Avatar

Enlightened Esoterica

@vantablackspiderskin

Some goober | I reblog from various fandoms | Follow at your own risk

Every time someone tries to tell you about their D&D group and their character progression it's like you're just cornered at a party for half an hour at knife point while someone painstakingly regales you with their Adventure-Time-ass story of their joke character developing a tragic backstory and rising to become a demi-god. It's like being sent to the Sarah Z gulag for your mandatory video essay imprisonment. And like.

Every time someone tells you about their Delta Green character progression, it ain't that deep. It's simple but compelling. It's just

Punished Jerma

Avatar

More inadvisable webcomic gimmicks:

  1. Webcomic whose server sniffs your IP address and displays subtly different versions of each page based on your geographic location; the art is identical and the story in its broad strokes is consistent across all versions, but the dialogue gives very different impressions of certain central relationships between characters.
  2. Purportedly autobiographical webcomic whose protagonist's life story consists of the plots of various popular science fiction and fantasy films, played out in reasonably complete detail, but interpreted through the lens of the "describe a film badly in order to make it sound as boring as possible" meme.
  3. Webcomic which builds up a dedicated readership, then begins updating on an irregular schedule with frequent unpredictable delays, taking each page down after a few hours and deleting that page's source files, with the explicit goal of causing as much of the comic as possible to become lost media.
  4. Garfield-style gag-a-day webcomic in which every strip consists of an identical tableau of two characters sitting on a couch, differing only in their dialogue and facial expressions; a separate, entirely unconnected ongoing story is related wordlessly and in miniature via the window visible behind the ostensible protagonists' heads.
  5. Patron-supported webcomic with two separate entry-level tiers called "See the Comic Early" and "See the Comic Never". If you subscribe to the latter, the author blocks your IP address.
Avatar

People with most mainstream tastes imaginable should not open their mouth on how anti piracy they are btw. Yea no shit you can depend on legal sources to watch Marvel and listen to tswift and Maroon 5. Thank you so much for signing the petition to close that platform that was the only one i could download this 2008 romanian dungeon synth ep from

Cheryl Dunye’s directorial debut, The Watermelon Woman, was out of print between 2000 and 2018. Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace was only available to watch on a pirate channel on YouTube until last year. There is still no way to watch the X-Files spinoff, The Lone Gunmen except to own a dvd box set that has been out of print since 2005. Or to pirate it. It’s on YouTube.

Piracy is incredibly important to keep media that’s weird, or out there or just embarrassing to someone in power, alive. We need piracy and we need to stop being snitches when someone pirates stuff.

Avatar

One of the best parts about working at a sex shop is the employee discount, and yeah that means excellent deals on sex supplies but that's not the big brain part.

You come to my house. Something is cooking in the kitchen- it smells wonderful. What is it? It's novelty dick-shaped pasta. I've set up a sensual sexy Italian dinner. There are candles set up on the table. They're melting too fast, dripping everywhere- they're low temp waxplay pillar candles. For dessert, I serve you a delicious ice cream topped in penis-shaped rainbow confetti sprinkles and strawberry body paint drizzle, and afterwards, serve coffee with roasted hazelnut warming lube.

We play a board game while we drink. It's sexy monopoly. It's your turn. You roll the dice. They come up as 'whisper into' and 'butt'. I lost the original dice. We're using the sexy dice. You move four spaces.

After dinner, I run you a bath. A bubble bath. The bubble gel? Sensual ocean breeze. There are candles lined up around the tub. The scent is overpowering. Why? They're three-in-one fruit flavored massage oil candles. I'm using so much. It's so wasteful. Do you want to shave? I have conditioning shave cream that smells like limes. And an electric body razor, but you can't use that in the tub.

How about a bath bomb? You toss one in. It's cherry blossom scented. As it dissolves, three sexy bath sex suggestion cards fall out. They're all variations on doggy style, probably because fucking in a bathtub is probably the easiest way to break your hip.

The water cools. You get out an dry off with a novelty towel. If you wrap it around your chest, it looks like you have gigantic tatas bursting through the fabric like the Hulk.

You walk into the bedroom. I'm there, reading an instructional book titled "The Housewife's Guide To Every Day Stripping". I'm wearing a neck pillow designed to look like a massive curved weiner. Also a pair of fake leather bondage leggings and an oversized men's christmas T-shirt that says "Jingle My Bells" across the front.

I see you come in. I put down the book, take off the pillow. Offer you a massage. You accept. I already burned up all the massage candles so I pop a new bottle of CBD massage oil that says something wrong about Chakras on it. It's very gritty. That's because there's little chunks of amethyst in it for some fucking reason. It's fine, though. You say you don't mind.

I don't do massages very often. It's bad. You end up more tense than before. One of your muscles starts to cramp- it's okay. I whip out a bottle of Lidocane topical masculine performance numbing spray. You immediately feel like your shoulder went to the dentist. It's not ideal, but it's better than cramping.

You're not in the mood to bone after that. Which is good, cause I'm actually pretty asexual, but it hasn't come up yet so I'm relieved to avoid the conversation. Instead we get ready for bed. (The weather is terrible, and I insist you stay over.) I set up the futon, then realize it smells like cigarettes from the previous owner and shyly ask if you wanna cuddle in my room. You're down.

I crawl under the covers, placing my penis-shaped pink glitter pride bottle on the side table in case one of us wakes up thirsty. Once you're settled in, I turn off the glowing bare ass night light and the room goes black.

It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust, but when they do, you look up at the ceiling. It's dotted all over with little green flourescent lights. Are they plastic stars? No. I've pinned up a thousand glow in the dark condoms. God bless

I never get tired of the thing where fantasy books name something by just calling it a word but capitalising it. Like oh shit, that person is a Wielder. The supernatural ability to see beyond matter called the Sight. Forces of Light and Darkness. The prohibited art of Knowing. A place simply known as The Blight. Awesome and horrible forces. The Force. You know something's getting bat shit wild when Fantasy Capitalisation comes into the picture. As in capitalising the letters, not the unholy act of seizing fantasy itself in order to churn profit off of it.

That is the work of evil creatures, like The Mouse.