laughed about their reactions and everyone shared their mutual terror of babydolls, agreeing that after this all was over they were going to burn the whole house down.

Types as Disney Villains

NOTE: Continuation to Types as Disney Heroines where I showcased the strengths of each type. This time, I’m focusing on the downsides and what the types may look like when unhealthy or looping.

ISTP - Aloof. Vulgar. Aggressive. Cold-hearted.

Originally posted by southernretardation

“I tire of your arrogance, old man. Bow to me!”


ESTP - Possessive. Boastful. Disrespectful. Immature.

Originally posted by all-things-disney-gifs

“Were you in love with her, Beast? Did you honestly think she’d want you, when she had someone like me?”


INTP - Lazy. Untrustworthy. Awkward. Cynical.

Originally posted by disneydeviants

“He’s gotta have a weakness, because everybody’s got a weakness. I mean, for what? Pandora, it was the box thing. For the Trojans, hey, they bet on the wrong horse, okay?”


ENTP - Facetious. Moody. Noisy. Obnoxious.

Originally posted by idlestrology

“Ah, how shall I do it? Oh, I know. I’ll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I’ll put that flea in a box, and then I’ll put that box inside of another box, and then I’ll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives, I’ll smash it with a hammer!”

Keep reading

(triggering content below the cut)

Hm.

I don’t know where to begin with this, so I’ll just jump right into it. Below the cut is a screenshot of a fic posted today in the Voltron tag. 

[Image description: Screenshot from the mobile ao3 page, taken on my phone. It includes the title of the fic, the author, the added tags, and the author’s summary of the fic.]

(Trigger warnings: Pedophilia, sh@ladin content, unhealthy relationships, sexual content (described in the fic’s tags), underage sex, statutory rape of a toddler)

Keep reading

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“You will always hesitate”

By Camilla Taylor
Ceramic, graphite, linseed oil, wrought iron, and synthetic hair

photo by Mike Reynolds

I reinstalled this in my home studio in preparation for a few visits.  It took ages to make and I learned a lot about logistics in its construction.  I get a little thrill of pride when I see it up.

Things I can’t deal with: “aces aren’t oppressed because not being sexual is considered pure and good”

Yeah, if you’re a white woman. I am sick and tired of people dismissing the complicated relationships POC have to sexuality (in the “being sexual” sense, not the orientation sense, though that’s it’s own maze of complexity). And when we do talk about, it’s solely about hypersexualization, which is only half of the puzzle.

Brown and black people of all genders are also desexualized. That’s true overall, but I can only speak in detail about the experience of being a south asian brown woman. Me being non-sexual is NOT seen as pure and good. It’s seen as my default state. Even more so because I am not thin by any definition (fat people, and fat POC in particular, have that extra layer of desexualization to deal with). I am not “pure” when I don’t have sex and “dirty” when I do. Non-sexual is seen as my “natural” state of being. Having sexual desire/being sexual, for a brown fat girl, speeds right on past “dirty” and into “repulsive”. It’s not naughty or scandalous, it’s unnatural, gross, the abject.

Asexuality as an identity is already so much to try to grapple with when you have this history of colonialism and white supremacy defining what it means to be sexual. I don’t fucking need white lgbt people preaching to me about how society ~values~ lack of sexuality/sexual desire, when imposing that lack upon us has been one of the historical tools of white supremacy.

On a separate but related note - it also smacks very much to me of the whole “society’s ideal woman is bisexual”! Which again a) completely misunderstands the definition of the identity and b) imposes a ridiculously narrow white-centric understanding of sexuality onto the whole goddamn world.

theguardian.com
Portland Republican says party should use militia groups after racial attack
County GOP chair James Buchal says security forces may be appropriate as tensions rise after two people died in a racial attack on public transport
By Jason Wilson

White people see white nationalist violence and decide white people are under attack. Cool beans.

Multnomah County GOP chair James Buchal, however, told the Guardian that recent street protests had prompted Portland Republicans to consider alternatives to “abandoning the public square”.

“I am sort of evolving to the point where I think that it is appropriate for Republicans to continue to go out there,” he said. “And if they need to have a security force protecting them, that’s an appropriate thing too.”

Asked if this meant Republicans making their own security arrangements rather than relying on city or state police, Buchal said: “Yeah. And there are these people arising, like the Oath Keepers and the Three Percenters.”

Asked if he was considering such groups as security providers, Buchal said: “Yeah. We’re thinking about that. Because there are now belligerent, unstable people who are convinced that Republicans are like Nazis.”

Can’t make this shit up. Like this is a public call for armed white supremacists to show up to protests, rallies, marches and to “protect” Republicans from us. These white men cannot help but support racist violence even when confronted with its abject harm to all.

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  1. Psycho by Alfred Hitchcock, 1960.
  2. Lorna the Exorcist by Jess Franco, 1974.
  3. Possession by Andrzej Zulawski, 1981.
  4. The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Miss Osbourne by Walerian Borowczyk, 1981.
  5. The Living Dead Girl by Jean Rollin, 1982.
  6. The Fly by David Cronenberg, 1986.
  7. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me by David Lynch, 1992.
  8. The Witch by Robert Eggers, 2015.
  9. The Neon Demon by Nicolas Winding Refn, 2016.

Films that end with a woman’s sublime or abject experience. Inspired in part by a post by batarde.

“Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain, and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a source of the sublime; that is, it is productive of the strongest emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.”

A Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful by Edmund Burke, 1757.

“The corpse, seen without God and outside of science, is the utmost of abjection. It is death infecting life. Abject. It is something rejected from which one does not part, from which one does not protect oneself as from an object. Imaginary uncanniness and real threat, it beckons to us and ends up engulfing us.”

Powers of Horror by Julia Kristeva, 1980.