notsocheezy

[notsocheezy]

Racing is really all about cheating. Finding that unfair advantage over the other competitors is the actual event, and after that, the driving might as well be a roll of the dice. I used to hang out with this NASCAR crew chief. When he had his kid, he'd go to the mall and race him against other dads' babies. Of course, he'd make sure the kid pooped first, and then cut out the liner from all the diapers. Gets the race weight down.

Unsportsmanlike though it may seem, cheating is probably part of every sport. You've got baseball players entrusting their bats to a bunch of micron-shaving eggheads in a rocket ship laboratory. Juicing up the balls with weird mud. And dressing up as a mascot to spy on rival teams, their giant foam heads filled with secret cameras and radios. I don't really know for sure about that last one, but it's probably true too.

We've all got our favourite stories about cheating, and those who cheat. Smokey Yunick, the undisputed king of rulebook abuse, correctly determined that nobody in the sanctioning body told him how thick the metal on his "stock" car had to be. Nor did they specifically state that the rest of the car couldn't be 7/8ths scale (factories screw up sometimes, right?) And they didn't really think to tell him that he had to use normal-length fuel lines, either, instead of filling the trunk with comedy ones long enough to serve as a second fuel tank. Bunch of suckers.

Ol' Smokey knew that all the winning happens before you get to the track. Only an idiot goes to a fist fight without a knife in his boot. And I've tried to live up to his own example whenever I've been at a sanctioned racing event. Of course, I see much less success, because I drive about as well as a common farm animal. That just means I have to cheat more to compensate for the folks who are actually decent race car drivers. It's a very unfair advantage of them to be so talented.

[notsocheezy]

Im gonna be so real can yall actually talk about ways we can support trans women in the UK instead of giving all the attention to fucking JKR. I already know that Harry Poter sucks, I wanna know how to actually HELP people. Something something you have to love the oppressed more than you hate the oppressor

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #387

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. Just like Grandma used to make.

“Greetin’s folks, and welcome back to The Frank Program, where today, we’re out on the streets of Houston lookin’ for… uh…” Frank squinted at his cue card. “What in blazes is that supposed to mean?”

“Hot takes?” The unpaid intern pointed at the words. “It means their opinions are controversial.”

Frank rubbed his chin with his handheld microphone. “Fascinatin’…”

“Please don’t do that, sir, the noise is very loud and goes right to my ear.”

“Oh, uh, sorry. Anyhow, Andy, ya seein’ any hot-takers ‘round this street?”

“Uh… maybe that Cuban-looking guy on that bench?”

“Cuban-lookin’? The hell makes ‘im Cuban-looking? The hat, for crying out loud?”

“No sir, I just see a resemblance to Fidel Castro.”

“Huh. I’m startin’a see it, actually.” Frank waved his hand. “Follow me. Hello sir!” Frank shoved the microphone into the man’s face. “How’d you like to share your most controversial opinion?”

“Hm.” The man tutted. “I fail to see how this would benefit me.”

“Ya get to be on the internet? In a… popular… podcast show?”

The man spoke with a tone completely lacking in irony. “I will find out where you live.”

“Okay,” Frank replied, “Thank you for your time, sir.”

The man stormed off.

“No more Cuban-lookin’ ones, Andy.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Penned 2025.04.03

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[notsocheezy]

*tsk* Gotta hate it when you chip a nail.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #386

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. I like your shoelaces.

The following material is classified - unless you've read the rest of Government Man here on Tumblr!

Government Man and Government Boy were staked out in a bush with a pair of binoculars between the two of them, which neither were using. Government Man squinted.

“I spy with my little eye…” Government Man hesitated. “The White House.”

Government Boy shook his head. “No, you don’t get it. That is not how this game works. You are supposed to describe one feature of the item you spy with your little eye.”

“Hm…” Government Man scratched his chin. “Ah, I get it now. I will go again.”

“Good.”

“I spy with my little eye… the front door of The White House.”

Government Boy sighed. “Is it The White House?”

“You are very good at this.”

Government Boy took the binoculars and looked closely at their surroundings. If they were going to capture the thief who stole President Man’s shoelaces, their best bet was to hope that said thief returned to the scene of the crime. So far it had only been lobbyists, First Lady Woman, and half a dozen scantily clad girls carrying NDAs. None of them had a motive - especially not the girls, who didn’t wear shoes with laces.

“What are the shoelaces supposed to look like?” Government Man asked.

“He did not specify. He only said they were very nice.”

“Do you think they were painted gold? Or plated gold? Or made out of gold?”

“It would be in his style. But if you want to know for sure, you should call and ask.”

Government Man nodded and picked up his standard-issue Nokia to dial the secret number, which spelled out a funny word in German. President Man picked up immediately, as if he wasn’t doing anything useful at the moment.

“Hello, Government Man?” President Man began speaking immediately. “You have no idea what I’ve been dealing with these past weeks.”

“Your shoes have been falling off, sir.”

“Oh, no, forget about that, I’m talking big picture, huge deal-type stuff. I’m the most hated and beloved President Man of all time, it’s crazy.”

“Yes, sir. I was only calling to ask what your stolen shoelaces looked like.”

“Those shoelaces were the most beautiful shoelaces anyone had ever seen. Bright, bright like the sun, not a stain on ‘em. They were shoelaces like no other shoelaces, believe me Government Man, you have no idea.”

“That is correct, sir, I have no idea. What color were they?”

“They were white like the snow in Canada, or Greenland. I’ve never been, you know that? I’ve never been to these places. I don’t have a passport, you understand, so I’m hoping I can make a deal to make them into our fifty-first state. Call it Can-Land. Can-Land, doesn’t that have a wonderful ring to it, folks?”

“Sir, this is a secure line. Nobody else should be listening. What about the tips?”

“The tips? I know all about the tips. Did you know what those are called? They’re called ‘aglets’. ‘Aglets’ is such a beautiful word, don’t you think? You will never guess where I learned the name of aglets, go ahead and guess.”

“Um…”

“It was from a Disney cartoon, Government Man. A Disney cartoon of all places. They wrote a song about it. I think the show was called Funny Gus and Firth, but they never say why it’s called that since they’re so busy singing.”

“Thank you, sir. But what color are the… ag-lets?”

“They were shiny. Shi-ny chrome. Plated with chrome. Or maybe silver or titanium. Is platinum a real thing or is that only for trophies?”

“I do not know, sir.”

“Anyway, I am very busy, so bye-bye.” President Man hung up as quickly as he had answered.

Government Man turned his head. “Government Boy, has there been any movement?”

“A minute ago, another girl went inside. But that is it.” He put down the binoculars. “How was your conversation?”

Government Man smiled. “He is so smart!”

“And the shoelaces?”

“White with chrome tips… or, uh… aglets.”

“So these are normal shoelaces?” Government Boy scowled. “Why do we have to do this?”

“It is for honor and pride, Government Boy. It is about respect for our country and our forefathers who founded it.”

“Are you sure it is not because President Man told us to do it?”

Government Man pondered. “It is because of that, too.”

Penned 2025.04.07

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[notsocheezy]

been watching livestreams of US news channels lately and

1) they have a LOT of commercial breaks

2) i didn’t realize that ads for medicine were actually like this

[notsocheezy]

[notsocheezy]

New snitch line just dropped for reporting clinics that support gender affirming care: www.hhs.gov/protect-kids/index.html

It requires a "first name", "last name", and "cell phone number" as contact information but does no verification. Theoretically anyone could type fake info in there, which would be terrible. Presumably your IP address & browser cookies are tracked.

Please do NOT spam this site via your VPN with realistic but false leads, made up clinics, and the names of fictitious healthcare providers like Dr. Frank N Furter or Gregory House, MD.

Doing this in the past has led to the sites becoming overwhelmed & shut down! It is imperative that you spread the word to prevent this resource from being overloaded.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #385

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. I want to ride my bicycle.

Part 44 of an experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.

“So what?” I asked. “If I go home you’re gonna stop talking to me?”

“Anything could happen to someone sleeping on the streets,” Dad replied, posturing like he was making a threat to someone else’s life. “You could keep me safe indoors, if you’re not a fucking pussy.”

“If I sneak you in, there will be consequences…”

“Yeah, you’ll grow a spine and Clive will have to learn to live with me. How awful.”

“It doesn’t work like that! You know it doesn’t fucking work like that!”

“Then I guess you’re not seeing me again.” He walked away. “Bye-bye. Have a nice life, Trevor.”

He was… he was really walking away. Was this it? Was this really it? Was it over? I felt almost relieved to lose him. What was the matter with me? Other than…

“Dad.” I gritted my teeth. “I still have one more thing I need to say to you…”

“Yeah, what?” He frowned.

“You…” I shook. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t say the words, I could only dance around the empty space they were meant to be written in. This moment came sooner than I was prepared for. “When you… that Halloween…”

The world itself shook as he ran at me, screaming. “THAT HALLOWEEN? THIS WAS ALWAYS ABOUT THAT STUPID HALLOWEEN?!?”

“No, I -”

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU RUINED ME!”

I backed away. “I didn’t -”

“YOU RUINED MY LIFE ALL BECAUSE I WOULDN’T LET YOU WEAR A FUCKING DRESS TO SCHOOL, HUH?”

Everyone in town must have heard him screaming. Oh god. I had to get away. I started running.

“AND I BET CLIVE LOVES TO BE SO PROGRESSIVE AND LET YOU BE A SISSY IN HIS FUCKING HOUSE!”

How was he keeping up with me?

“YOU SENT ME OUT TO SLEEP IN THE COLD! YOU FUCKING PRICK!”

I arrived home faster than I thought I could run, and he was close behind, still screaming at the top of his lungs. I’d never been so terrified. I fell back onto the front steps of the house as he stomped in my direction, pacing back and forth, brushing back the hair of his balding head with his sweaty palms.

He growled. “You know what I think of this? You know what I think of all of this? I have no fucking son, okay? I have no fucking son!” He took my bicycle in both hands and held it off the ground. “So I guess this doesn’t belong to anyone!” He threw it into the street and stomped on it as hard as he could before eventually losing balance and stumbling back.

I looked at him, my jaw agape, my nose bleeding, my stomach aching. He spit in my direction and stomped away as the culmination of billions of eventualities squeezed into my skull. I held my head and moaned in pain as I stumbled inside. Tears ran down my face as I burst into the bathroom and fumbled around for the beard trimmer.

I hacked away at my face, trying to claw my way out of my own mouth. The beard was gone, mostly, but the pain was not. My shaking hands grabbed for the ibuprofen bottle and unscrewed the cap. The pills spilled onto the counter.

“Where is it?” I asked myself, panicking, searching through the pile. There it was: hidden under a pile of orange was a little glint of turquoise. The last drug available to me I hadn’t tried yet: estradiol.

I choked it down and forced myself to look into the mirror. No. No, no, I couldn’t see her anymore. It was too late… No, it couldn’t be too late, I followed her instructions, there must have been something I was forgetting.

I screamed as my toe sent a jolt of pain up my leg and through my spine. “I can’t!” I yelled at myself. “I can’t do this!” I collapsed to the floor and laid my head on the fluffy bath mat. It quickly became bloody and wet enough to drown in. Appropriate - after losing everything, the last thing to lose would be my life. I might as well speed it up.

I pulled myself up by the towel rack and felt my way into the kitchen. I took a knife from the drawer and closed my eyes before slicing into my wrists. The cold floor hit me square in the jaw before I heard that voice again… Celeste…

“Gotcha!”

Penned 2025.04.04

Please reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed, and leave a reply even if you didn’t! See you again soon!

[notsocheezy]

chicken jockey being the last possible 4chan post is fucking hilarious but there's so many amounts of comedic irony to it.

it's like a tyrant dying from falling over a medium sized brick wall. humiliating end.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #384

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. Loosely based on a January 1964 Playboy interview with the remaining parts of JFK’s brain.

Hello government I need your help please there’s a DEI in my place of work in the governemt ok so to begin with sometimes we take fifteen minute breaks on a casian and we like to play games in the break room to unwiound anyway i was playing game with coworker Robert and we go on the Nintendo for racing game and he picke (you will not believe this) the LUIGI MAN who is FOR SURE A ITALIAN (this is not good but get worse) and then he BEAT ME AT THE RACE GAME and I thinking maybe this coworker (Robert) is also a italian because one day he eat lunch at desk called Stouffer’s lasaganema (italian meat cake) and he smells like a garlic patch from the old country (i have never been to there but that it what tthey call it) anyway i am a white so i chooseto play as fucky kong who is the best charcetr so i should win please fire coworker Robvert

Penned 2025.04.04

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[notsocheezy]

any time i hear the insufferable transphobic athlete arguments i think of that one time in middle school when my boys lacrosse team did a full-contact scrimmage against the girls team (who typically play with limited contact) and i, a six-foot, 180lb defender, got utterly laid-out by this 5-foot-nothing girl experiencing the newly-unleashed animosity accompanied by violent sport and as i looked up at my assailant from flat on my back i experienced a brief bout of heterosexuality and fell wildly in love and then had to be taken to the ER because i had a concussion

[notsocheezy]

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #383

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. I didn’t realize how much work The Simpsons writers put into those chalkboard gags.

Part 43 of an experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.

Trevor was depersonalizing again, and who could blame him? His beard was spotty and wiry, his chest itchy with hair that had never been allowed to grow in before (and didn’t truly know how), and his father, for whatever reason, had requested to meet in the park after dinner instead of the bike shop where he worked and slept. Trevor, despite all efforts not to be, was suspicious.

Trevor sat at the table in the center and checked his watch. It was already 8:30, but his father had yet to arrive. A raven, illuminated by a street lamp, dug around in a trash can through a small opening, but struggled to pull something out.

“Trevor!” A feminine voice echoed without a source.

Trevor looked around. Nobody was around who could have said his name. The raven cawed to get his attention and gestured at the garbage can.

“Me?” Trevor asked the bird, pointing at himself.

The raven cawed again.

Trevor got up from the table and walked over. The raven tilted its head in query. He looked through the small hole of the receptacle’s lid to see what all the fuss was about and saw a half-eaten cob of sweet corn.

“You want that, huh?”

The raven cawed with desire.

Trevor rolled up his sleeves and reached in for it. The cob was slimy, but at this point he was already committed to retrieving it. He pulled it out and set it before the raven, then immediately wiped his hand on his shorts.

“I hope it was worth it.” Trevor sighed and sat back down.

The raven pecked at its dinner with glee. Trevor would have felt good about this deed if he could feel anything, but he couldn’t - nothing but the barest memory of his throbbing toe, anyway. He was so tired. So very, very tired. The raven flew off hastily when Trevor’s father plopped onto the bench on the other side of the table.

“Dude,” he said, wiping his brow with a rusty-brown handkerchief, “what a day. Flip is such an asshole.”

“Is that why we’re at the park?” The wind blew and Trevor pulled his jacket closed.

“Yeah, uh… I don’t want him asking you for favors. I was supposed to be off at 7:30, but he kept saying ‘yo, one more thing’.” Dad took his backpack off and dug through it to find his vape, which he took a puff from. “Real piece of work.”

Trevor sighed. “At least you’re here now. I’ve been having kinda a hard time, and I…”

“You think you’re having a hard time?” Dad scoffed. “Dude, I slept next to a pile of broken batteries last night. On a concrete floor.”

“A lot has happened, that’s all. I never told you about Homecoming, did I?”

“Did you try my trick? It worked, right?”

Trevor’s nose twitched. “Do you see Serenity on my arm, Dad? She hasn’t talked to me since I followed your advice.”

“You must have done it wrong, Trevor. You kissed her while she was talking, right?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, dude. You do not want to piss me off right now.”

“Yeah, well you don’t want to piss me off either!” Trevor gritted his teeth. “I have a lot more problems than that! Gordon’s turned into a total asshole ever since he started dating the new girl, who kissed me on her birthday, and…”

“Boo-fucking-hoo, dude. She kissed you on her birthday? You already won.”

“I haven’t won shit! And my foot has been killing me ever since I stubbed my toe!”

“Yeah?” Dad raised his voice. “Well my fucking back went out this morning and I still had to work!”

“I’ve had to work too, in case you didn’t notice…” Trevor slammed the table. “… while you spent all my money!”

“It’s all about money with you! Your grandfather’s doing a great job raising you to be a little banker like him. At least you have a place to live, you ungrateful little shit!”

“No thanks to you!”

“And I don’t have a place to live, thanks to you!” Dad growled. “Why didn’t you talk to Greg when we had a chance?”

Trevor was taken aback. “I told you I talked to him!”

“Well, you fucking didn’t! I asked!”

“You…” Trevor stuttered. “Y-you asked me to get you an extra week, for fuck’s sake. Do you really think I could have convinced him to let you stay indefinitely?”

“Yes! And look at that big word, Mr. Banker. Where’d you learn that?”

“That’s it,” Trevor got up. “I’m done.”

“You never talked to Greg because you never wanted to live together again!”

Trevor shook his head. “The fuck does one thing have to do with another?”

“I’m not hearing you deny it.”

“I was never going to live with you there, Dad! And you said it yourself - it sucked!”

“It wouldn’t have sucked if we were together!”

“I really doubt that.” Trevor put his hands out and slapped them down on his thighs as he walked away.

“Where are you going?”

Trevor groaned and turned around. “It’s a school night! I need to be home by nine and I’ll be late as it is.”

“We’re in the middle of a conversation! Get back here!”

“No. Go back to your concrete.”

“I quit my job so I could see you, you fucking dick!” He got up from the table, put his backpack back on, and hobbled over to me with anger on his face. Oh shit: the adrenaline brought me back into my body.

I was a little dizzy, but managed to let out a word. “What?”

“I always put you first and you treat me like a dirty mutt! What’s the matter with you?”

“I…” My breathing was uneven and shallow. “I didn’t ask you to quit your job! Where are you gonna go now?”

“Why don’t you think about that while you lay in your warm bed, jackass. If you walk away, don’t expect to see me again.”

What does that mean?

Penned 2025.04.04

Please reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed, and leave a reply even if you didn’t! See you again soon!

[notsocheezy]

Do NOT browse pcpartpicker for fun. You may realise crucial sells 2x48GB DDR5-5600 sodimm kits (that's 96GB of pretty good ram) for 200€ and you may start considering very bad financial decisions