#America Is Broken

[zymzalchemy]

[nsomniacsdream]

If your job ever hands you this book, look for a new job. This is the book you hand out to the hostages so they know their options are Stockholm Syndrome or death.

This book is so asinine that there are multiple rebuttals to it

Even an entire book thoroughly debunking every single page of this book was written and sold more copies

The most generous interpretation of this book is "your employer deserves your unquestioned loyalty and owes you nothing in return". "Do what we say or die" is also a common interpretation. I'm not even saying there isn't a kernel of truth in this book, that you have to remain flexible under changing circumstances, but the lengths the author goes to are ridiculous. The one character who stands up for himself is implied to have starved to death offscreen. The heroes of the story never think, they just do what their told (this is explicit in the book, im not just making an ungenerous interpretation). They are literally described as subhuman and not too bright. I dont have enough words to describe how insulting this book is, and I don't have enough swears in my vocabulary to describe any organization who would distribute it to their employees.

It is written in a slightly aged up "Fun with Dick and Jane" vocabulary and rhythm. The author couldn't even be assed to write like he respected your intelligence. Because he doesn't. It's very clear.

So in summary, Jesus fucking christ.

[spnexploration]

America really never moved past the Industrial Revolution, did it? In Australia, if you are a full-time employee you are entitled to 4 weeks paid leave per year, minimum (separate to your minimum entitlements of sick leave). Part-time employees earn this too but pro rata.

Some workplaces let you 'purchase' extra leave (ie be paid slightly less so you can have more leave a year) and/or offer more leave per year as a way of attracting employees. But even the crap ones, you get 4 weeks if you're full-time. It's the law.

[mikenesmithmpreg]

outing myself as a bootlicking liberal here but my heart aches for kamala. she did everything right and still lost because america hates its women. she deserved better and we deserved better. everyone failed her and everyone failed us.

[firecrotchkiss]

Years ago, I went on a little journey to stick myself like a pig and watch my lifeblood spew out of me. I walked 20 miles down the railroad tracks and drank a liter of whiskey. I finally got tired and sat down to rest.

The next morning, I was kicked awake by a state trooper, a lone train engine saw me sleeping on tracks and called. I got cuffed and put in the trooper SUV. Due to the crazy shit I said he took me to a hospital.

I stayed overnight, got saline, drug tests, and a nicotine patch. My mom picked me up and I went home. Got a bill for $1100. I had insurance.

Recently I got really sick and missed 4 days of work. Work requires a doctor's note for that. I went to convenient care. Got shuffled around between at least 6 different people. They asked my symptoms, took my vitals and administered a flu test. I did not have insurance then.

At the front desk they gave me a payment plan brochure. I said I wanted to pay same day if I could, they said that's not a thing they do. I figured it's basically a checkup maybe they'll ramp it up to a few hundred dollars. Nope $700. What the fuck.

[onlyherefortheshowmances]

I feel like I keep posting the same things over and over and no one pays attention (okay not no one, but only the same few people). If I do not come up with ~$3,500+ by next weekend I will be completely homeless. The Mission is turning people away every day. I will have absolutely no where to go, sleep, or be safe in any way shape or form. And with my chronic conditions that's not going to be sustainable for even 24 hours let alone months.

I need monetary donations. Or even 'personal loans' that I can pay back when I get back pay from Social Security. Or if one of you has an old (I do not care how old), inspected, and functional larger vehicle you're looking to get rid of, please, please help me.

Having to spend almost 2 days in the hospital this week after totaling my car I was counting on trade-in value of definitely did not help anything either. There are 8 days until I have to be out. I am formally evicted as of 12:01 AM on 5/1, so I need to be out by Sunday night. Please.

Or take a look at the stuff I'm posting on eBay (a lot of Harry Potter Pop! Vinyls and a few other things). My seller ID is dandyc60 but idk how exactly ebay works to get you to a list of just my things.

The GFM is linked here as always. https://gofund.me/978fb41c

I have V$nmo as well @.clbrown91

And I have Chime, so if you do to that can transfer directly, just message me.

[crumb]

DINNER IN AMERICA | 2020 + parallels ↓ Napoleon Dynamite (2004) // Welcome to the Dollhouse (1995) // Not Another Teen Movie (2001) ← Scene parodying She’s All That (1999) // SLC Punk! (1998) // 10 Things I Hate About You (1999) // Heathers (1989) // Valley Girl (1983) // How to Deal (2003)

[alwaysbewoke]

there was NOTHING (ABSOLUTELY NOTHING) kamala could have done to win this election. NOTHING.

[jessieren]

Ok it’s not Fidget Friday and it’s not a tache for Monday… but I love the tongue and hand fidget combo he has going on here…

[acidtygr]

hey uh in countries with health care you can get paid time off to treat your depression or other mental health issues

you should be able to call in sad to work

[olympeline]

Oh God fucking damn it I never noticed Davie asks Alfred where his parents are but Alfred can only shake his head and walk away

Fffffuuuuuccckkkk meeeee Hima whyyyyyyyyy

[intheholler]

Kentucky, 1949

[sorryiwasasleep]

[cheezitthefuzz]

the court used to be the weakest branch

now the most powerful thing the president can do is change who's on the court

These are NON-ELECTED officials

[natrogersfics]

The Anthology - Chapter 4: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart

Artwork by @faith2nyc Read on AO3

“What did you just say?”

An amalgam of emotions washes over Natasha as she sits in front of her vanity, watching in horror as the moment Steve grabs a paparazzo by the collar replays on her phone. Concern is at the forefront. As anyone who’s spent even the briefest of moments with Steve Rogers can attest to, it takes a lot to get a rise out of him. And while the words of the photographer in the video are too mumbled to make out, she can only imagine what he must have said to elicit this kind of reaction from him.

Then there’s the worry. While she avoids the online gossip rags on principle, with the clip making the rounds seemingly on every platform, it’s hard not to see. And if she can’t escape it, she doubts that Steve can. People may fawn over him left, right, and center these days, but she’s played this game long enough to know that there are also those patiently waiting for the opportune time to cast the first stone against him regardless of the full picture.

Looming large above all, though, is the guilt. While their filming schedule is winding down, what little days they have left on set have only grown more difficult to navigate. Outside of their scenes, she and Steve haven’t spoken to each other since he’d confronted her on her way back to her trailer that day. Even so, the silence between them is nothing short of deafening. On the rare occasion that she allows herself to steal a glance at him, she can still see all the questions swirling in his face. Questions she knows she owes him answers to, but that she can never give. For in the midst of all those inquiries, she can also see vestiges of what she thinks might still be hope. For what, she’s not certain. All she knows is that it doesn’t matter – it can’t – and that she’s the last person that can ever give it oxygen.

At least, that’s what she’s been convincing herself of every night when she heads out the door with her lips lacquered and her clutch in hand and into the flashing lights of one club. Then another.

It’s for the best.

A sigh falls heavily from her lips. Those four words are ones she finds herself repeating like a mantra more than she cares to admit these days. In theory, she knows that they hold true even when it does nothing to stomp out the deep-seated ache in her chest – especially now, as she looks at the screen once more and takes in the way Steve’s posture has gone rigid, his expression incandescent with anger as he stares the photographer down. And not for the first time since she hightailed it out of his rental that night, she catches herself scrolling through her contacts, her thumb hovering over his name.

It’s for the best.

Just as she’s done every other time, she sets her phone back down, swallowing down the lump in her throat.

“Late night?” The question comes from Melina later on as they sit in the back of a town car enroute to her next appearance. Her agent’s tone is a little too pointed for her liking, and she lets her know as much with a sharp glare. Melina brings her hands up as if in surrender, and she just shakes her head as she leans further back into the headrest, closing her eyes. “Are you okay?”

Like a reflex, her response comes to her in an instant, but she bites it back just as quickly. As the lie hangs acridly on the tip of her tongue, she keeps her eyes shut. She would like to think that after decades in this business, she’d be used to this by now. And she is. Saying what people want to hear. Appearing in such a way that people want to see. All of that became second nature to her long ago – her circumstances behind closed doors be damned.

Nevertheless, every now and then, she gives into the nagging craving to speak the truth. “Does it matter?”

As the seconds drag on and her response goes unanswered, she turns to Melina to see the woman already another world away, her ever sharp gaze trained on the screen of her tablet, taking in the details underneath what looks to be a headshot of a petite young blonde with piercing green eyes. As she turns back to watch the busy streets pass by the window, the humorless chuckle that falls from her lips is one she would never in a million years be able to stifle. “Body’s not even cold yet.”

“Natasha,” Melina says, her tone conciliatory now. “You know it’s not like that.”

The car comes to a stop, the relentless clicks of the cameras flashing away outside audible even through the closed windows. The sound only intensifies as her door is opened, but before she steps out, she pauses to look back at Melina. “Make sure you tell her what this job really entails.”

If Melina reacts to her words, she doesn’t hear or see it as she steps out and onto the carpet. The smile on her face is cut straight out of the glossiest of magazine covers, never once losing its luster as she makes her way towards the hordes of people shouting her name on the sidelines to sign photographs of her own image and to grin into one outstretched phone screen after another.

“Natasha, nice to see you again,” Betty Brand, the bubbly host of E! greets once she finally makes it to the end of the carpet, giving her a kiss on either cheek before holding out the microphone in her direction. “How have you been?”

Without missing a beat, her lips curl up into another blinding smile. “Fantastic as always, Betty. Thanks.”

“Good to hear. So, tell us, who are you wearing this fine evening?”

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

[thechurchofsplatterdaysaints]