paying the cost to be the boss

Klance AU where Lance and Keith first meet when Lance “borrows” Keith’s motor/hoverbike and consequently wrecks it.  Initially, Keith just starts hanging around Lance so Keith can remind him that he owes him a new bike, but slowly starts to fall for Lance the more he hangs around him.

Keith teases Lance about being a bad driver, which gets Lance riled and competitive - “Yeah, well I’m a better driver than you, Mullet-brain!”

Despite Lance’s unapologetic front (”It wasn’t my fault, that wall came out of nowhere!”), he secretly feels guilty.  Cue Lance subtly trying to make it up to Keith by “begrudgingly” giving Keith rides to school/work/etc, secretly taking on extra shifts to try and pay to fix Keith’s bike, and even bringing coffee when he picks Keith up in the mornings.

When Lance finally saves up enough money to fix Keith’s bike, they’re both secretly upset because they think it means the other has no reason to want to see them anymore.  It takes the combined efforts of Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, and Allura to knock some sense into the two of them.

Hunk is the one who actually fixes Keith’s bike, and takes pity on Lance, fixing it only for the cost of the parts.

Coran is Lance’s boss, and gives Lance the extra shifts he needs while trying to make sure he doesn’t overwork himself.

An open letter to recast owners

I’ve been debating with myself wether or not to post this because I’ve been away from the hobby and this ‘discourse’ for some time doing my own thing and generally trying to get my shit together but then someone had the bright idea of posting that delightful list and attempting to brand myself and some 700 people as bullies and stalkers. Not cool bro, not cool at all.

So this is my open letter to the recast owning community, particularly those like the admins of the above blog. I always welcome discourse, if you want to discuss any of this or any of my points then I more than welcome you to my inbox, it’s always open.


Gretings fellow doll lover,
The thing I really, really want to emphasis above all else is that we get it. We really do.
Who wouldn’t want something they’ve been wanting forever and a day for cheaper than usual? It’s only natural and we’re a generation (or two) of people who’ve been brought up to search for a bargain every chance we can. So we understand the temptation. But the issue of recasts vs supporting artists goes much deeper than just the price tag and that seems to be where the disconnect is, at least from what I’ve observed the last few years.

Allow me to make an analogy;
Imagine, if you will, that you’ve got yourself a job cleaning floors, be it for a bit of money on the side or your sole source of income.
You’ve got yourself all set up, you’ve bought the brooms, the dustpan, the garbage can and bags. Not to mention you bought all those cleaning chemicals which weren’t cheap at all. So you’ve come up with how much you charge your clients based on the cost of your equipment and you manage to squeeze in a little on top to cover your labour and time. You come up with what you consider a very fair price considering the time, effort and cost involved in your work. Sounds fair right?
Now imagine you’re cleaning a floor, you’ve done a good job, you could eat off that floor. Some guy comes along, tells you what a good job you’ve done and even picks up a piece of rubbish for you but the second your boss appears to pay you what you’re owed this other guy, we’ll call him Mr R quickly shows him the garbage can, telling your boss at length what a wonderful job has been done and he’ll only charge half of what you where asking for.
Oh! Well your boss loves that idea, a perfect floor for half the price! Who wouldn’t jump on that deal! So MR R leaves with the money, having done a tiny amount of work compared to you. You’re left out of pocket and with nothing to show for all that time and effort your poured into your work.
How would that make you feel? Maybe you could let it slide if it happened just once but imagine that Mr R keeps coming back, he’s got the money now to follow you to your next job and the one after that and so on after all.

I’m hoping it’s obvious where I’m going with this… on a simplified level that’s exactly what recasters do. They make money off the hard work, skill and all that time an artist pours into making dolls and deny those same artists potential sales by poaching customers with an artists own work. I don’t know about you but I’d find that so incredibly beyond galling if it were me in the artists shoes. And if your work is constantly being sold out from under you, why bother to continue?

That is the crux of why recasts are so harmful to the BJD world. Creating a BJD from scratch takes skill (something which might have entailed formal education and the debts that go with it), a hell of a lot of time and development and a lot of money sunk into it along the way for equipment and materials. Why should anyone sink all that into making dolls when someone else is going to come along, make the minimum amount of effort and make money off that artists hard work?
And if artists decide they’ve had enough and it’s just not worth their time to make dolls anymore then we ALL loose out. Even recast owners. Because what’s there going to be to recast if dolls aren’t being made in the first place?

There’s been many good posts made about the costs of producing dolls and I encourage and implore you to go look for them. Do some research on what’s involved in producing the dolls we all enjoy and you’ll come away informed and hopefully with a good sense of what it’s like for the artists who’s work we all covet.


So much of the narrative being used by blogs like bjdrecastpositive and the people behind them relies upon is attempting to paint anyone who disagrees with them as bullies and stalkers.  I can’t speak for all 700 people singled out on that list they complied but I know that I’ve never stalked anyone in my life (who even has the time or energy for that?) and I certainly don’t bully anyone. Being vocal and disagreeing with something someone posts publically is not bullying.
And once again I implore you to use your own common sense and take that list and posts like it for what it is; an attempt to shift focus away from the real issues at hand.
There’s some very impressive mental gymnastics going on (which we’ve seen before) comparing recast owners and their side of the 'debate’ to the struggles of the black community or the LGBTQA community among others, not to mention all that intersectionality but and I really must emphasise this as hard as it may be to hear it; recasts owners are not the victims, they are not being persecuted or discriminated against. That isn’t what being disagreed with in a debate is. That isn’t what having your decision to buy a fake doll called into question is.
And a decision is exactly what recast ownership is, with the exception of course of the poor people who get scammed, it is a conscious decision to put luxury wants above all else, regardless of whom it hurts. How ever someone wants to justify it to themselves on no level does deciding to buy a fake doll and having that called into question compare to being persecuted for your skin colour or sexuality. And I honestly cannot believe that’s even something I have to explain. The mind boggles.

Like I said at the beginning. I get it, I really do. None of us are pretending to be perfect or to have never made questionable decisions but the point is that we are all capable of looking back on our decisions, realising it was a mistake and doing the right thing. Be that by changing our ways or by making amends. Even some of the big name doll companies have made such journeys, Dollzone started out as a recast company, they decided to change their ways and they’ve since flourished into what they are today, likewise Fairyland fucked up pretty big by copying the designs for their steampunk weapons a year or two back but they realised they’d messed up and made it right. We are all constantly growing and learning. It’s part of life and learning from our mistakes is a fundamental thing we all share.

All I’m asking with this letter is to encourage recast owners and supporters to simply put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to think about the implications of buying fake dolls and to have a good hard look at their decision to do so. There are so many alternatives, be it layaways or this awesome list of dolls under $300 that @bluekitsune put together. The alternatives are there, you just need to look for them.

Lovesick Blues (Part 2)

Originally posted by ohhseby

A/N: I have decided there will not be drama on this fic because I am a nice and happy person who loves her followers.

You got a package, the package that Sebastian told you about. You also got the new phone and the tablet. You thought he would give you work essentials, maybe a calendar for your desk or something. Instead, in the box, you found: an apple watch with all the applications you would need, a digital pen for your tablet, a pair of Google glasses and a pair of keys. One key for your new SUV, one for your new apartment on the highest end building in New York.

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Try to pin me for illegal deductions? That's a paddlin'

This occurred about 3 years ago.

I shut down my framing company to pursue a job as a site supervisor for the development I had been building in.

Started with the builder after I had built the last house, and managed to get 3 out of 4 of my guys a job with the builder, so they wouldn’t be affected my decision. (the fourth guy was a piece of shit, who I never fired because his work ethic was awesome, but had a terrible attitude, bad habits, and was wildly hated by the rest of the crew. He was only there because he made me money. sorry)

First couple months go well, my three guys have settled into doing more than just framing, though they were not enthused about certain tasks, but who really likes working in a muddy hole, or highly physical labour tasks.

My guys were always dirty. Always wore “shitty clothes to work, as did I. Who wants to destroy I nice pair of jeans, or a new clean white t shirt, by getting them stained, or torn. So, our professional "look” left a little to be desired.

After awhile, the owner thought our mish-mash of a crew needed some cleaning up. Ive always subscribed to the analogy “gotta crack an egg to make an omelette”, so I wasn’t personally concerned about our outward appearances, our work should speak for itself.

I’d saved the builder 9$ per square foot, per house, and I could see he was happy about that, under my direction, the rest of the trades had increased the quality, without any incurred cost, and our houses just “looked” better than competitors, during construction.

I get called into a meeting, half way through the week, and the owner says “ I’m tired of you guys looking like no one owns you, your work attire should reflect the quality of homes we’re building, here’s a bunch of uniforms, enough so everyone has one to wear every day, and an extra in case you work Saturday’s.”

I say “ hey boss man! That’s a great idea! It’ll make my guys feel more included and happier! You’ve even embroidered their names on everything! That’s super cool!”

My guys were ecstatic. New shirts, pants, steel towed boots, and steel towed cold weather rubber boots, jackets, hard hats, hi-VI’s vests, you name it. All name brand, high quality stuff, Supplied by the company. It was Christmas in July.

Until they got their pay cheque.

Each guy including me, was deducted $1357.00 for “uniforms”

My lowest paid guy at $15 and hour, OWED the company money.

Next guy made $3.16.

Highest paid guy? A cool $57.

Me? Well I received a cheque less my “uniform” deduction for a little over $2500. I made more money building for him, than I did managing his site.

I was f*cking furious.

This is where the revenge comes in.

I paid my guys for their deducted wage, and then did some research.

Guess what?

Where I’m from, if you require an employee to wear a certain uniform, you cannot pass that cost off to the employee. It’s to be supplied free-of-charge to the worker.

This was also around the time I had been using my personal accounts at suppliers for odds and ends.

I called for a meeting, printed out the labour standards act, highlighting to pertinent areas, and explained to the boss, not only was it illegal, what they did almost cost my guys their homes, if I hadn’t stepped up, they would have been evicted, child support wouldn’t have been paid, and it could have been a lot worse.

My boss took this all in, and said “it’s not mandatory, that’s why you guys have to foot the bill.”

I said “okay boss man, my guys can’t afford to drop $1357 on work clothes, so I’ll have everything returned, most of it has never been worn, you can return what’s still new, I’ll pay the difference”

We all went back to work, wearing our torn jeans, ripped shirts, and stained jackets.

Problem solved right?

Nope.

I was fired two days later. Since they were “my guys”, that meant them too.

So rather than tell the guys what happened, I told them to roll up all my tools, and anything I had paid for, take Friday off, and I’ll let everyone know what’s going on over the weekend.

Started back up framing that Monday, for the competing builder.

But that’s not where it ends.

I filed a complaint with labour standards, filed a builders lien on the 15 properties I had been managing for unpaid expenses and waited.

When he refused to acknowledge any claim against him, I escalated to lien his personal home. I had done $25,000.00 worth of work to his home, which was to be paid after the sale, plus an extra 10% for waiting.

That really got his attention, as his house was “sold”, pending the closing of the buyers own property.

The lien made it so he can’t sell, without paying me out first.

I ignored all calls, except from his lawyer, and he essentially shut down business, and blames me for doing so.

Long story short?

I got my money, but to this day refuse his $25,000.00 for payment as it lacks the 10%, plus 3% per month late charge.

He could sell his house, but he refuses to pay me out. Owes me about $56,000.00

F*ck that guy.

hunger - chapter 2

Hunger master post


The dog is still breathing when Stiles clambers out of the back of the SUV that hit it. The driver is in shock, and has been apologizing profusely ever since it happened. And Stiles knows it’s not the guy’s fault. The dog was going for the man who’d hurt Stiles in the alley, and ran out in front of the SUV. Which makes this Stiles’s fault, doesn’t it?

The animal clinic isn’t open, but there’s a light on inside and someone moving around, so Stiles bangs on the door. It’s opened by a dark-haired boy who looks no older than him.

“My dog,” is all Stiles manages to get out before he’s crying again.

The boy and the driver carry the dog inside on a picnic blanket from the back of the driver’s SUV, and into the examination room. Stiles curls his fingers through the dog’s ruff, and leans down close to his ear to whisper to him again how sorry he is.

The driver slips toward the door, and Stiles thinks about chasing after him for a second and demanding he pay the bill for whatever this is going to cost, but what if the guy refuses? Then the dark-haired boy will know Stiles has no money.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to the dog instead. “You’ll be okay.”

The dark-haired boy checks for a heartbeat. “His heart sounds good,” he says. He runs his hands though the dog’s fur. “I think maybe his leg is broken, and some ribs?” His forehead wrinkles with a frown as he carefully manipulates the dog’s hind leg. “Actually, maybe it’s not a break. I should really call my boss in. I just work here after school.”

“Vet school?” Stiles asks, still sniffling.

“High school,” the boy answers. He wrinkles his nose as he presses his knuckles gently against the dog’s ribcage. “I could have sworn I felt a break a second ago. He really needs an x-ray.”

Stiles nods, despite the jolt of worry that goes through him. He can’t afford that. He’s got three dollars and seventy cents in the pocket of his jeans. He’s got nothing. And, when the boy turns his worried gaze from the dog to Stiles, and rakes it down his body, he knows he can tell.

It doesn’t matter how clean Stiles tries to keep himself. It doesn’t matter if he washes his spare shirt under the faucet in the diner bathroom every few days. He’s still filthy. He can’t remember the last time he showered, or washed his hair. He can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t greasy or half-rotten. He knows he looks like shit. He knows he probably stinks like shit too, and so does the dog.

The boy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur again. “Is this a wolf hybrid?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

The boy casts him a worried look. “You’re not supposed to own them in California.”

Stiles feels a sudden flash of panic. He moves forward and nudges the boy out of the way. “We’ll go. We’ll just go.”

The dog blinks his eyes open and fixes his gaze on Stiles.

“Dude,” the boy says, sounding reproachful and regretful all at once, “I’m not going to report you. Just, if anyone finds out, he might get seized and put down.”

The dog rumbles out a growl.

“He’s fine,” Stiles says, his voice catching. “He’s fine, right?”

 “Um… I guess?” The boy looks puzzled. “He looked pretty bad when you got him here though. I really should call my boss.”

“No!” Stiles tugs at the dog’s ruff. “Come on. Come on, boy. Please get up. Come on.”

The dog rumbles again.

The boy puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Dude, don’t freak out, okay? I won’t call my boss if you don’t want me to. I won’t…” He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “You’re homeless, right?”

Stiles feels stripped bare, cold and naked. His breath hitches, and he jerks his chin in a nod.

“Look,” the boy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m gonna give your dog some fluids, no charge, because I can really use the practice, and my mom packed me some dinner that I haven’t eaten yet. You want some?”

Stiles blinks at him for a moment. “What?”

“Homemade tamales,” the boy says, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m Scott, by the way.”

“St-Stiles,” Stiles says, his heart thumping loudly.

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Today, I fucked up by saving a lobster.

I’ve been working at a sea food department in a supermarket for the last couple months and for the most part I’ve enjoyed my job. The customers treat me kindly and although the pay isn’t that great, I manage to make ends meet. My warm feelings towards my job changed when I met a lobster I would later name Lucifer. I’m in charge of bringing in the lobsters and changing the ties on their claws when the they first come on. My first encounter with Lucifer happened when I forgot to tie his claws. That lobster went on to murder two of his comrades and got me in trouble for overlooking procedure. Lobsters are expensive and this cost me some points with my boss. I took note of this particular lobsters features and made sure to send it to his doom when the chance arose.

Days went by and I started to pick up on signs of intelligence from Lucifer. It would stare at me deep in the eye when I poured food into the lobster tank and this somehow got to me. I became convinced of his sentience. I knew from boiling lobsters myself that the process of making them into food is cruel. I love eating meat but something about this lobster made me consider the ethics of killing another being for its food. I started researching lobsters and about how they might feel pain similarly to humans. At night I would have nightmares about boiling Lucifer and hearing it scream like a little girl. I knew the fucker has gotten under my skin so I started to care for him. When people asked for that big lobster, I told them that this one was already sold. It was in a way. Him and I were in on something. I was going to break him out.

I don’t make a lot of money so buying a lobster tank seemed like a stupid idea. So I started saving the money I would usually use on booze and women to get a basic aquarium with all the stuff he needs. I started to get worried about one of my co-workers selling it while I wasn’t there so I told them about my idea and they looked at me like I was retarded. But they sympathized and Lucifer, the double homicidal lobster remained safe. Until yesterday.

I was doing clerk stuff when this guy, a big confident type with an expensive looking watch and smile asked for a lobster. I directed him towards the best option, the recently caught and big as my head. But no. He wanted Lucifer. I told him it was taken. He started to argue and insisted on the lobster. My co-workers sensing a disagreement told me to just sell him the fucking lobster. At that moment something clicked and I realized there was nothing anyone could do to kill my friend. Nothing. So I proceeded to tell him he wasn’t for sale, offered am alternative, and while he called the manager I grabbed Lucifer, RAN to the cash register and overdrew my debit card to get him. My manager fired me but I don’t care, nobody was going to kill something I gave value to. I used my saved up money to get him a tank, clipped the ties off his claws (man, did that feel great!) and am currently researching where the best part of the ocean to drop him off would be. I’m a loser with no friends, no future, and no real idea of what makes him happy. But I’d be dammed if I let some fat fuck and his kids eat my only friend.

TIFU: Internet`s best fucked up stories are here.

using arbitrary numbers, lets say a boss hires me to make umbrellas, and the materials he procures for it cost $5 per umbrella. he pays me $10 for each umbrella I make, then sells each umbrella for 50$ 

That means while I’m earning 10$ for each umbrella I make, my boss is earning 35$ for each umbrella. For what? Nothing! 

Where did that extra $35 in profits come from? That is the value of my labor, that was stolen from me by my boss. But if he payed me the full 45$ value of labor for each umbrella, he wouldn’t make a profit at all.

In order to make as high a profit as possible, the boss will pay the worker as low a wage as he possibly can, thereby stealing the value of the worker’s labor for himself. This means that if there were no forces to stop him such as labor laws, he would pay me nothing if he could, and keep me as a slave.

This is marx’s theory of alienation of the worker from their product.

Poor Unfortunate Soul (Paper Mario Edition)
Doops and Goombs
Poor Unfortunate Soul (Paper Mario Edition)

When Mario and Goombella see that in order to get the Crystal Star they need to get the champion’s belt from Rawk Hawk, they go to the only clubba that they think can help them. But they might be biting off more then they can chew when Grubba offers them a contract to sign…

Lyrics by myself and @askthegoombas. Additional vocals by @askthegoombas. Now pardon me, my throat needs a gallon of water.

Lyrics under the read more.

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Camera lense rivarly

Pairing: Yuri x Reader

Genre: fluff

REQUEST: Yuri + tease for anonie

A/n: I would like to thank a friend of mine who was kind enough to help me with this; you know who you are. Anyways, hope you enjoy this scenario, this time with Yuri! Lots of love – G

*gif not mine unless stated*

Originally posted by kwonyuri

“Fancy seeing you here, Yuri. Any good pictures yet?” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue as you made your way over to Yuri, more than satisfied with what you got. You noticed her roll her eyes before turning back to her camera, looking through the pictures she had taken. 

“Wonderful.” You mumbled to yourself as you noticed a movement from the balcony you were standing on, working quickly to snap some photos before Yuri had the chance to do so. When she reacted it was already late and both politicians walked away, making Yuri groan in frustration. She pushed past you, almost knocking the camera out of your hand. You stared at her back before she disappeared behind the corner, shocked. Since Yuri was the one making the remarks most of the time, not you, her behavior surprised you greatly. And even if you were the one to comment on something, she always had something to say back to you. 

“Snap out of it, you´re here to take photos not worry about you rival.” Listening to your own advice you followed her, hoping that she found yet another great spot. Just as you hoped she did, and she didn´t look excited when she noticed you. Feeling a little frisky, you let another remark slip past your lips, making Yuri frown.

“Seems like we´re a bit unlucky today, aren´t we?” 

“Mind your own business.” And that was where your cat and mouse game began. Wherever she went, you did too. Clearly you were right about being unlucky, since everytime she checked the photos she had taken, an unsatisfied sigh would leave her mouth. You couldn´t say that about yourself, though. You were doing absolutely amazingly and you couldn´t complain one bit. The quality, angles and lighting were so on point it almost seemed as a proffesional photoshoot. 

The party was almost over and you moved down between the quests, ready to snap some final shots of all the politics together. Like a shadow, Yuri followed you with a scowl on her face. Even your final pics turned out perfectly, satisfaction filling you up to the brim. Everyone was pushing past you as you took one final look on your work, a victorious smile on your face. One of those people was Yuri, who seemed to be in a rush. Usually she would stop by and taint you with a smirk about anything and everything. Thats why you decided to chase after her, curious as of to what was going on.

“Yuri! Wait for me!”

“Leave me alone, will you?” She screamed back, running even faster. Finally those days in gym pay off, you thought as you sped up too. You caught up with her quicker than you expected and grabbed her by the shoulder, halting her.

“What´s wrong with you today?” You were genuinely worried about her and your concerns deepened even more when you saw her tear stained cheeks. Yuri looked away, refusing to answer you. She may have been annoying when she was her normal self, but you weren´t the one to ignore a clearly sad person. You pulled her by the hand towards a bench nearby, sitting down. 

“So? Speak up.”

“Why does it bother you? Do you want to make fun of me again?” She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. You sighed and scooted closer to her, swinging an arm around her shoulder, surprising her.

“I promise I´m not that evil. There´s something bothering you and that bothers me. Now go on and tell me what happened. Who knows, maybe I´ll find the time to cheer you up.” 

“My boss, he gave me an ultimatum. Either I take some quality pictures or I get fired. I can´t be fired! I have bills to pay and if I don´t have a job I´ll get evicted. Look at me! I won´t survive on the streets!” Yuri cried, more tears spilling from her eyes. You bit your lip in deep thought, your hand rubbing soothing circles into Yuri´s back. Maybe what you were about to do would cost you your own job, but you couldn´t stand the thought of Yuri losing her job. After years you had gotten so used to her that you didn´t want anyone else to replace her. 

“Take this.”

“What?”

“I said here. Take my film and give me yours.” You were holding the film in your hands, waiting for her to take it. Yuri shook her head, pushing your hand away. 

“I can´t take your film. You worked hard a-”

“-and I want you to take it. Listen we´re not supposed to like each other but I kind of already do. You´re cute when you´re sad and let´s be honest, you kind of like me too.” The girl stared at you in disbelief, surely not expecting you to do something like that. Hesitantly, she took her own film out of her camera and gave it to you, taking yours in return.  After she did that you stood up, turning your back to her but not before saying:

“See ya later, rival.”

Today, I fucked up by saving a lobster

I’ve been working at a sea food department in a supermarket for the last couple months and for the most part I’ve enjoyed my job. The customers treat me kindly and although the pay isn’t that great, I manage to make ends meet. My warm feelings towards my job changed when I met a lobster I would later name Lucifer. I’m in charge of bringing in the lobsters and changing the ties on their claws when the they first come on. My first encounter with Lucifer happened when I forgot to tie his claws. That lobster went on to murder two of his comrades and got me in trouble for overlooking procedure. Lobsters are expensive and this cost me some points with my boss. I took note of this particular lobsters features and made sure to send it to his doom when the chance arose.

Days went by and I started to pick up on signs of intelligence from Lucifer. It would stare at me deep in the eye when I poured food into the lobster tank and this somehow got to me. I became convinced of his sentience. I knew from boiling lobsters myself that the process of making them into food is cruel. I love eating meat but something about this lobster made me consider the ethics of killing another being for its food. I started researching lobsters and about how they might feel pain similarly to humans. At night I would have nightmares about boiling Lucifer and hearing it scream like a little girl. I knew the fucker has gotten under my skin so I started to care for him. When people asked for that big lobster, I told them that this one was already sold. It was in a way. Him and I were in on something. I was going to break him out.

I don’t make a lot of money so buying a lobster tank seemed like a stupid idea. So I started saving the money I would usually use on booze and women to get a basic aquarium with all the stuff he needs. I started to get worried about one of my co-workers selling it while I wasn’t there so I told them about my idea and they looked at me like I was retarded. But they sympathized and Lucifer, the double homicidal lobster remained safe. Until yesterday.

I was doing clerk stuff when this guy, a big confident type with an expensive looking watch and smile asked for a lobster. I directed him towards the best option, the recently caught and big as my head. But no. He wanted Lucifer. I told him it was taken. He started to argue and insisted on the lobster. My co-workers sensing a disagreement told me to just sell him the fucking lobster. At that moment something clicked and I realized there was nothing anyone could do to kill my friend. Nothing. So I proceeded to tell him he wasn’t for sale, offered am alternative, and while he called the manager I grabbed Lucifer, RAN to the cash register and overdrew my debit card to get him. My manager fired me but I don’t care, nobody was going to kill something I gave value to. I used my saved up money to get him a tank, clipped the ties off his claws (man, did that feel great!) and am currently researching where the best part of the ocean to drop him off would be. I’m a loser with no friends, no future, and no real idea of what makes him happy. But I’d be dammed if I let some fat fuck and his kids eat my only friend.

TL;DR: lost my job to save a lobster I formed a connection with yet feel great about it because fuck people

I have cancer and am in the middle of treatment. My husband, an engineer, lost his job this morning – the company is shutting down and naturally gave its employees no notice or severance pay. Two accidents of fate a little too close together and suddenly survival is a lot more tenuous. We’ll be okay, but… 

I should be guaranteed healthcare. My husband should not be disposable as a worker, left with no income, while his bosses cut and run from their poor decisions. The resources to make people like us (and worse off than us) secure do exist, but they’re being hoarded by people we rarely come into contact with. The little bit that friends and family can give us doesn’t come close to covering the costs of medical care, and skyrocketing rent. We are all spread too thin.

It may be Republicans who are forcing the zombie AHCA on us right now, but it’s our entire government and its business partners that’ve brought us to the place where no one can afford to get sick, and workers can be discarded and left with nothing while executives simply adjust the location of their wealth. It doesn’t have to be this way, and I’m wondering how much longer we will stand for it. 

If one assumes—like Keynes, Kalecki, and even radical political economy usually do—that workers’ labor is a pure disutility for which the wage is compensation, then one will reasonably assume that if there is no penalty for “shirking,” every worker will shirk as much and as often as he or she can. By this reasoning, depending upon bosses’ judgments of the costs of monitoring and ensuring worker effort relative to the costs of shirking, employers will undertake to “observe” or “monitor” the workforce. This has a dual benefit for the boss: first, it gives the firm better information regarding workers’ individual and collective performance; second, if workers are aware of the monitoring system, they can be expected, like those in Bentham’s panopticon, to “behave” for fear of being identified as shirkers and paying the price. This, for example, would be an economist’s explanation for the devices in fast-food restaurants that count off and record, in plain view, the seconds between customers’ orders and service. The neo-Taylorist stopwatch is designed to ensure that employers have both disciplined employees and accurate data on work speeds.
—  Geoff Mann, In the Long Run We Are All Dead: Keynesianism, Political Economy, and Revolution (2017)
Mistletoe Event- Hanzo

(So sorry this one was so late, but technically, it’s still on time~)

That year, you were of the unlucky few who had to spend Christmas Eve alone. Not only that, but you had to spend it working. Still, at least where you worked wasn’t terrible. It was a small bakery in Paris that stayed open for any last minute holiday orders. There were supposed to be a few other employees with you, but they all flaked and snuck off to spend the evening with family.

And that just left you, all alone in the small shop, falling asleep on the counter. Occasionally a car would drive past, making you wake up a bit, but after a while, you began to doze off. You were so tired that you didn’t even hear the bell by the door chime as a customer walked in. At first, they cleared their throat to get your attention. When that didn’t work, they gently shook your shoulder, rousing you from you lonesome dream.

“Mm…Wha…” you slurred as you picked yourself up from the counter.

When you saw the man standing before you, you suddenly snapped to attention and desperately tried to collect yourself.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry!” you gushed, trying to fix your hair and apron, “I didn’t mean to doze off like that!”

He chuckled and waved it off. Now that you had blinked the blurry sleepiness out of your eyes, you could see him clearly. He looked Asian with an undercut ponytail and a slight beard. The bridge of his nose and ears had subtle piercings to them and he wore a big leather jacket. Glancing down, you noticed a little boy by his side, staring hungrily at the cakes in the display case. The boy looked European, so they didn’t seem to be father and son.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled, “I’m surprised to see a shop still open. Most have closed.”

“Yeah, well…” you laughed bitterly, “Someone’s gotta be alone on Christmas.”

He gave you a concerned look, but before he could pity you, you cut him off.

“So, what can I get for you?” you offered.

He paused for a moment before remembering, scanned the display case, and pointed to a strawberry and vanilla cake, asking for two slices.

“Here or to go?” you asked.

“Here is fine.”

“Mmk.” you grunted, taking the cake out of the case.

The man sent the boy off to grab a table as he waited patiently for his food.

“So you’re out with your nephew? Cousin? Brother?” you tried to make small talk as you cut the slices.

“No,” he looked back at him, “I found him alone on the street. He hasn’t told me much about his family or if he even has one, but for now…well, nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

As you placed the first slice down on the plate, you stifled a sob and nearly dropped the knife. He noticed and gave you a concerned look.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” you said quickly, “That’s very kind of you to help him.”

He was quiet for a few moments, watching as you finished up with the second slice, supposedly lost in thought.

Suddenly he spoke up, “It is strange that you are open tonight. Why are you still working?”

You let out an irritated sigh and tapped the counter impatiently. He just had to go and pry.

“Culinary school doesn’t pay itself,” you quipped, “And I’m practically a slave to my boss. I work until midnight.”

He watched as you punched the numbers into the register, “But you have family to go home to after?”

“Family’s back in [home country],” you answered bluntly, “I came to France for culinary school.”

You noticed the growing worry on his face as he pondered something. You finished tallying up the cost and rolled your eyes.

“But, hey, no need to worry about me,” you mumbled, “You’ve got your fair share of outcasts to look after.”

You put the cake back into the case, looked back at him, and shoved the plates closer to the edge of the counter, letting him know it was time to pay.

“He is not the only one,” he admitted, “If I hadn’t found that boy, I too would have spent the holidays alone. My…family doesn’t want me around anymore.”

Normally, you would have rolled your eyes at any customer who had a sob story. But maybe it was that it was Christmas, or that you were sleep deprived, or that you were sympathetic since your family didn’t seem too broken up when you couldn’t come home for December. Instead, you bit your lip and drew back from the counter a little.

“Oh. Sorry.” you breathed.

“Please, do not apologize,” he smiled, “Would you like to eat with us?”

You thought you’d spend the night moping over the counter, relentlessly trying to text friends to see if they wanted to pity you. But now somebody was offering to share Christmas Eve with you, and they barely even knew you! Whoever he was, he was the kindest person you had met that day.

“I would…Th-thank you,” you said eagerly.

You cut a slice for yourself and the man paid for the other two slices. Taking off your apron, you grabbed your plate and joined the two. The boy didn’t say much, but he looked very happy to have good food and company for the evening.

“My name is Hanzo, by the way.” the man finally introduced himself.

“[Name],” you introduced yourself, “So, you’re from Japan?”

“Indeed,” he said, and went on to explain his story.

Some parts were vague, like why he left home in the first place and why he was in France of all places. But it was neat to hear that cake was in fact a Japanese tradition on Christmas. You had thought it strange that someone walked in for cake at 10:30 pm at night, but now you knew. It was an odd tradition, but your culture had its fair share of superstitions.

You told him a bit about yourself and how you always wanted to be a famous pastry chef like the ones in the magazines. A few times you beat yourself up for leaving everything at home to come to Paris, but Hanzo seemed encouraging of it. He said it was brave of you to put your faith in yourself and carve your own path. Around 11:30, the boy next to Hanzo began to yawn.

“I should get him home. Tonight he’ll sleep in my apartment,” he said, “But tomorrow I’ll look for his guardians.”

“You’ve got a good heart, Hanzo,” you remarked suddenly.

That seemed to catch him off guard, making him look up at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t imagine why, though, he had just offered two strangers to spend Christmas Eve with him!

“Yeah, I’m not sure why your family wouldn’t want someone as kind as you,” you continued, “Have you ever thought of going back?”

That seemed to strike a nerve because his warm exterior began to freeze up to a sad, serious expression. Suddenly, you could feel the presence of a more troubled man before you.

“I-I mean–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying things I don’t know anything about.” you sighed.

“It’s alright.” he tried to smile again, “But I could never go back.”

With that, he got up to leave, the little boy holding his hand as he made for the door. As he opened the door, you realized how amazing the whole experience had been. It was like heaven itself sent you your own charming angel to spend Christmas Eve with! An angel that you really seemed to connect with– one you didn’t want to miss out on.

“Uh, wait! Wait!” you shouted after him, running to the counter to grab something.

Hanzo stopped at the door, curiously looking back towards you. You came stumbling up to him, handing him a small scrap of paper.

“You forgot your receipt!” you said hurriedly.

Unfolding the paper, Hanzo saw that you had written your name and phone number down on the bottom. You blushed as he chuckled up at you.

“Urm, you don’t have to follow up on that.” you mumbled nervously.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. We can spend Christmas Day together as well.” he nodded.

You gave him a little smile and a wave, thinking that was it. But it was like heaven wanted that angel to stay a little longer. Hanzo just had to notice the mistletoe your slave-driving boss had hung above the bakery doorway. Most people didn’t notice it, but nothing escaped Hanzo’s trained eyes.

He glanced up at the mistletoe then back down at you with a hopeful look in his eye. You just blushed harder and giggled nervously.

“O-oh, yeah, u-uh…” you stammered trying to formulate some kind of sentence.

“It’s your tradition, no?” he shrugged, “You partook in my tradition of Christmas cake. It seems only fair I return the favor.”

“You don’t have to do that.” you said bashfully, trying to hide your scarlet face behind your hands.

But he carefully took your wrists and moved your hands from your face. He slowly moved in and placed his lips on yours. It was a light, skimming kiss that lasted less than a second, but it warmed you more than your campus apartment heating. When he pulled back, you were left staring awestruck at him.

A few moments passed until the boy went, “Blech! Gross…”

That got the two of you to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that had been building up. You said goodbye to the two, leaving you to finish your shift in a dream-like haze.

(Tomorrow is Widowmaker, and will be the last day in our Mistletoe Event!)

Jay Electronica - Road to Perdition

[Intro: Ronald Reagan]
“And they say if we’ll only avoid any direct confrontation with the enemy, he’ll forget his evil ways and learn to love us. All who oppose them are indicted as warmongers. They say we offer simple answers to complex problems. Well, perhaps there is a simple answer—not an easy answer—but simple”

[Intro: Jay Z]
I got these niggas, Breezy!
Don’t worry about it

[Verse 1]
I got that black on black skin tone, actual-fact syndrome
That’s why I dropped the jewel on every verse you heard me shit on
Okay, it’s a Slumdog opera
The tale of a king whose name wasn’t on the roster
My road to glory was Road To Perdition
And Act II: The Turn is just the memoirs with no omissions
We came a mighty long way from standing near the stove
In the cold, the greatest story ever told
The realest niggas see the pain in my story boards
The true believers say, “Wallahi, I support the boy”
My life feel like a highlight reel
This is lightning striking, feel how the Zeitgeist feel
Get a slight chill

[Bridge: Jay Z]
I got these niggas, Breezy!
Don’t worry about it

[Verse 2]
My swag is on 1.21 gigawatts, 10 trillion kilowatts
Hardcore Thriller pop, Michael Jackson, nigga rock
Google me, baby, understand where I’m coming from
My destiny’s to hit a grand slam when my number come
All hail the lyrical, Grand Wizard Imperial
Nigga signed the dotted line with Hov, that’s a miracle
And I ain’t leave the thugs alone
The humble and the meek will surely inherit the mud we on
And shoot up every club we clone
The flow is too atomic
The poetry’s too Qu'ran-ic, the young prophet Muhammad
And I could drop a verse to change the whole vibration
The whole Roc Nation, the whole Live Nation
So pour libation
Beware, but prepare for the polarization, it’s the globalization
Warn all the clergymen and notify Satan
I been waiting, this the notarization, I been patient

[Bridge: Jay Z]

[Verse 3]
A thousand kisses to the haters cause they made me greater
A thousand wishes from a million slaves could raise a savoir
A thousand disses to these dickheads at these major labels
From Big Daddy Kane to Big Daddy Cain and Abel
You pay a cost to be a boss, nigga, I paid the wager
Mastered both sides of the force and plus I made my saber
Yes sir, I’m a soldier of love
Drowning all my sorrows and woes in the club
My white boys say, “that shit you spit last year, bro
Was like a real fine Merlot and a cashmere throw”
Some black chicks say he ugly, white women they love me
My Asians and my mamis don’t put nothing above me
I call it as it happen, the art of quality rapping
One autobiographical chapter could start up the rapture
And even though I walk in the narrow valley of death
All I see is green pastures, bitches screaming from the rafters

Lyrics Via: Rap Genius 

Made with SoundCloud
The Guy in the Cubicle

A/N I have no idea what this is it’s so bad. I’m sorry I really love this prompt but I did terrible with it >.<

Prompt: I kinda have a prompt for you. Dan works at a boring desk job. The only reason why he doesn’t quit is because it pays the rent and has a huge crush on Phil, who is the boss/supervisor.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: basically like a bad porno, cliche shit, bad writing, very bad writing

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2

Imagine: Sam catching you on a bad day.

(Sam x Reader)

As far as bad days went, today landed high on the top ten. It started with a street sweeping ticket tucked mockingly under your windshield as you rushed to work late, then your boss “forgot” you had requested time off to go pay a speeding ticket at the courthouse. Your boss created a big ado flawlessly reassigning the blame to you. To top it off, the courthouse was a state mandated labyrinth of hallways, vague signs, and unnumbered doors. You accidentally knocked shoulders with a tall man while rushing down the stairs.

“Ah! Sorry, I’m sorry!” You called out still hurrying down the stairs.

The room was tucked in the corner of the building with a line fifty people long. You sighed queuing up hoping the line was the correct one. Thirty minutes passed and the battery on your phone was blinking red. You sighed tucking it away and study the ticket in your hand for the remaining time.

“Next please.” A man at the counter droned out. You placed the ticket on the counter attempting to offer your friendliest smile. He sighed pulling the paper towards him. He glanced over his glasses in a condescending manner. “This is a moving violation. Normally, you would go next door to take care of this.”

You felt frustration knotting in your chest. “O-oh. I thought this was the line for that.” You muttered lamely. “So, I have to take it over there?”

He rolled his eyes and you bit back an acrid comment. “I said, normally, yes. But I can take care of it for you today. Just remember for next time.”

Your shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

He hummed a non-committal response typing on his keyboard. “That’ll be $360. Check or cash only.”

You wrote out the check nervously under his judgmental stare. He returned a receipt and you trudged past the line. The ticket had cost more than half your monthly paycheck. You had been speeding to work because you couldn’t be late or your boss would be upset. You couldn’t have left any earlier because surprise street light outages had made traffic unusually heavier. So, you had to take time off from work to pay a ticket, both losing out on the money you could have made and the money you had worked hard for. And life revolved around money whether you wanted it to or not. You tried to hold back budding tears.

“God, life is so hard sometimes.” You muttered under your breath.

“Hear that, Frank?” An older woman in line nudged her husband who blinked in response. “Kids these days are so entitled. They get a speeding ticket and think life’s against them when they broke the rules in the first place!”

Your face flushed. Tears brimmed on your eyelids and your knees shook. You adjusted your bag and ducked your head low walking off down the hall. You were trying to stop the onslaught of tears as you descended the staircase leading toward the first floor. You wiped your face with your sleeve. Your foot stepped too far, heel skimming the edge of the step. Your body lurched forward and in a terrifying second you were airborne. Resigned to the awfulness of the day, you tensed your body preparing for impact. Your body stopped. Surprised, you peeked open an eye. A warm sunny face peered into yours.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

You glanced around. People passed watching the scene with wide eyes. Another man stood close by. You glanced back at the first man slowly realizing he had caught you in his arms. You ducked your head down in embarrassment. You nodded, belatedly responding to his question. He sighed with relief.

“Good, we seem to be running into each other quite a bit today.” He smiled softly and you gave him a confused glance.

“Yeah, you need to slow down. You’re going to hurt someone or yourself.” the second man chided earning a disapproving glance from the first.

“S-sorry,” You mumbled as the man helped to your feet. “I lost my footing.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The first responded putting a hand on your shoulder. It was heavy and warm providing an odd source of comfort. “Be careful, okay?”

“It was lucky, Sam was here to catch you.” The second said.

You nodded in acquiescence. Sam peered into your face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jus’ a bad day.” You admitted. “And… thank you.”

“Of course.” He smiled again.

“C’mon.” The second man tugged on Sam’s arm before heading down the stairs.

“Hope to run into you again. Maybe next time, not so literally.”

Your face flushed and you offered him a small wave before he turned and walked away. The day had just gotten a little better after all.

The Content Problem: The Parable of Over-Saturation

I have an imaginary place in my head that allows me to understand everything in marketing very strategically. I’m going to be a little vulnerable and share it with you, today, in the context of content.

The more content brands create, the more competition rises, the lower probability you can make money from it. An entire profession based around content (journalism) is dying, what makes you think you can beat an entire industry? But every marketing function is trying to sell you on content (distribution, influencers, hubs). Today you’ll learn about the problems with content strategy.

Meet the Market

Imagine a bustling ancient marketplace with 100 consumers and three shops (early SEO). People lined up to each and every vendor made money. Imagine more owners moving in, seeing other making money. The customers and vendors grow over a year and now you have 100 shops and 200 customers. The market has never been more popular, but most vendors can’t make money. This is the approaching state of content.

Specialists work with the most popular shops (who pay), taking customers from the small shops and maneuvering them to the larger ones, they also draw more attention to the market, and get more customers. This is Facebook’s strategy. However those who don’t or can’t pay see even greater loss.

Magical salesmen show up on the scene. They bring people who love them to the booth, only a few, but new customers. These wizards are showmen of the floor, vendor-taining more customers to your booth, but annoying others long-standers who just wanted a nice, quiet deal. This nets a positive until you see the wizard’s bill. This is influencer strategy.

Another wizard appears from the ether, the risky wizard. He regales you of the time he helped Spiffy the Magnificent’s business boom. You talk to Spiffy, it’s true. You pay the wizard, and he performs a magnificent display for your shop…but everyone’s saw that trick the last time. Yawn. It turns out that this wizard has a probability modifier, meaning he does sometimes succeed…freakin gloriously, but more often fails. This wasn’t accounted for. This is the, “Big Idea”PR and Ad agency model.

Next comes the professional looking businessman who promises to make your shop more attractive and makes it easier to navigate. You do see improved results, but the cost of building your new shop takes decades to pay off with the improved performance. This leaves you financially vulnerable in the short term, reduces your flexibility to adapt (less funds), and the small-digit improvement doesn’t look good to your performance in your boss’ eye. This is content optimization.

Shady characters appear, selling vendors with promises of thousands of customers, more people naturally finding the shop, and various wonders of analytical performance. These are the people who run bot services, and promise SEO optimization that never delivers. By the time the check clears, they’ve already blamed the vendor for not listening and disappeared onto the next sucker.

Finally, a nerd with an abacus shows up at your door. He takes a tremendous amount of your money, but drives hordes of people to your doorstep. They’re of a little lower quality but that’s cool because you’re making a net positive of sweet, sweet, monies. More people learn of this nerds services and he begins dividing his attention (and customers). You slowly notice less and less results until you are breaking even, and then eventually losing money. This is distribution, also known as paid media.

After you learn all these lessons, someone from another marketplace comes to you and says, “why did you do that? You could have learned from us?” This is journalism and it makes you cringe. Probably because you bought content from them. -_-

Aging Market = Less Revenue

The first people in the marketplace made their money when they were alone, and got out. Or became so big (Buzzfeed) they monopolized a huge part of the market audience through momentum. Because they made money early they could adapt more quickly and take over the market.

Everyone else just followed by example, assuming they had the formula. They discounted the marketplace economics of saturation. Eventually the market reaches and equilibrium. Those who can make money (with good margins) stay, but most walk away, disappointed. In economics this is known as the theory of the, “greater fool.”

The cost of space went up as more people wanted in. The cost of wizards and con-men increased with more demand their services. The businessmen who optimized gave you a better product, but a shift in the market made it quickly irrelevant. Everyone took your money and got out. Welcome to marketing.

This process occurs on multiple levels. The product. Digital marketing. Niche things like Content. The list goes on. They are all going through one stage or another of this cycle. The best strategist can help you see beyond the hype, they try to show you the meta that is beyond, but it’s a mountain of work. This is material that can’t be taught in a jpg, or even a PowerPoint. It takes time, experience, long (boring, & ego-filled) discussions, and the wisdom of many failures.

How You Get Used


Others Take Advantage
Beware the dark side. There are others who know the cycle, and use it! With the framework it’s also very easy to sell you the hype. When all your friends have a shop in the slowly dying market, there are those who will sell you on it, too. The easiest thing to sell is that which is enviable.

The Enemy is Me
Cognitively, we love the things we tell others to buy. Our brains are structured towards fallacy. They convince us that we are the heroes of our own story, regardless of the outcomes of our efforts. The more we invest in something, the more we convince ourselves it was worthy of investment. Break that cycle. Now.

The most important skill for you to develop is to train yourself to live in the (frankly, depressing) land of the meta. To invest early (and wisely) in new markets, and to dominate them, is both the smartest and most scary way to win. Or you’re just spending the time convincing yourself you’re not slowly being boiled, like a frog, with your competitors.

Ribbit.

Heh. Next time, we’ll talk about some tactics to navigate around a competitive market.

Jim Bruno is a Director of Marketing and Digital Strategist. He’s worked on everything from Fortune 500s to startups.

IRREGULAR BANKSY (m)

PT 1 PT 2  PT 3  PT 4  PT 5 (Namjoon)  PT5.5 (Jungkook)

Genre: Smut

Synopsis: In the silence of night, till the chirping of early morning, his fingers filled the streets of Seoul with his mind. The older generations naturally referred to his work as vandalism. You saw something in it though. Wisdom, experience, and twisted genius behind his slashing of paint on brick.

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