my mom wrote it

15 Million Bosses Day 4

Day 4 (3/23): how has the channel impacted your life?! (you can get as personal as you wish)

The channel had Impacted my life in so many amazing ways it’s honestly hard to explain. The channel saved my life, jack saved my life, the community saved my life and I couldn’t be more grateful.

It was one night 2 years ago when I decided I was going to commit suicide, I wrote a note to my mom and little sister, I swallowed almost an entire bottle of Tylenol and went to bed….I woke up the next morning feeling worse than ever before, great I had failed my attempt to kill myself. All well I’ll try agin next month, so I did…but this time I decided to jump off the bridge, so there I was sitting on the edge of the bridge getting ready to end everything all my pain and suffering would be over.

My phone went off, it was a notification from YouTube, “Jacksepticeye just uploaded a video.” I decided to watch it, one last video to make me smile, to give me peace. But I was what Seán had said at the end of that video that saved my life, made me get down off the edge of that bridge and walk back home.
He said “what you’re going through is temporary, suicide is permanent. It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem that can be fixed.” And that’s what saved my life.

I know my story isn’t the best but it’s the truth, So thank you Seán for saving my life, giving me a reason to smile and get out of bed in the morning.

And thank you to the JSE community for saving my life as well.


So, I’m going to be in NYC in a few days and I wanted to go see the Christmas Tree, and my mom pointed out something called ‘Dump Tower’ on the map. Joking with her, I said, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if someone hacked it and wrote DUMP?’ 

My mom, a former long time NYC resident, looked at the map and said ‘Hey that’s awful close to where it actually is.’ So I had to investigate and:

OH. MY. GOD. So naturally I had to see what was up with the other Trump property….



Last night I read the list of transgender murders for the transgender day of remembrance.  After page 50 of names and descriptions of how these people were killed I was ready to give up.  I didn’t want to read anymore, but my conscience got the better of me. How could I possibly skip a name, a story, a person, as though my time or my feelings were more important than the fact that they were murdered for being who they are.  Who, the fuck, could do that?

As I read my way through the list I couldn’t believe the disproportionate number of murders that happen in Central and South America, chiefly Brazil.  I found myself wondering if maybe that’s where the study was done, where the list was compiled, for it to be swayed so heavily in that direction. Or perhaps, as is hinted in a few of the murder descriptions, there is an incredibly prolific serial killer at work.  That might explain some of the staggering numbers.  So today I did a little googling. 

In my life, I have to this point, never before wished that there was a serial killer at work.  Today I did.  I think it would have been easier to swallow, if I believed that one person, one sick sociopath was responsible for a large chunk of the murders I read about. One outlier on the fringes of society that just needs to be stopped. That would be more palatable than the likely reality.  The reason there is such an alarming tide of transgender murders in Brazil, is because the transgendered are hated by a good portion of the country.

I am staggered by this.  Hatred. 

I don’t even know how to process this.  I can’t think of a single person in my life that I have ever hated.  Disliked, maybe, but I’ve never had enough energy in my vitriol for hate.  How do we live in a world where hate, for an entire group of people (people with one thing in common, but not people who are all the same, these are people after all), leads to thousands of murders over the past five years, none of which are causing violent outcry to fix what’s wrong?  I’m rambling, I know I am, but I just don’t know how to process this. 

In this list of names and causes of death there are some horrific details, but it’s not the most sensational images that are haunting me, it’s the number of times I read the words ‘thrown out of a moving car’.

Thrown out of a moving car.  Dead or alive, they were thrown out like they meant nothing.  Like they were not someone’s child, someone’s friend, someone’s lover.  Like they were nothing.

I’m not sure where to go with the rage, confusion and hurt I’m feeling.  I’m not sure what to do next.  I hate absorbing information and letting it stop there. As though knowledge is enough.  Something needs to be done.  But I have no idea what.  For now, I am just angry.  And afraid.


person: I think Snape was better than James because he was bullied in school and his love for Lily was so tru-…



PTA Sans

(Ignore this. More Undertale garbage, because I’ve fallen in love with PTA Sans)

You pop the DVD into the player. On the tv, a title screen flashes in obnoxiously cheery, multicolored letters “MT. EBOTT ELEMENTARY SCHOLASTIC TALENT SHOW 2015″

The video cuts in abruptly, panning over a modest crowd of adults facing a small stage. At the edges of the stage numerous children fidget with props or tug uncomfortably at their formal clothing, each awaiting their turn in the spotlight. A woman’s voice booms over the PA system. “And now, Frisk will read an essay they wrote for us. It’s entitled “I love my Mom.“ 

Polite applause ripples across the audience, punctuated by a piercing wolf whistle from somewhere in the back.

A small child steps up to the microphone in the center of the stage. A few moments of awkward shuffling, and the child begins to read off a somewhat crumpled piece of paper in their hands.  

“I love my Mom. By Frisk.”

“I love my Mom.  My mom is a wonderful lady. She is a teacher at my school. That makes me very proud. My mom is very smart, very patient, and has very soft fur.”

The camera swings away from the stage, searching over the audience. It zooms in over a section near the rear. The camera focuses after a moment, to reveal two monsters sitting in folding chairs. One, (a goat-like woman) is sitting very primly, with an adoring smile on her face. The other, (a curiously round skeleton) is nodding in agreement, as if the child on stage is spouting great wisdom.

After a moment, the camera returns to focus on the stage.

“My mom has a lovely laugh. She makes tasty pies, no matter what some people say. She is also a very pretty lady.”

The child looks up from the piece of paper, speaking directly to the audience.

“And anyone that says otherwise can go choke on Linda’s shitty lemon bars. The end.”

An outraged exclamation rises from the audience, followed by hushed murmurs. The camera returns to the two monsters in the crowd. The goat woman has her palm pressed to her forehead in exasperation. The skeleton is standing on his chair, pumping his fist into the air. The child’s voice rings out from the microphone one last time.

Geeeeeeeeeet dunked on, Linda!

The video ends.

I love it when I find beautiful traditional names

Technically, it’s still the 21st for @avenger-nerd-mom in America BUT it’s the 22nd here for me, and I CAN’T WAIT ANY LONGER TO SHARE THIS…

So, yeah, happy birthday, you wonderful, wonderful woman!

I kind of kidnapped one of your girls and her/your man alongside my couple and wrote a thing, and this is all so full of firsts (including the cover attempt) that I can’t wait to hear what you think.


Tom surprises Amy with a trip to New York, and sightseeing isn’t the only thing on the agenda…

“Ugh, my feet are killing me.”
Amy plopped into the seat of the cab with a groan. Tom folded his tall body into the seat beside her, his long legs spread a mile. Even in her state of exhaustion, she couldn’t help sneak a peek at the eyeful he was inevitably flashing her.
He was dressed casually today, in a white V-neck t-shirt that stretched obscenely over his pecs and biceps and tight-fitting dark grey jeans that hugged his peachy ass and left nothing much to the imagination at the front. As he’d come back from a promo stint in Asia, he was looking nicely tanned and his hair had grown a shade sandier in its blondish hue, currently temptingly disheveled. There was a hint of scruff on his chiseled jaw, and all the squinting in the sunshine and smiling like an ecstatic loon had formed lovely crinkles by his sky-blue eyes. Add in the few chest hairs playing peekaboo and the sweat from hours of sightseeing in New York, and he was a sight for sore eyes.
Currently, though, sore was the right word for her feet and not her eyes.
They were up since sunrise, tackling the must-see places in the metropolis that she’d only ever dreamed of before. Of course, they’d paid Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty a visit, with Tom waxing poetic about its history and symbolism. The Circle Line by boat had offered them a 2.5-hour cruise around Manhattan Island, and they’d also bought food and souvenirs on board. Then they’d stared breathlessly at the grand view from the top of the Empire State Building, spent educational hours at The Metropolitan Museum and entertaining hours at the New York Harbor.
And now she was suffering from sensory overload and sheer physical exhaustion.
Amy wiggled around to get more comfortable, but that only made her rub against Tom and brought her nerve endings alive.
“Remind me again why I let you sweet-talk me into accompanying you to America? I kind of regret my decision,” she grumbled.
Tom bumped her shoulder and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Because I’m irresistible and pretty damn convincing?”
She rolled her eyes at him, and when her glance wandered down of its own volition, it promptly landed between his legs. Bless him for sitting like a man whore all the time, even if it meant that he took up most of the space on the cab seat.
“Yeah, your…arguments…” she reached over and rubbed her fingertips over the considerable bulge in his pants, “were very convincing indeed, if I recall correctly.”
“Ehehehe.” Tom threw his head back and laughed, his tongue poking out for an instant.
The slightest flush mingled with his tan, and she was sure he was remembering their frenzied and repeated lovemaking two days ago when he’d visited her after a month-long absence. They had christened nearly every flat and not so flat surface in the apartment before finally making it to the bed, insatiable for each other.


Dear Photograph,

When I was in the 5th grade, my step dad and I planted this tree in our yard. I had to go visit my Dad in the summer, and wrote letters to my mom stating I was worried about how my tree was doing. She sent me this photograph of her by my newly planted tree, to assure me it was doing just fine. We sold our house in 1997, but I happened to go back there to see about my tree. Now, 23 years later, the bushes in this yard are gone, but my tree is thriving and flourishing. My heart just smiled while taking this photograph.

- Angie

The Adventures Of An Asexual Office Worker

In which Kunimi does not get paid nearly enough for this shit.

AKA: the infamous 90s diet coke AU started by @pussycat-scribbles

Though really, all I did was read through all the ideas and added an exasperated Kunimi who’s just done with everything.

I might continue this. We’ll see. I just really hope I did it justice.

Part II can be found here.

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