Olof Möller
peeling those sour rainbow gummy strips into long thin strings and putting them into cheap energy drink to create something im calling battery acid spaghetti will update once ive finished it
dont do this
I really hope its not too bad bc i actually love both components.
it forms a dry skin at the top made of the sour pellets. not a great start.
tastes really good actually. i also feel like i am about to explode.
do not do this.
Unanimous consensus: Do not do this
Other people: Hold on I’m about to do this
Rip to y'all, but I'm built different. Trying this tonight
Best I can do with what I have (I'm at work rn)
Oh that is a... fascinating smell
Don't do this
i think i'll try this tomorrow actually, it can't be that bad, im sure ive made worse cursed foods before
the time has come
i just did this twice this shit tastes great idk what's wrong with yall
i think im gonna drink more of this later i wonder what happens if i add vodka
this happens to me every day i dont know how to make it stop
According to Snopes,
It was originally a joke article and the victim was from Calgary.
Child walking into animal shelter and walking out with a single ant on a leash
i am at the very beginning of the rest of my life. this truth will not change with age
You can say a lot of bad things about the humble postal system. It’s slow, it’s expensive, and the folks who work hard to make sure you get your bills and junk mail could be a little more chipper about it. Watch your tongue, though, because the postal system does something truly glorious: it provides insanely clapped-out, mega-mileage postal vans at auction.
That’s right. Targeted for criticism by a variety of bad actors, miscreants, contrarians, and folks grumpy that they didn’t get what they wanted in life, the government is forced to sell off perfectly good vehicles just because they’re a little unsafe, in the hopes of recouping some money that they can then spend on new, soulless postal vans. Every farmer for miles around probably has one or two of these things in their back forty. This is because even after the ancient parcel vans of my youth stopped being useful for luxuries like “providing heat,” you can still throw a pregnant sheep in the back, full-throttle that shit all the way to the property line, and be pretty sure that it will make the return trip even if you haven’t changed the oil since Mulroney.
Part of this is because these vehicles are supremely engineered for their purpose. Like sharks, they have exactly the ideal parts required for the job they are meant to do, and no luxuries like air conditioning, seven-speaker surround sound stereos, ABS, or chairs with padding. Sure, they devour fuel, but that’s what you get when you use technology from the Bronze Age to develop an engine that wears like the mountains. Where did such a glorious piece of lost technology come from, in our current era where smartphones last twelve minutes and brand-new microwaves come with a sticker telling you what number to phone in order to safely recycle them?
Once upon a time, the government used to have demands of the manufacturers from which they were ordering several million vans. They could insist that these vans run forever, never need to be maintained, and double as cover in the event of a semi-automatic gun fight. It would cost a little bit extra, this overbuilding, but this was justifiable: we are the government, after all, and if we didn’t ask them to do their job, they’d just rip us off. Now, not so much. In the pursuit of business efficiency, the government just treats themselves as another boring consumer. Buy the same Ford Transit or German-made electric conversion van as everyone else. Did it break down because it’s not meant to be driven one point eight million kilometers in a single year by a suicidal Newfoundlander who doesn’t understand enough English to comprehend the concept of “keep the engine below 9,000 rpm?” Buy another.
There’s still time left to get a van like this of your very own. Together, we will hold onto these glorious artifacts of a bygone era, and ideally take them down to the track together. Won’t the track marshals be pissed when we clock a thirty-six second pass, and stop halfway through to refill the tank.
a meditation on boundaries
i.
Back when I thought I was straight I would go on dates with boys. The boys would usually want to kiss me. I disliked kissing, but I thought that their preferences deserved to count as much as mine, and I reasoned that they probably liked kissing more than I disliked kissing. So kissing was a morally good thing to do. I also reasoned that if I told them I disliked the kissing then they’d feel guilty and enjoy it less. So I did not tell them.
I am certain I was making some kind of critical error but it has taken me a long time to figure out what it might be.
ii.
I like cuddling. I know some straight girls who like cuddling with their straight female friends but don’t want to cuddle with people who might be attracted to them because it makes them uncomfortable. But they don’t want to explicitly tell me this preference because they’re worried it’s homophobic. Ever since I learned that this dynamic was present in at least one friendship of mine I have not cuddled with any straight girls because there’s a plausible scenario in which I’d be making them uncomfortable and they wouldn’t tell me.
So this is a very long post and I love it but I know some people don’t read posts this long so I’m going to write out the thing I took away from this which is a very great thing.
Even if your preferences are influenced by ‘societal bias’, you don’t have to violate them.
If something physically intimate is making you uncomfortable, you don’t have to keep doing it even if it’s just because your brain has been indoctrinated.
Your bodily autonomy and right to be comfortable trumps everything, and other people have no right to your body, no matter what their needs.
If you violate/ignore your own boundaries, or feel obligated to do it, it will end up worse, it will end up doing more harm in the end than any accidental microaggression that results from enforcing them.
You should strive to not be an asshole about it.
But keeping your own body to yourself is not being an asshole, not ever.

















