The first and last scenes aren’t in Casa Kira which means this blonde suave-ass David Bowie looking purplephile broke into strangers’ homes, murdered the owners, stayed the night, cooked breakfast, and made himself completely cozy in the homes of his deceased victims.
During the last scene, Mr. Hand Man left the severed hand at the crime scene so he could run errands and go to work, which ended in a lot of ORAs and a face-swap, so someone else had to walk into this apartment and find a severed hand on the kitchen table. Knowing Kira, he probably cleaned the places up, too, so the Morioh PD probably has this huge list of missing persons and the only thing they have in common is that their homes were discovered really neat and tidy. This guy has no chill but, at the same time, he has all the chill in the world.
[bass boosted]: DAN AND PHIL ARE MOVING INTO A HOUSE TOGETHER AND THEY ARE GOING TO SPEND THE REST OF THEIR LIVES BY EACH OTHER’S SIDES AND LIVE OUT THEIR LIVES AS HOME OWNERS IN DOMESTIC BLISS AND NOTHING WILL EVER TOP APRIL 25TH
I, personally, no longer take part in the ecstatic public condemnation of people unless they’ve committed a transgression that has an actual victim, and even then not as much as I probably should. I miss the fun a little. But it feels like when I became a vegetarian. I missed the steak, although not as much as I’d anticipated, but I could no longer ignore the slaughterhouse.
Jon Ronson, So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed.
I’ll never forget this story:
Context: It was simply a legal technicality. Something to do with homeowners and legal and medical insurance. The medical insurance wouldn’t pay the bills. So, she sued the nephew for, like, one dollar. The home owners insurance covered all the money.
She’s still on great terms with her sister and nephew. They laughed about it. “Oh, you sued me. Lol.”
But she still got vilified world-wide because, well, no one bothered to check the real story.
@klanced idk how far u read into the series but there was a point where jayfeather had this weird stick and it was like. his favorite thing and then i think it got destroyed?? should we give pidge some sort of. stick ???? and she names it rover??? ?
These are the sinister photos of an abandoned
swingers mansion, covered in broken glass and daubed in graffiti. The house, in
Chattanooga, Tenn., was the former home of strip club owner Billy Hull, who was
jailed for murder in the ’70s. In 1972, nearly 10,000 people visited the
mansion, which was famous for the bunny-shaped pool that took up nearly half
the house. (Caters)
There’s a certain kind of prudery that projects depravity onto others. Consider a teacher who insists that students can’t dress too sexy lest it distract the other students, or even the other teachers; they will never say “don’t dress too sexy because it distracts me”, and not just because that might get them arrested.
A similar dynamic is at play for some people who get solicitously concerned about sex workers being judged, not because they themselves are judgemental or anything, heavens no, but by all those other judgemental people out there.
It’s reminiscent of real estate block busting tactics in the US, where a white home owner might protest against a black family moving in next door, not because they personally are prejudiced, heavens no, but because other people are and so it will bring down the value of their property.
A mixture of projection and plausible deniability that allows you to exhibit all the traits of a particular prejudice while claiming to be the only person that doesn’t have it.
Red sat in front of door. Tails thumping and swishing side to side. None of his pleas were answered, and he would’ve cried if one of his owners didn’t commend him for being strong and brave.
Pouting, he turned to look around the quiet house. There wasn’t anything he really wanted to do. He liked playing with his Sans and Paps more. And he had already explored the house beforehand.
The small fox decided then to go upstairs and into Sans’ room. It was mess and there was that spinning thing he didn’t really like. It caught its tails and spun him around to throw him on the floor. He hated that thing.
Fortunately enough, he quickly found what he was looking for as it laid on the bed and grabbed it. The fox went to Paps’ room next, and it was easy to find what he wanted when the room was much neater and organized.
Once he got them, Red went downstairs to get up on the couch, and arranged the things he got into a small nesting area.
The small skeleton laid himself down on it, purring and curling happily all the while. It didn’t take long for him to drift into a dreamless sleep.
Papyrus and Sans came home, and it was an hour earlier than when they usually got home. Both had been eager to finish their work and see their Red.
Papyrus was about to shout the fox’s name, only to spot the small skeleton on the couch, and gasped. “Sans, Sans, Sans!” He whispered, making the latter turn to look at where his brother was pointing.
Sans’ eye sockets widened, and he felt his soul swell at the endearing sight before him.
On the couch, Red slept and was wrapped in Papyrus’ ‘Cool Dude’ shirt and one of Sans’ blue hoodies.
me: woW. so this is what the earth feels like when the clouds break and sunlight comes streaming through. this is how a dog feels when its owner comes home and greets it with a hug. this is how it feels to be helicoptered off the side of a snowy mountain after a cataclysmic air disaster. this is how flowers feel when someone stops to give them a sniff without plucking them right up. this is how
There's a dog that's been canonised into sainthood?? I knew Catholicism had saints for everything but that's just rad
Actually, the church tries to deny his existence, and he was never an official saint, but that didn’t matter to the people of Lyon, France.
The story is a familiar one- it’s the same kind of story as the welsh tale of Gelert, and also the third act of Lady and the Tramp. Guinefort was a Good Boy, a very loyal and sweet greyhound. He was so loyal that his owner, instead of hiring a babysitter, would let the dog look after his infant son. One day, his owner came home to discover a mess in the nursery- the cradle overturned, furniture everywhere, no baby to be seen- and here comes his dog, running up to greet him with bloody jaws. Immediately he pulls out his sword and kills the dog, only to hear a baby start crying- the kid was under the cradle the entire time. He also finds the body of a venomous snake, puts two and two together, and realizes what he’s done. Feeling miserable, he puts the dog’s body in the well and builds a shrine; over time, people start calling him Saint Guinefort and he becomes incorporated into local Catholic tradition.
Interestingly, we have some inquisitorial comments from the 13th century from Etienne de Bourbon, a priest who tried to stamp out the veneration of St. Guinefort (which did not work, as his shrine was still used religiously until the 1930s). While he wasn’t too keen on people praying for a dog’s intercession, he did say that the owner’s estate collapsed and his fortunes disappeared after killing the dog- and that he totally deserved it.
just a quick doodad bc I don’t blog about it bc this is a horse blog but I brought the drama to it:
I super support rescue. I also super support responsible breeding and buying of pets and working animals.
I have two rescue horses, a rescue cat, and a dog that came from a breeder.
The first three I was able to adopt because I was happy for them to be pets. I didn’t know anything about their backgrounds, I didn’t know anything about them, and I was happy to rehabilitate them.
I got my dog from a breeder because she’s a service dog prospect, and so I wanted a very specific type of dog, with certain guaranteed physical traits and certain genetic behavioral predispositions. I wanted to be able to guarantee that she was raised and socialized to fit my needs. None of these were things I could guarantee from a rescue dog.
Responsible breeders do not contribute to pet overpopulation. Irresponsible breeders, who are trying to breed for money, who had an oops litter, who do not test their dogs for genetic disease or physical flaws, who do not track bloodlines, who do not plan homes for their puppies, who are not working specifically to improve their breed, who just breed for the funzies, are the ones contributing to pet overpopulation.
Responsible breeders aren’t working to turn a quick buck. They’re working to preserve or improve a breed. Depending on the size of their operation, maybe they’ll have a litter a year, maybe a litter every few years. They’ll usually have a waiting list. They’ll carefully scope out candidates who want a pup, find out what kind of dog they’re looking for, examine all of the puppies’ different traits at an early age, and work to put the pups in the right homes. If there’s a super drivey pup with maybe a tiny physical flaw that means it won’t do well in the show ring, they’ll give it to a working home. If there’s a more low-key pup, they’ll give it to a pet home. If there’s an absolutely perfect puppy, they’ll probably keep it for themselves, to work and show and use to (again) improve the breed. And almost every single one of them will ask that the puppy be returned to them if the new owner can’t keep them. Many of these breeders will remain in contact with the new owners and even showcase the accomplishments of the dogs on their websites as they grow up, to show the quality of animal they are producing. They are invested in the future of these animals.
Badmouthing breeders overall does not help to reduce the number of unwanted pets. Responsible breeders are not the ones whose dogs end up in shelters. And those responsible breeders often do a better job than shelters at keeping dogs in homes. Breeders make prospective owners wait, do their research, and pick them out the right dog for them. Meanwhile, many shelters (my own local shelter included) will let you walk in and adopt a dog on the same day, without so much as a home inspection (unless the dog is a certain breed that they says requires a fence, in which case all that’s required is the fence, and then you’re good to go!). Many shelters are not invested in the future of these animals; as much as they may care, they do not have the resources to track animals that have been adopted, or ensure that they’re succeeding in their new homes, or ensure that they’ve stayed in those homes. Rescues also almost universally perform a pediatric spay, which has been shown more and more to have a negative impact on a dog’s health longterm.
There are shitty shelters just like there are shitty breeders. The problem is not as simple as ‘rescue, don’t buy, while shelter animals die’. As usual, black and white pronouncements are catchy, but unhelpful.
I’ve volunteered a ton in rescue. That’s why so many of my pets are rescues. But I have seen questionable things happen behind closed doors at rescue organizations. I’ve seen animals adopted out to people who couldn’t properly care for them. I’ve seen animals returned after hurting or scaring someone. My own rescue horse has taken years to get to a safe place. I took that on because I accepted the responsibility and I wanted the challenge. Someone with a rosey-eyed view of rescue could have taken him in and been seriously injured.
Rescue does not guarantee a happily ever after story, and breeders are not all assholes out there trying to turn a buck.
Irresponsible breeding, irresponsible rehoming, and irresponsible ownership is the problem. People need to be educated about where their animals come from and how to care for them appropriately. Ignorance is the problem.
In response to the Hannibal fluff prompt post... This is a bit strange, but I think it would be really cute and LITERALLY fluffy to have an AU where Hannibal is a cat and Will is a puppy and they make friends!
Will snuffled around beside the dumpster, lapping at the crumbs on ground. He found a bit of stale pizza crust and settled down, holding it between his paws as he chewed. A sandy-brown cat streaked through with silver-gray rounded the dumpster then, rubbing itself against Will’s side, purring loudly.
Will growled and bared his teeth, then finished chewing the last bit of his crust. The cat didn’t budge at the threat, slinking around near Will’s face, mewing gently in his ear. Will ceased his growling, realizing his efforts were futile. Unless threatened, Will was mostly bark with very little bite.
A silver tag jingled on the cat’s collar. Will knew human words and letters from his years spent with his former owner, but it took him several tries to make out what the tag was conveying. Hannibal. The overly-friendly, desperately purring cat’s name was Hannibal.
The cat curled up at Will’s side and continued its purring. Will considered moving to the other side of the alley, perhaps the other side of town. Finding a kind stranger to scratch behind his ears. Instead, Will closed his eyes and began to dream. It had been a very long time since he had a friend.
can you imagine Eric coming home from school, with his jaw all tense and his face all red, wanting to punch a fucking wall. And he opens his front door, slamming it really hard, not being able to contain his anger from having a bunch of douchebags at school ruining his day. And then suddenly, his anger breaks when he hears Sparky’s little paws running along the wooden floor, with his tail wagging high in the air, seeing the sight of his owner home. And Eric’s anger washes away and he smiles, reaching down to pet his dog. And says in a gentle tone, “hi buddy.” I like to think that Eric had these moments a lot. And the only thing in his life that ever made his aggression/anger go away (temporarily) was Sparky.