<b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b><p></b> <b>Me, sitting outside on the stairs to my uni, skipping a class:</b> Life is hopeless and I wanna die<p/><b>A girl I've had a crush on since the first year, passing by:</b> Hey :) Can I ask you something?<p/><b>Me:</b> *LIFE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CONCEPT THANK HEAVENS I EXIST* of- of course you can<p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p><p/></p>
“Well, either the x-rays lied to me or you are spontaneously creating teeth. I’m going with the second one because it’s way cooler.”
“When was the last time you flossed? Your gums aren’t bleeding which means I’m either not doing this hard enough or you actually floss your teeth regularly”
“You don’t need to do a fluoride treatment I just want to go check my facebook for a second and this is the best excuse I can come up with. Don’t worry your insurance will cover it.”
“Take a whole handful of toothbrushes, I can’t order new ones in less ugly colors until these ones are gone.”
“Remember not to eat or drink anything for a half hour…or actually you know forget that go eat lemons and drink coffee right now. I make money based on peoples bad decisions, you should probably stop brushing your teeth too.”
“I became a dentist because I like making children cry and they don’t let you do that as a regular doctor.”
october/simblreen is almost here! so i thought i’d throw together a short list of prompts for those who want to do a challenge without having to create a post every day. because of this, there are no time constraints, and you can interpret the prompts however loosely you want. tag your edits with #simblrhec if you’d like me to see them! ✨
so. SO. @ankkalinna went ahead and sent me a comic i’ve been looking for ever since i made this blog despite me never even telling her that i was looking for it because she just transcended the limits of human communication and directly tuned into my brainwaves i guess.
HOO HOO HOOOOO
it’s the one where magica casts a spell to get the “most important thing to scrooge” and what do you think it is. who do you think it is. it’s not the dime. this post is hard to make because i’m still giddy but it’s donald, of course it’s donald, what else could it be.
and i knew this existed somewhere out there? but i didn’t know the specifics. and i didn’t know that magica, scrooge and donald are all IN THE SAME PLACE AS THIS HAPPENS. PLEASE LOOK AT THE PROCESS OF REALISATION.
this is the only blessed smug donald in existence. all others? highly cursed. this one? reverberating with all the positive energies in the universe.
and of course scrooge just fucking, has none of it. this quality tsundere content. spell must have misfired, day saved, show over, everybody go home and definitely don’t talk to me thanks.
and i think the ending implies that nothing outwardly changes, donald just kind of holds that knowledge in his heart and has a much easier time working and caring for scrooge, then, which, of course, status quo is god, and it’s still super good and sweet, but i also kind of wish he’d get to express the critical levels of smugness he must have reached here.
like i wish he’d never let scrooge hear the end of it. just walks into the bin like fear no more the most important person in your life has arrived. just pulls up to the drive-through like uuhhh a chicken sandwich for my emotionally constipated uncle and a cheeseburger for me, the thing he fears losing most in the world, and maybe a banana milkshake
(the only drawback is that these scans are in finnish, which i speak eight words of, but i swear to god i will find this in german and scanlate it someday. if i’ve ever been meant for anything, it is this)
Today I witnessed men mocking a woman for having hairy legs and underarms. I have something to say about this.
Firstly, the shaving of legs is a new fashion trend. It was done a bit in the 20′s, but honestly, it wasn’t until the forties that anyone gave a damn. Before that, no one saw your legs, because they wee covered in skirts. Men didn’t even know women HAD legs.
Slight exaggeration, but still quite meaningful.
In the last 70 years, men have gone from not knowing and not caring one bit about female body hair, to completely transforming their ideal feminine counterpart into a hairless model. Men like to tout masculinity as being impervious, but I’ll warrant you, you can watch them evolve with the feedback of marketing scams run on their little mammalian brains.
Did Queen Victoria have shaved legs…well, let’s first establish that yes, she did actually have legs. But were they hairless? During her 60-odd year reign, did she employ some servant to come pluck out her hairs?
Did Queen Elizabeth have hairless legs? 44 years of reign, at the time the longest reigning monarch of British history, but no, you’re right. She probably had the Lady of the Royal Chamber rake on a good lather before she went out in her Spanish farthingale.
Did Cleopatra have a straight razor? Did Helen of Troy? These are two women who literally destroyed nations with their beauty and the lust men had for them. Do you think they had shaved legs? What about their underarms?
Now, yes, there were traditions of removing hair. The Roman women, for example, plucked their hair out of their underarms, but I promise you…no one sat about for hours having their legs plucked with tweezers. And if they did, they had a lot of time and money to spare.
Do you know who Boudicca is? She was an Icenian queen during the first century. She led a rebellion against Roman factions at Londinium.
Famously, she said, “This is done with the resolve of a woman. Men may live as slaves if they wish.”
She leveled three Roman outposts, well-established settlements. And came to Londinium with an army decked out in stolen Roman arms. They razed the city to the ground with fires so thick that an ash layer still exists in the stria of the City of London to this very day. As she rode through the old city on her chariot, with her Roman spear in hand, poised to launch it through the throat of a fleeing patrician, did she pause her assault to wonder…
Did I shave my legs for this?
As the man fell to the ground, choking on his own blood and the ash from the searing fires, do you think he looked up at this queen, this woman defiant and majestic, and thought, “Ye gods, what hirsuit underarms!”
I wonder how many plucked Roman women were trampled by that carriage.
I wonder if Anne Bonny, the notorious pirate ever was mocked by her male crew for having a fluffy undercarriage.
I wonder if when Annie Oakley, at 15, beat her crackshot future husband at a shooting contest, he looked at her little knees and thought, “Not this one. She’s too furry.”
I wonder if Anne Boleyn was beheaded for wearing a pair of furry britches beneath her skirts.
I wonder, if while He suckled as an infant, resplendent in holy fire and divinity, the newborn Jesus Christ, tucked His wee face to the crook of His Virgin Mother’s arm and let out a squeal at the ghastly sight of her unshaven underarms. Or if when He was installing himself in her abdomen, He gave a moment’s pause to think, “Dear Me, what am I doing, shoving myself into this horribly hairy wench?”
The answer to all of these is…No. Of course not, you fucking idiot.
Body hair exists for a reason, you stupid semi-hairless apes. Don’t you ever wonder why you still have it? I will tell you why. It provides necessary warmth, not just with insulation, but with the way your anatomy functions. Air catches the hairs and lifts them, causing a tickle that forces the follicle to swell into goose flesh, warming the skin through motion. It provides protection from the sun. And in the regions where it is thickest, it guards against the elements, keeps out parasites, and keeps your sensitive areas like your eyes, from being drowned in sweat. It even cushions and reduces the likelihood of heat rashes and chafing in the parts of you that touch. Hair is important. It wasn’t just Sampson who gained strength from it.
And I wonder, if while Sampson was laid low, his power sapped, if he looked up at the gorgeous Delilah with her treacherous shears and thought… “Why didn’t she pluck her eyebrows!”
Power is walking into a room with nothing in hand, and doing just fine.
Beauty is standing as you are, but embodying all that is graceful and powerful about the female condition.
And judging a woman on a trend that is younger then my oldest knee-length hemline is an act of such supreme stupidity and transient masculinity that I cannot even describe how ridiculous I find it. But men are the ones who are rational, yes? Men and all their manly manliness are immune to fads and trends and “girly fashion shit”, right, “bruh”?
Women have hair on their bodies same as you. You seem to do just fine wearing yours. Why do you begrudge her hers?
I say we start a new trend, where females begin to harass the worst offenders for having hairy legs. I shan’t be pleased if in 70 years, I am not seeing all men in shorts looking like the backside of a baby from the knee down. I want to see hordes of women tracking down these men who label a type of deception as beauty, and demanding they carve off their top layer of skin and fur. I want to hear these men who cannot see valor, fortitude, strength, and hair as beautiful, squeak when they walk.
And then I want all humans to embrace that which makes them soft and healthy, and stop rewriting history by turning it into one inglorious quest for vanity.
I was watching my brother play xbox when I realized... professional sports teams have video games. With avatars that look just like the players and have their stats. Sooo professional exy teams could have a video games.. and when Neil and Andrew went pro they would see their little video game selves
okay so listen:
andrew never pays attention to literally anything going on with his exy career
like seriously? he goes where they tell him and does what he’s contractually obligated to do
so when he had to wear a weird suit and pretend to block a bunch of fake shots he thought it was probably some weird form of monitoring his health or muscles
of course he doesn’t tell neil about it in their nightly skype calls becuase it’s unimportant in his mind
unknown to andrew, neil also did the same thing but doesn’t much care for video games so he also says nothing
basically a literal day after it’s happened they’ve both forgotten about it
but then the game comes out
and everyone starts tweeting them about it
and making funny vines with 6-foot whatever kevin day being checked by 5′0″” andrew minyard
(it’s probably some thing where you can just like assign the players any position for fun idk)
neil picks up on it an favorites a bunch of videos on twitter
(poor boy didn’t know other people could see his likes)
and of course matt calls neil the day it comes out
“neil! you didn’t tell me we’d both be in a video game together?!? how sick is that! you totally have to come over and play, bro”
basically neil loves it because he gets to play as andrew and ends up mimicking him as he does it
“my names andrew and i squish garbage in the can until it’s too full and i refuse to take it out”
“hey guys, watch out! i have the ball and i’m not afraid to beam it at your ankles if you look at me the wrong way!”
“i’m andrew and i pretend to hate the cats but wheni think neil’s not looking i make kissy noises at them and hold them in my arms”
“neil’s bothering me so i’m going to pretend he’s a vegetable and pretend he doesn’t exist”
of course andrew catches him doing it one time when neil thought he was home alone and was playing online with matt
(he was home alone but had jumped into a monologue as andrew and was too distracted to hear him walk in for his weekend visit)
of course andrew decides to get him back by doing the same thing as neil
“my name is neil and i’m an idiot who has no self preservation”
“watch out kevin, i’m here to steal your one true love away, the court”
“did you guys know that i leave my socks all over the apartment becuase that’s where they belong?”
it definitely turns into a way for them to get out their petty aggression on one another
and if one of the foxes just happens to post multiple videos of it online and create a small phenomena, then that’s between them and the thousands of views
fun fact before i forget: in russia there’s a superstition that if you sit between two people with the same name. you’re supposed to make a wish, and it will come true. it’s a good luck superstition.
so basically viktor probably hangs out with yuri p. and yuri k. in order to get all that good luck. but wait! there’s more! yuri and georgi are both forms of george so you could probably also say that sitting between a yuri and georgi will bring good luck too. just in case you ever wondered why viktor knows so many people with similar names
While the division and its
workings are not generally known among lower ranked officials, it is regarded
with utmost respect, and a highly coveted rank among the few that are aware of
its existence, however , fewer know of its true workings.
Operating as a small
task force for anything and everything of the utmost importance required of the
emperor, The HOUND division is primarily made up of high functioning members of
the imperial military too valuable to dispose of for skill, or place in
imperial prisons, for information. While it is a position that can be applied
for or assigned to (however rarely) it is not generally known that its members are
made up of those who have either tried to leave the empire, have become disagreeable, or too aware…
Each Squad has a handler, of
either a dark council member or one that directly answers to it of superior
rank. The handler is in possession of 1 conditioning code word for the squad as
a whole and one for each ‘Pack’ member. Control and surveillance is always overseen
and maintained over each squad. Members rarely succeed 2 years of service.
It’s been 132 days since the shit show ended the season with a series low ratings, and I haven’t seen or heard a single person mention it since :) The shit ship still isn’t canon, plus Clarke adopted a little Lexa nightblood, and I haven’t seen blarke win a major poll yet :D But Lexa’s been dead for 579 days and she just made the top 15 on a list of the25 best female characters in the last 25 years ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
not to be obnoxious or anything but who else had that sliver of hope for black paladin lance during the intro of season 3 episode 1 when he effectively led hunk and the blade of marmora and was standing center when the aliens were questioning him about voltron bc mood
They call you Magpie, occasionally— Bloodhound more recently— and you like to collect things.
You’ve always been careful about it, of course— learning where, if they exist at all, the lost and founds are, how to stumble across the people around who have the uncanny ability to know everyone and everything that matters to them, the places locals always check for items gone adrift— and you’ve heard strange things about EU, even before you actually arrived. Nothing concrete, nothing substantial, but enough on the forums and ratemyprofessors and hidden in deep corners of the web that you take extra care this time before continuing your finding (and returning, which is, admittedly, more of an entertaining challenge).
So instead of picking up the curiosities or collecting the feathers and bits and baubles, you watch, as you always do, and you’re thorough, as you always are. It takes some months and some seeing things you perhaps shouldn’t have and some time spent imagining solutions you likely couldn’t spare, but when all is said and done you think you’re ready to begin.
When you take the feathers, you leave behind piles of birdseed (your cockatiel’s favorite, and millet too when the plumage is especially colorful). When you find bottle caps, you bring them to the fountain and throw them in the highest tier; for the koi in the pond and their gasping mouths, you bring stories (words, the important thing is the words) whispered in the dead of night and shut up in the pretty green bottles left for you on the sidewalk. You find marbles in your pockets, bright as bubbles catching the sun, and make earrings out of them using the delicate wire you’re given every time you leave interestingly-shaped driftwood in that hole beside the dumpster (the earrings you keep, and sometimes give away to classmates worried about getting caught (or getting Caught, depending) in the rain). You give poetry and songs (whatever’s in your head, be it Bon Jovi for a week, the lines of that play you’re struggling with, or the rhymes that occasionally overtake your thoughts) to the crows and the trees and they give you nothing, but nor do they take.
The squirrels you know better than to deal with. A senior warned you (indirectly, eyes straight ahead as you both walked along), and when you accidentally leave your doodle notebook under the tree, you are left shaking pine needles out of your hair for weeks (it does smell nice, to be fair).
You never take found things without giving in return, and never give without expecting to leave empty-handed. It is a kindness, all of it, and you treasure the thanks you get (you do not always get thanked, and you do not mind).
With the lost things, you tread more carefully. You peek at them from the corner of your eye and wait a day (sometimes two, sometimes three, depending on how hard it is to only cast a glance) in order to see if the item is claimed; eventually (reluctantly, sometimes, but you do know how to help lost things find their homes, and you don’t want to leave them), you pick them up.
If it’s made of anything shiny, you leave it by the crows, rattling off as many interwoven lines of poetry you can cobble together about guarding and glittering, returning and finding, dropping off folded tinfoil sculptures as well (the crows have never given you anything back, but nor has anything been taken, and so you figure it’s fair they keep whatever they feel they’re owed). Though you only intend for them to keep watch and draw attention (whenever something pretty is misplaced, everyone looks at them), you begin to leave them your little aluminum figures whenever you catch wind of anything (or anyone) disappearing as a good luck charm, fond of how they watch and listen and protect what’s them and theirs. It is meant to be an idiosyncrasy, but you start to notice that they gather around the places those lost things turn up. You don’t give thanks and you pick up no more of their feathers than usual. When something is returned you make sure those involved discover a sudden and temporary interest in reading classic poems aloud.
When it’s anything that seems personal (or urgent), you hunt It down; a sigil that looks like an abstract swirl or perhaps an eye or perhaps a hand. Usually someone’s wearing it, frequently it’s purple, and always it’s on the softest-looking piece of fabric around; you drop the item nearby, wrapped in pairs of the warmest socks you can get on short notice, and grin before moving along. After the third time, when you get pins and needles walking away, you also start folding paper flowers out of the lists you keep of what you pick up where (and, if applicable, what you left in return). You leave those stuffed inside the socks, and notice that in certain places nothing turns up anymore (you do not blame It for being more skilled than you).
When it’s just an ordinary lost thing, you bury it, and leave a circle of pebbles above; later, you place a crow’s feather in the middle as well. You check back in a week and usually it’s gone. If it’s still there in two, you put it in the school’s lost and found, and at that point, more often than not, you later end up discovering it in your room.
You begin to get a reputation.
You hope, perhaps (probably) vainly, that it will do you no harm, and that you will not become one of the lost things you are so fond of.
You do what you can to keep safe; you owe no one a thing, and there are quite a few that owe you (and owe you very much).
You like to collect things, but you don’t collect debts. You do much freely, and you find value in kindnesses, but you value yourself, of course, most of all.
You hope you will not become lost, one way or another. You try to remember that, before, your help was freely given and the debts you were owed forgiven more often than not. You hope your (what-started-out-as-)innocent hobby will do you no harm.