guy with the white chin

Four things I learnt when my work went viral after being tweeted by a white supremacist.

So last week or so my twitter blew up because an alt-right white supremacist wankbag called Paul Watson posted this tweet, featuring the family I designed for the roman episode of the animated show “The Story of Britain.”

Watson works as a “journalist” for Info Wars, the site founded by Alex Jones a site that Breitbart and the daily stormer look down on for been too crazy.

The show itself is about  families in a different time periods running from the stone age up until the signing of the Magna Carta.

As you can see, Watson took offence to the family being non-white and proceed to get his arse handed to him not only by Mike Stuchbery  here but by the internet at large.

In response, he made a video trying to counter the arguments with unfounded and frankly dodgy sources.

You can see his eyes are red because he’s been crying.

What I learned.

1. Racists will turn on anything to suit their agenda.

The main argument I kept seeing was that Watson and his followers had nothing against black people, or even the idea that some Romans were black. They just didn’t like the idea that the family was described as typical in the animation’s title. They are, of course, conflating the term “typical” with “majority.” They think that, because I chose a non-white family to represent the Romans, I thought all romans were black. Even though you can see white characters in the background.

The guy with the fantastic chin is in fact a cheeky caricature of the chief animator and one of my best mates, Angus.

This also got tweeted by a journo who works for the sun (basically the Daily mail–Fox news but if it was written for people with a seven year old’s reading speed)

who went through all the footage–more than an hour of episodes–to find almost all the non white people in the show.

Thus, I saw a lot of replies propping up the outrage at a non white family with the hashtag “whitegenoside,” A term white people like to use when they believe their significance in their own geological culture is not first and foremost all the time, every time.

I in no way wanted to suggest that all romans were black, but that was what they took away from the one screenshot and ran with it because it suits their agenda.

What’s more, it’s on the BBC’s children’s YouTube channel. Although I encourage people of all ages to watch, I doubt that Watson was just perusing the channel on his own time. More likely, someone with a beef against the BBC sent it to him, which brings me to:

2. Right wing racists are at constant odds with the BBC and cannot fathom that it’s an organisation made of individuals.

I saw a lot of “BBC’s agenda” and “what the BBC wants” in the discussion of the episode. The way these people talk about the BBC, it’s as if it’s a massive corporate machine like Tyrell Corporation in blade runner. A huge pyramid that pumps out content that fits within its own personal political viewpoint.

ow, I have my own reservations about the corporation, it’s nowhere near perfect. But the people that I have met that work there do want to do good in the world and, as an institution, it’s one I stand by.

As for the corporation itself, it doesn’t work the way they (and probably you) think it does. Although there are several main buildings for the BBC, they are mostly used for admin offices and recording studios. Most production is made by separate companies.

For example, although I credit the BBC with commissioning several projects that I’ve worked on, I’ve never worked for the BBC directly. Projects are commissioned by the corporation, then that commision goes to a production company, and then the production company hires me as a contractor to direct the show.

All the design choices were mine. Just mine. I got some notes from on high, but they were mostly about length, and what eras and characters should be included (the main one being that they really wanted a Boudicca episode because hot damn why not?).

So the idea of a huge machine-like corporation dictating every element of production is not only wrong, it robs all the cast and crew of any creative agency.

3. Paul Watson is a terrible journalist and only tweeted this out to stir shit.

So when Watson tweeted this out, he did so only to stir up his followers’ blood and get some good, cheap outrage to pass the time between moaning that Brexit isn’t happening fast enough and hate-watching “Tropes vs. Women.”

Granted, a tweet is not an article, but if you say you’re a journalist on your linkedin page right under “Federal Boobie Inspector,” you should at least have some respect for the content you make public.

Its super easy to find out who directed the series. It was nominated for a BAFTA. I brag about it all the time. At no point did he look up who directed the show, realise that Ben Tobitt the doctor probably didn’t direct it, and get in contact with me.

He could have asked me all sorts of questions, like:

Q. Why did you make the roman family non white?

A. Because I have these studies to back up the design. Also britain has always been a multicultural island, going back further than the Roman invasion. Also, I wanted to draw a hot dad that looked like Idris Elba.

Cos bloody hell why not, right?

Q. Did the BBC demand that you have a family in the show be non-white?

A. No, and again I wanted to have an episode where the dad is my hot, steamy love letter to the Cadillac of men that is Idris Elba.

Q. Am I a shit stirring racist gobshite who works for a conspiracy theorist that wants to incite the second American Civil War?

A. Spot on there, mate.

In the end, Watson probably didn’t want to follow it up because he was lazy and just wanted to rage tweet. But also I reckon that, in the back of his head, he knew I would have research to back up my designs, making him look the racist fool he is. Then he tweeted it anyway, got his arse handed to him by someone who knows their shit and is now the laughing stock of the internet.

4. If you plant a seed of controversy, it will likely grow into a massive wank fest.

I directed “The Story of Britain” all the way back in 2014, back when Obama was president and Brexit was merely a gleam in Nigel Farage’s beady little toad-like eye. This was my first big directing gig and I was nervy as all hell, but got though it withthe best animation crew, some marvelous writers and researchers and just the best producers, engineers, and artists you could hope for. I knew that it was well known in the academic world that there is evidence of African and Asian people in Britain looong before 1960. But I also knew this fact was still undersold in most historical dramas and documentary recreations, so if I put some black and brown people in there, it would seriously piss some people off. But here’s the thing: it never came up with the BBC. The producer, the executive producer, the historical researcher, none of them mentioned the black and brown characters.

(Although there were some comments on Roman Daddy here cos phwoar why not eh?)

Why? Because it’s an indisputable fact that Britain has always been multicultural and multiracial.

Now, this may mean that I have seen a lot of ugly shit on twitter, but it has added to the conversation going on about the whitewashing of history. Not just with Hollywood casting white actors as Egyptians and such, but the erasure of people of colour from western civilisation. Normalising the truth of a multicultural past will hopefully make a less white supremacist future.

So before I get too far up my own arse, here’s a nice picture of Roman Daddy.  

Getting a Job part 2

Read part 1:https://theamazinguchihabruhs.tumblr.com/post/163948245691/getting-a-job-part-1 Part 2

I looked at the screen of my phone. This seemed to be the address the man had given me, but I was expecting some sketchy neighbourhood. This however, was just the business center. I swear Madara’s building is, like, four blocks from here. I kept walking until I stood right in front of a building that seemed to be a cafe. It was called…


“Heaven” I read outloud. It didn’t look shady at all, but Heaven did sound like strip club. I would really stand out between those pole dancers. I am pretty good. I pushed the door open, ready to see people throw money on the stage while drinking their alcoholic beverages.


I blinked a couple of time. I couldn’t believe my eyes.


“Kitty, you made it!” The man who gave me his card walked towards me and instead of a handshake, he hugged me.


“K-Kitty?” I felt attacked. Had Shisui put me up to this?! Was this a test?! I looked around the cafe, but I didn’t see anyone that resembled any of my brothers.


“Yes, your name will be Kitty if you decide to take the job” He wrapped an arm around me. “Slim waist, you are a perfect fit”


“Perfect fit?” I asked, looking around this place. “Heaven…is a…maid cafe?”


“Yes! Exactly!” The man snapped his finger. “You will be a waiter, all you have to do is bring the food and beverages to the customers, have small talk and be cute”


“Cute? Really? I can actually be really sexy, did I mention I can pole dance?” I felt ignored by this guy. He gave me a tour around the place and introduced some of the people working there such as “Sugar, Cinnamon and Cookie” I could only assume it wasn’t their real names. We ended up at the back of the café, in his office. He pulled the chair out for me to sit and I did. I had to be honest. I was good if this was a stripclub, but…a maid cafe? It seemed more lewd than a strip club.


“So?” He asked, crossing his legs and winking at me.


“I don’t know, man…it is just not me-”


“You get paid ten bucks an hour and you can keep the tips…which is a lot-”


“You had me at ten bucks an hour” I said, “Where do I sign?” I asked, grabbing a pen from his desk.


The man grabbed a sheet of paper and before he could even go through it, I signed my name on it.


“So when do I start?” I asked, shoving the contract back.


“Today”


“Yeah~” I stood up. “Walk me through it”


He stood up and grabbed something from a box.


“So your name is going to be Kitty, you are half-cat, these are your cat ears, your shoes and your uniform, you can get your tail from Foxy, he is the redhead, he will walk you through everything on the work floor, so please get dressed” The man put everything on his desk and just looked at me.


“Oh…OK!” I went to unbutton my shirt, but the guy stopped me. A blush was spread across his face and dollar signs appeared in his eyes. “Such a natural…there is a locker room next to my office”


I grabbed the clothes and nodded.


“Sure thing” I walked to the locker room, got dressed in the light purple, poofy cocktail dress with a navy stripe around the edge of the fabric combined with a dark blue apron that was tied around my middle and reached over my crotch. The dress had a purple bow on my chest and to top it all off I wore elbow high navy gloves.


I put my clothes away and looked in the mirror. Years of unnecessary leg shaving has worked so good for me. I put my shoes on before sliding my hand over my baby soft legs. Yup…baby oil made them soooooo~  smooth.


“Kitty?” I looked up. I felt kinda busted. I got up seeing a young man, not much older than I was. He had red hair and fox ears.


“You must be Foxy…but really, what is your real name?” I asked.


“None of your business” He said, frowning slightly. “Come with me” He demanded as he turned around. I saw a fox tail and I wondered where it was attached to. I could only assume it was a butt plug. How did he even walk with that?!


“Let me get your tail-”


“T-Tail?!” I spatted out, “Oh no, I am not going to wear a butt plug, I am a virgin!” I raised my voice, causing almost everyone in the cafe to stare at me.


“It is a belt, idiot” Foxy said, putting both hands on his hips, “You just wear it around your waist”


“Oh…oooohh~” I felt stupid now. “Was it weird of me to assume-”


“Yes” Foxy said. He indicated me to follow him and I did. He grabbed the belt for me with the black cat tail hanging from it. I put it on and it was the perfect fit!…oh…that was what the boss meant with perfect fit.


I followed Foxy the first couple of hours. Just accompanying him got me tips from these people. For no reason but walking around with Foxy and occasionally answering a question like ‘What’s your name? ’ and ‘How old are you?’.


So, it was time to do my first table by myself. I put on brave face and walked towards the table with four middle-aged men sitting there. I was holding my purple notebook and my pencil with the paw eraser on the end.


“Good afternoon, my name is Kitty and I am your waiter, have you made up your mind already?” I asked, faking a smile.


“You name is really Kitty?” One of them scoffed.


“Actually my real name was supposed to be princess…” I talked to myself, putting the eraser against my chin, “But for you it is Kitty” I said.


“Alright Kitty, I’ll take a margarita, just coffee for him and…” The third person put the menu down.  


“I take scotch”


“Ah, my daddy used to love a good plain scotch, would you want a Highland Park 12 Year Old or Johnnie Walker Double Black? They are different in price” I said.


“What does your daddy like?” He asked, nodding his head a little.


“Well, my daddy was a fan of Laphroaig Quarter Cask he use to say ‘This is the scotch-drinker’s scotch, a scotch that tastes like scotch’, it is not on the menu, but we have a bottle, so I can probably get you a glass for fair a price”


“Y’know, Kitty” He took his wallet and grabbed a fifty dollar bill, “See what you can get me” He said, holding it between his fingers.


“For fifty, I can get you an entire bottle? But I wouldn’t want you to get drunk” I said. The man whistled, looking at his friends. “Oh Kitty~”


“Yeah, who is supposed to notice me then? You think legs shave themselves?” I rolled my eyes, writing the orders down. “Fifty gets you a glass” I said.


“One?”


“No, silly, two, one for you and one for me” I said, “Something has to get me going through this long day”


“Will you be joining me in a drink?” He asked.


“Hmmm…” I was thinking deeply, “Why the hell not? We are not busy today anyway” I said before walking away. I returned with their drinks before grabbing a chair.


“Cheers, Kitty” He said, holding his glass up.


“Cheers” I said, taking a sip before spitting it back in my glass and making a disgusting look. “Ugh” I wrapped a hand around my throat. That was disgusting.


“Ooh, this baby is strong” He said. I knew he was talking about his drink, but…he kept looking at me.


“Ugh, it has a disgusting taste” I got up, “I have to wash my mouth” I walked to the kitchen.


“Hey, what ya doing?” My boss asked.


“Washing the taste of disgusting scotch out of my mouth?” I gave him a questionable look when he handed me a glass of milk.


“This will do fine, now go amuse the customers” He said, pushing me back towards the table.


“Oh…you got some milk?”


“Yeah, milk with honey or something. It apparently helps” I wanted to take a sip, but it was one of those prank glasses that made me spill most of the milk over my uniform. I put the glass away and turned my head to my boss who put his thumb up.  


“He is picking on the new guy already” I muttered before looking at the sticky white substance over my chin, chest, fingers and lap.


“This is such a bad day for me…Foxy, can you get me napkin?” I turned my head to the redhead who looked rather impressed. I know…only I could make such a mess.


“No, no, you have made our day” I looked at the man holding his cellphone up. He was either looking for a signal or Beyonce was standing behind me and he was snapping pictures like a paparazzi.


My boss suddenly grabbed his phone and had this strict look.


“No pictures allowed” He pointed at the sign, “I will have to ask you guys to leave”


“What no~” I complained,”They are my first-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence when I saw all their eyes turned to me.


“You dirty Kitty, let me help you clean up” Foxy’s hands suddenly grabbed my shoulders. He then grabbed my arm and pulled me to the kitchen. I was expecting some sort of scolding because I messed up my first customers.


“You are a natural!” He said, squeezing my cheek.


“I-I did okay?” I asked almost shocked. Dude, I always messed up. I must be in some kind of alternative universe.


“No, you are perfect””  Foxy said, grabbing a napkin, “Let’s clean you up and prepare you for the next customers” He winked at me. I can’t believe…I was actually good at something.


Oxoxoxox

I exhaustively dropped myself on the couch before taking a deep breath. It was soooooo~ busy today. I am wondering why it was always like that when I was working. I laid my head on the armrest before feeling a hand stroke my hair.


“Hey, otouto”


I raised my head by Itachi’s voice.


“How was work?” He asked.


“It was very busy” I said, putting my head back on the armrest. I was already two weeks in and I got promoted. Promoted apparently meant going from cocktail dress to navy mini skirt and crop top with an orange apron around the waist and stripes around the edges of the fabric. I guess I am…the head waiter now…or some shit.


But even though I meet a lot of strange people, saying strange stuff and giving me weird looks. All my co-workers called me a natural and a lot of customers seem to like me…I guess I am likeable person after all.


“How does going out to dinner sound? Are you up for that?” Shisui asked. “It’s just the three of us tonight anyway”


“Wonderful” Itachi said, his hand still stroking my hair.


“I guess” I said. Both of them remained quiet.


“You…you are willing to go out…instead of ordering take out?”


“Uhu, what is the big deal? You are driving and I am the one getting to drink” I raised my head, “Right?”


“First, he starts taking regular showers, then he started brushing his hair without complaining and now he is willing to go to a social place…what the hell did that diner do to him?” Shisui whispered.


“I know right…it is like they brainwashed him”


“Uhu” Shisui agreed with Itachi.


“I am right here” I stood up from the couch. “Let’s go I am starving”


We went to an italian place and naturally I ordered a pizza and just listened to Itachi and Shisui gossip about their co-workers like I wasn’t even there, but hearing them talk was quite amusing. It is like watching Gossip Girl or Meangirls.


“Guys” I interrupted them, “It’s ten o'clock and I have to go to work in the morning”  I yawned. “I am very tired”


“Aww, princess” Shisui turned his head to Itachi, “Isn’t it adorable how hardworking he is?”


“But…dessert…” Itachi had a pouting expression on his face.


“We have ice cream at home” I reminded them, my face leaning on my hand. I turned my head to the waitress. “Hey, can we get the check?” I asked. I turned my head back to Shisui who was searching his pockets. He looked at Itachi.


“I forgot my wallet” He whispered.


“I have mine in my coat…which is in the car” He said, wanting to get up to get it.


“I can get this one” I said, grabbing my wallet. “Oh, and…” I grabbed a twenty dollar bill and handed it to the waitress “Buy yourself something nice, cutie” I winked at her. A blush spread across her cheeks. I wanted to get up and go back to the car, but both Shisui and Itachi were giving each other weird looks. They had one of their telepathic conversations again.


“Did he just call her cutie?” Itachi knitted his eyebrows.


“Did he just sound like a fucking pimp?” Shisui nodded.


“Did you see the amount of cash he had? That is concerning, right?” Itachi raised an eyebrow before indicating to me.


“You think he is a stripper?” Shisui’s eyes widened.


“How else does he have so many one dollar bills?” Itachi looked worried.


“Princess cannot be a stripper!” Shisui had a panicking expression on his face.


“I know! My baby brother?!” Itachi had the same expression.


“Guys!” I interrupted their conversation. “I am just a waiter…I get tons a tips”


“Promise to the grave of our father that you are not a stripper” Itachi demanded.


I rolled my eyes at nissan’s words. He always thought the worse of me.


“I swear on the grave of my daddy that I am not a stripper” I chuckled , “And I am talking about the biological one”  


“Did he just make a sex joke?” Shisui asked.


“He did” Itachi confirmed, the serious expression still on his face.


“Come on!” I can’t believe them sometimes!


===edited by @failureoftheyear

Request: Water Buddy

Request: There’s 12 minutes left of Wednesday and I want to use 2 of those minutes to request a Sam x Reader imagine involving mermaids! Doesn’t matter if she’s a mermaid, or if they’re working on a case that involves mermaids, anything you’d like. I just think it’d be super cool. Please and thank you :)

Word Count: 1,512

This was really cool because we don’t have a massive amount of lore from the show on mermaids, so I kinda just made it up as I went along. I hope you like it, and thank you!<33

“Sam?” You ask, looking over at your boyfriend. You’ve been poring over these books for what seems like forever and you’ve only now had an idea.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up from the dusty old tome you’d recovered form a back corner of the library that hadn’t been touched in decades.

“Are we looking at mermaids here?”

That grabs his attention. He looks up at you, his brow quickly furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Guys – usually young, between twenty and thirty-five, leaving clubs with pretty girls. The next morning, they appear, drowned. I know you were suspecting some kind of siren and a lot of it’s the same mythology, but…” You trail off, and Sam shrugs.

“It makes sense. I’ve just never heard of mermaids being real.”

“There are a lot of things we’ve never heard of,” You say optimistically, “And it’s the only lead we’ve got.”

“You’re right. Let’s get digging.”

***

You spend the next hour trawling through the records in the library, gathering all of the information you can on mermaids – where they come from (Syria) and how to kill them (with a man-made metal) and where they like to hang out (dark, damp places, but they won’t live in slums). You make it out of the library, before realising that you’re nearly out of steel bullets.

“You go on ahead, get Dean caught up, and I’ll stop by that little ammo shop.” You tell Sam. He kisses you gently before agreeing, walking off in the opposite direction. You go the other way, heading down to the ammo shop – the place closes in a half hour, so you hurry slightly, wanting to get back to the motel before nightfall. At this time of night, the dusk is just beginning to creep in.

You head into the shop and a bell chimes at your entrance. You attract the attention of the guy behind the counter – your stereotypical middle-aged white guy with whiskers dotting his chin. He smiles slightly as he sees you.

“Hey, darlin’. Need some help?”

You look over the racks of bullets on the wall, and shake your head.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You head over in that direction, and begin looking for the right bullets.

“Know what you’re doing?”

“Sure do.” You offer him a smile, “I grew up hunting.”

“With your pops?”

“Sure, and grandpops too.” You say – might as well throw him off track a little, “I sometimes still do a bit with my boyfriend and his brother.”

He smiles, coming up behind you.

“What are you looking for?”

“Just… this one!” You grin, reaching up to grab the right box, “Thank you.”

He leads you over to the register and begins ringing up the purchase.

“Steel bullets?” He remarks, “Why steel?”

“My pops always trusted ‘em the best.” You reply evenly, suspicious of this guy. He grins.

“Really?”

“Sure.”

“I’m more of an iron guy myself.” He remarks. You smile.

“That’s what my boyfriend’s brother reckons.” You add, “But… you keep on with what you up with, right?”

“Which is why you keep hunting?”

“Sure is, mister.” You nod as you hand over the money. Suddenly, his eyes narrow and turn a dark blue – like the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean.

“Hunters.” He hisses, “Thought you could get past us?”

He throws the box of ammo at the floor and the scatter. Your eyes widen as he launched himself over the counter and tackles you to the floor.

“We’ve been here for decades and will not have hunters ruin that!” With one blow, you’re out like a light.

***

“She should be here by now.” Sam says worriedly, pacing the floor. Dean looks over at him, brows furrowed.

“She’ll just have run into some old lady on the street. You know what she’s like, she can’t say no.”

Sam shakes his head, “Something’s wrong, Dean. Trust me.”

***

You wake up in a small room. The air is humid and it’s all but pitch black, the only light coming from a tear in the blackout fabric covering the window. You’re tied securely to a chair and you groan, your head aching. You’re tied with what seems to be lengths of fisherman’s rope – long, thick, and potentially sea-washed. A green tinge to what you can see of it indicates some sort of algae, maybe, covering it.

“Ah, she awakes.”

It’s the man from earlier, stood before you. Except… he’s different. Instead of skin, he has peculiar pearly scales, and his eyes reflect the dark blue of the ocean floor.

“Mermaid?” You ask blearily, and he smiles.

“Bingo.” He doesn’t seem malicious, you ponder. Then you remember that you’re trussed up in a dark, sauna-like room somewhere you don’t know.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you killing people now?”

“My daughters have lived for centuries, hunter, and they get bored.” He smiles slightly, “Feeding is not as easy as it used to be.”

“They feed on those guys?”

“They do.”

“Do you have tails?”

“When in water, yes.”

He seems to be proud of what he is – all the better for you.

“I like your scales.” You offer, and he grins, showing razor-sharp teeth, almost like a shark’s.

“Why, thank you. How would you like some of your own?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, come on.” He groans, “They never want to be turned, but they grow to love it. Look at my girls now!”

“I know, but I spent hours moisturising my face and-”

“Be quiet, human!” He hisses. Well, at least it’s a step up from hunter. Or is it?

“Sorry. Just out of interest, how do I go about… turning?” You ask.

Come on, guys. I’m running out of questions!

“It’s simple. All you do is sit there while we feed you the waters of every ocean.”

“That’s all?”

“No. Then blood.”

“Ew.”

“It’s worth it. Finally, we drown you.”

Niiiiiice.”

“Again, painful, but worth it.”

“What about the death part? How would I – not that I can, being all… tied up and whatnot… but if I could, how would I?”

“Steel bullets. Any manmade metal, unfortunately.”

“Must make finding cutlery awkward. Or are you more into finger food?”

“Please, shut up. Someone’s coming.”

“Probably-”

He shoots you a look that makes you hush, and you strain to listen. He must have much better hearing than you do, as you can’t make out a thing.

So, you keep making noise. Distracting him is the best thing is the easiest way if it is Sam and Dean.

“So… did you ever watch that H20: Just Add Water show? Is it like that? 'Cause that would be awesome! But what happens when it rains? I’ve always wondered that. I mean… it must suck. How do you drink? Do you drink blood? I tried it once when I was a teenager but it was just weird 'cause it was my own and I felt really weird. What about… bodies? You eat the flesh? Or do you, like, just eat the legs so that you can keep your own human legs. Wait, that’s not right, I’ve seen the bodies…” You babble on and on, totally meaninglessly. He buys it, though, tuning into your voice rather than whoever is approaching. He tries to tell you to be quiet, but you just keep going.

That’s when the door bursts open and three gunshots ring out through the room. Two hit his chest and one hits his neck.

Sam and Dean race forward – Dean checking the mermaid, and Sam coming to untie you.

“Are you alright? Did he hurt you?” Sam asks, cutting the rope away. You laugh it off.

“Nah, he was chill.”

“Chill? Y/N, he sired mermaids. He wanted to change you into one.”

“How did you know that?”

“One of his girls told us.” Sam shrugs, pulling you to your feet. You wobble slightly and he catches you, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, “Easy, there.”

“What about the girls?”

“Dead.”

“Mean.”

“Necessary.”

You laugh, and Sam presses a kiss to your lips as the three of you leave the house the mermaid family had taken up residence in.

“I’m starving.” Dean remarks loudly, grabbing your attention, “Who votes we go and get something to eat before we leave this joint?”

“Can we get fish?” You request, and both brothers groan.

“Maybe we should have let them turn you.”

“Screw off. You’d be dead without me, and you know it.”

“She’s kind of right, Dean.”

“I know she’s right, dammit. Let’s just get pie and move on.”

“Amen.”

I hate those middle age white guys who walk round with that stupid fucking disdainful double-chinned rosy expression on their face, like they are doing the entire world a favour by existing in it and you are only allowed to Be because they say so. Your cheap suit and prehistoric attitude is impressing nobody, my guy, so kindly take your lame alpha dog mentality and neuter it for all our sakes.