#Enter the Chronosphere

[hardcoregamer]

PAX East 2024: Joystick Ventures is Ready to Play

Joystick Ventures is clearly gearing up even more to become a major indie publisher, as evidenced by a current lineup that doesn't feature a single dud in the bunch and has several games that could be some of the best to come later on.

Read more!

[theindieinformer]

News Bites - Animal Well Physical Editions, Dungeons Of Hinterberg And Enter The Chronosphere Demos, And More

Demos of Enter the Chronosphere and Dungeons of Hinterberg are just around the corner, as is the physical edition of Animal Well. These stories and more can be found here:

There’s so much going on in the video game industry, especially this week in the indie space, that it’s hard to keep track of everything. We can’t in good conscience leave you going about your day uninformed. Here are a few quick pieces of news you may want to be aware of. Animal Well Physical Edition Available For Preorder May 25 Announced yesterday, publisher Big Mode is partnering with…

[trailercheck]

ENTER THE CHRONOSPHERE Official Trailer (2024) | HD

[honeyxmonkey]

Whumptober Day 5: I've Got In My Red Ledger

Douxie gently cupped Nari’s frozen cheek, feeling the stinging burn of the ice practically eating away to his bone… but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He stared at Nari’s face which was permanently fixed in an agonized scream.

Douxie found that despite the horror that was right in front of him, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“No… Nari…” he choked out before a broken sob clawed its way out of his throat and he flung his arms around her tiny frozen form and let out a wail of grief and horror. He couldn’t protect her.

His friends found him clinging to her frozen form as it was crumbling and cracking right in his grip. They could see the frost crawling up his fingers and arms, spreading across his whole body, slowly freezing him right along with the little goddess. Even with Skrael dead, his magical ice was deadly and consuming.

Jim and Toby had to yank Douxie away from Nari before the ice could eat him whole. He fought them, screaming and thrashing in their grips the entire time, ice cold to the touch.

Aarrrgghh eventually had to grab him tight, holding the distraught wizard to his chest to keep him still. Douxie’s struggling began to cease and soon he was just sobbing against the troll’s stone chest.

He not only lost his sister, but also his familiar.

He didn’t stop crying but it dwindled down into shallow and quiet sobs and Aarrrgghh didn’t let him go.

The others stood around awkwardly while Douxie had a full on mental breakdown, not knowing what to say or do.

_______________________________

After too many minutes to count, Douxie had spent his tears, sinking to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself as he stared off into space. Aarrrgghh had a permanent hand on the wizard’s head to give him something in his grief. Just a reassurance to try and let him know that he wasn’t alone.

_______________________________

“Great gronka morka!” Blinky gasped, eyes wide with horror as he stared down at the newly revealed page. “The titans don’t need to unite with eachother, they need to unite with a Heartstone! That actually makes horrible sense!”

All eyes turned to Douxie, waiting for some sort of outburst again but he just looked up at Blinky, eyes red rimmed from tears, still crying silently. “So she died for nothing?” He asked, voice broken and quiet.

And that was it. No magical reaction to his emotions. He was too mentally and emotionally drained to spare an ounce of a magical outburst and that in of itself was terrifying for his friends because it was like this was his breaking point. He didn’t even seem to have the same urgency as they did about the situation. He was just… there, eyes distant and cloudy. He didn’t care anymore because everyone he loved and cared for more than anything in the entire world was gone. And what kind of world would it be without them?

He lost his best friend and his little sister all in the same day and he couldn’t handle it. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the world is ending because Archie and Nari are gone.

This was it for him. He’d lost everything.

The crushing weight of the reality that he couldn’t protect any of them is breaking him. The team realized that if they were going to finish this, Douxie wouldn’t be able to help.

"Aarrrgghh, you take him back to Barbara. We can't fight until we know he's safe." Jim instructed softly, glancing at his distraught friend with sorrow. "When this ends we can help him. But only once it ends."

_______________________________

They needed him for the ninth configuration.

"How do we know he'll come?" Toby asked desperately as Claire opened a shadow portal.

"We have to trust that he will." Claire said before jumping through.

She entered the castle to see that Barbara had been semi-successful in calming Douxie down. He wasn't crying anymore but he looked so… empty. Claire wasn't sure which she preferred.

The shadowmancer cleared her throat, catching their attention. "Douxie," she said softly. "We need you."

Claire half-expected him to say no, but to her surprise Douxie silently got up from his chair and nodded grimly, a sort of set determination coming to his eyes. He may not have been the most cheery but atleast he was going to help. She wasn't sure if they could do it without him.

Little did she know what Douxie planned to do.

_______________________________

Douxie spit blood onto the steaming rock, seeing Bellroc flinging his friends off the titan out of the corner of his eye. Jim was the only one left standing, holding Excalibur out at the demigod with rage, standing over Douxie protectively. Jim knew he was hurt… knew he couldn't fight anymore.

"The last remaining pieces of Merlin's legacy die together." Bellroc cackled. "How fitting."

Jim snarled at them. "Try it you little bastard."

Bellroc tilted their head to the side with an amused smile before flicking their wrist, sending the injured wizard flying towards the edge of the titan.

Jim shouted his name, running forward to catch him but he was just too late. Douxie fell a long way towards the ground, no one to catch him.

_______________________________

Despite his injuries, he managed to catch himself on an anti-gravity spell, crashing onto the hood of a car with enough force to dent it. Douxie felt his back flare with pain but he ignored it as he hauled himself up, seeing a flash of blue ignite from inside the titan.

The amulet.

Douxie staggered towards the rest of his friends, all of them watching the battle from the ground. A tugging feeling in his gut told him that Jim needed help and he wasn't about to let another one of his friends die. Not when he could instead.

Taking a deep breath, Douxie limped forward, scrolling through the runes on his vambrace. Coughing up a little more blood, he started to draw the sigil in the air, murmuring the words under his breath.

He held a hand out towards the magic nullifier, drawing on its energy, letting it flow into him. With another hand outstretched towards the titan, he twisted his hands, the glowing runes in front of him moving in sync like a giant clock.

He heard Blinky gasp behind him, and he should have guessed the old troll would have known what he was doing.

"Ultima Frecanta!" Douxie shouted before Blinky could even attempt to stop him.

An explosion welled within him, magic beyond his control pushing and clawing and tearing its way out. Douxie forced it to flood down his arms and towards his hands where it pooled out and shot towards the titan, engulfing the entire thing with a ragingly hot dome of magic that crashed and tore its way through the creature and through Bellroc, fighting and distracting the demigod to hopefully give Jim a chance at victory.

Douxie couldn't help the agonized scream that burst from his throat as the magic he was using tore him apart from the inside out. He felt every inch of him being consumed by it and it was excruciating. Magic too strong for him to handle pulsed and webbed its way through his veins, his heart, his lungs. His very bones began to crack and shatter like glass as the magic crashed over him like a wave.

Finally, when his body had nothing left to give, Douxie fell to the ground, twitching with convulsions from the power he'd just exuded. He couldn't breathe, his lungs feeling like pure fire. What was left of his magic pulsed beneath his veins, trying to repair his broken body but there was no coming back from this.

That was good… that was okay. He'd be with them soon. He'd see them again. That's what he wanted.

"Douxie!" Claire shouted with despair, running towards her teacher, dropping to her knees beside him. She shakily brought him into her arms, not caring about how scorchingly hot to the touch he was.

She could hear Jim making his way down from the titan, not knowing what had just happened. What was happening.

"You absolute idiot!" She seethed, sobs wracking her body. "What did you do that for?"

Douxie was gasping and choking for breath but he smiled all the same, looking like he was happy with the outcome. Oh for the love of God he was, wasn't he?

"Its okay Claire." He gasped, irises and pupils still glowing blue, even the blood vessels on the whites of his eyes were glowing blue. Every vein in his body was glowing blue, every part of him was taking on an aftermath shock of the magic overuse. His hair had turned white much like hers but every strand was devoid of the color it'd once had. He lay limp in her arms, blood… god even his blood was blue, bright and glowing like everything else that was left of him… dribbled from his mouth. "I can see them again."

"No, don't say that please." Claire begged, sobbing. "We can fix this. We can fix you Douxie. You'll be okay! You'll-"

"No." Douxie rasped. "Please let me go… I want to go…" He glanced over at Jim who was watching with absolute horror and guilt. He saw Jim's gaze turn to the chronosphere, which was laying forgotten on the cracked asphalt. "Don't you dare." He croaked out. "I need to see them again… don't bring me back… please."

Jim wanted to ignore him. He wanted to grab the damn thing and reverse time, stop all this from happening but he didn't. He just nodded at his friend grimly, joining Claire at his side instead. "Why?" He asked, voice cracking with tears.

"There's nothing left for me to do…" Douxie explained, glow beginning to fade and they all knew it was because he was dying. "You need to carry on, Jim. Lead them… keep protecting the earth. Promise?"

"I promise." Jim said with tears beginning to stream down his face. It was a promise he couldn't keep.

"Good…" Douxie said and slowly took in another breath, and when he exhaled it… he didn't breathe again.

_______________________________

Jim glanced over at Douxie as he sipped his coffee. He knew the wizard probably thought he was being weird, having been watching him for a few weeks now but Jim hardly cared. Watching his friend die had been too much and he knew the world wouldn't be able to get on without him.

Yes, he'd done the one thing Douxie had asked him not to but Jim didn't care. His friend was alive again and that was all that mattered.

The Trollhunter jumped when Douxie stopped in front of his table and angrily slammed something down in front of him. He stalked off without another word and Jim looked down at the paper to see two words that had been scrawled down angrily.

Alley. Now.

Jim sighed and stood up, precariously following where Douxie had gone. He wasn't surprised to find the wizard waiting for him with crossed arms and a rage in his eyes that would make any sane man run in terror. Jim, however, wasn't sane.

"How dare you?" Douxie hissed, hands forming into fists at his sides. "The one thing I specifically asked you not to do!"

"Douxie I-"

"You meddled with time again." Douxie growled. "You not only reset the timeline but you also erased the victory we all clawed out of hell to achieve!"

"You died!" Jim tried to defend himself but Douxie roughly shoved him against one of the brick walls, eyes flashing blue dangerously.

"I WANTED TO!" Douxie yelled, an arm pressed to Jim's throat. "Don't you get it!? I wanted to die! I lost everything! I just wanted to see them again! I wanted to finally rest!"

"And you expected us all to just move on!?" Jim demanded, shoving Douxie away.

"Yes!" Douxie looked like he could punch him. "That's exactly what I expected!"

"Well it's not what you're getting." Jim growled, standing his ground. "You can't ask me to stand by and let you get yourself killed. Because I don't know about you, but you're pretty fucking important to the rest of us." He stuck a finger in the wizard's face. "I dare you to do it again, Douxie. You can sacrifice yourself in battle all you want, Hisirdoux Casperan. Because I'll reset the timeline as many times as I need to to make sure all of my friends make it through alive."

Douxie sharply grabbed his wrist, shoving his hand away from his face. "You're messing with powers you don't understand, Jim."

"Maybe so," Jim agreed. "But I'd rather die a hundred deaths than watch you do this to yourself. The Trollhunter answers every call and you may not realize it, but you're calling pretty loudly."

Douxie glared at him, taking a step back. "This could turn into something even worse than the Arcane Order. Are you prepared to be responsible for that?"

Jim grit his teeth. "Absolutely I am. I'm not going to watch you die again."

"You can't save everyone."

"I can try."

[kimjongdaely]

Wonderland [Chapter 5: Tick, Tock, Time’s Up]

Alice in the Wonderland!AU

Members: Baekhyun ft. EXO OT9

Miniseries

Warning: Language

Summary: Baekhyun was just a bit too curious for his own good. He just thought the rabbit looked strange…he never thought he would fall into a whole new world.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│Chapter 6

“Come, Alice.” Yixing gestures gently, a soft smile on his face. “I would like to speak to you alone.”

Baekhyun furrows his brows at him before following him into a study made of white marble, paper and odd trinkets placed neatly on top of a desk.

He sinks into the chair behind the desk, gesturing Baekhyun to sit on the other side.

“So, what did you say your name was?”

Baekhyun blinks, surprised. “B-Baekhyun.”

“Baekhyun.” Yixing smiles. “Well, welcome to Wonderland.”

“You said my name.” Baekhyun blinks again, mouth open in disbelief. “You said my real name. No one else here did!”

“Yes well,” Yixing knits his fingers together, leaning in slightly. “They all think you’re Alice.”

“Exactly!” Baekhyun throws his hands up, annoyed. “Why? I’m clearly not even a girl.”

“As you know,” Yixing starts, “the time here has stopped so it’s forever 6 o’clock. So has their memories.”

“So you’re saying,” Baekhyun says slowly, eyeing Yixing, “that they can’t make new memories?”

“Technically, they can.” Yixing says. “But it lasts a very short time. Their memories reset, in a way, after a while.”

“What about you?” Baekhyun asks, puzzled. “Why do you seem fine?”

“The Red King and I are fine.” He answers. “We are more magical than the other beings, so we’re not as affected by the Chronosphere.”

“What’s that?”

“A device that controls time.” Yixing says. “Right now, Time has stopped it.”

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun shakes his head, trying to get some clarification. “You speak of time as if its a person.”

“It is.” Yixing chuckles, rising. “He controls the time here. And I assume in your world too.”

“So, you’re saying...” Baekhyun’s eyes light up at the implication, “he might be able to take me back?”

“Perhaps.” He answers, smiling. “Our worlds are linked, you see. But not anyone can come here.” Yixing leans down, booping Baekhyun’s nose. “Only the mad ones can.”

“Hey!” Baekhyun protests, clearly offended. “I’m not mad!”

“Oh, but the best ones are.” He tilts his head curiously. “You have a gift, Alice.” The way he smiles makes Baekhyun think there’s more to the story, though he doesn’t get the chance to ask as Yixing moves to leave the room, gesturing for Baekhyun to follow.

Yixing leads him to a room high up in one of the towers, seemingly untouched for centuries. It’s covered in cobwebs, a large dark grandfather clock placed in the center of the room.

“You will reach Time’s castle through here.” Yixing says. “Do take care. He is rather...eccentric.”

“Aren’t you all?” Baekhyun remarks before stepping into the grand clock, seeing it seemingly stretching on forever. He avoids the swinging pendulum, tentatively making his way forward. Everything is smoky and dark, and it gives him a sense of claustrophobia.

There’s light up ahead, and he follows. He steps out in a place that seems eternally night, dark and eerie. Up ahead, he sees a giant black castle.

Baekhyun hurries over, finding the only way to the castle is by the moving bridges. He times himself before jumping onto the slim rock, trying to keep his grip on it as it moves. He sees another bridge that’s moving slower underneath him and lets go of the one he was on, ducking so he doesn’t get decapitated.

He runs along towards the castle, finding an entrance and slipping inside.

There are ticking sounds all around, echoing through the floor and walls. Every tick and every tock makes his heart beat a little faster.

He sees a shadow pass by a wall and footsteps resounding. Baekhyun immediately hurries over, clearing his throat. “Um...Time, sir?”

Time jumps, swirling around to look at Baekhyun. His eyes are wide with surprise, before narrowing. “Who are you and how did you get in?”

His clothes are all black, a cloak covering up most of his body. His face is surprisingly young, seemingly younger than Baekhyun. And he looks furious.

“U-Uh, the White King showed me how...” Baekhyun starts sheepishly, swallowing thickly. He looks quite intimidating, eyes looking down at him in a glare. “I came to ask for your help.”

Time raises a brow, turning immediately away. “Nope, sorry kid. Time doesn’t help anyone.”

“No, wait!” Baekhyun hurries after him as he walks down a long corridor, to a door that opens into a room that stands over the clouds, clocks hanging down all around them. Baekhyun tries to ignore his awe as he continues, “You stopped the time in Wonderland! Could you please make it move again?”

He raises his brow, thinking. “Oh, come to think of it, I did.”

Come to think of it!?

Baekhyun’s eye twitches. “Yes, so please make time move again.”

“Why should I?” He tilts his head at Baekhyun, making his blood boil at his nonchalance. 

“What do you mean ‘why should you?’” Baekhyun bursts out. “It was your fault in the first place! Return time!”

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” Is his answer as he checks the hanging clocks.

Seriously, this guy! Baekhyun sighs, feeling exhausted from talking to him.

“Please,” Baekhyun says more slowly, more sincere, “Please making time move again so I can go home.”

“Sehun? Where are you—”

A shorter man enters, eyes narrowing dangerously on Baekhyun.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

Wonderland Mini Masterlist

A/N: Sorry it’s been a while! I finished my current school assignments but somehow I couldn’t find the motivation to write...I hope you liked this chap!

Tags: @loser-dot-com @enchanting-exo @iwasonlytryingtohelp @g-exo

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

[aconstantallegory]

we are at a speed of chronological velocity

lightyears are seconds to us

the construct of time is shattered

enter the chronosphere

[kirain]

Analysis of Time

Can I just take a minute to say that Time may well be one of the most unique characters I’ve seen in a children’s movie in years?  For all its flaws, Through the Looking Glass got this right; creating a character so fresh and distinctive that I liked him the moment he opened his mouth.  He basically carried the movie, stealing every moment he was on screen, and when he wasn’t I sat there wishing he was.

That said, I’d like to talk about his connection with Underland, Alice, the Red Queen, and his existence.  For all we know, Time is immortal.  He repeatedly refers to Alice as “the kindergartener”, which is comedic for sure, but also probably true in comparison to himself.  Time is ancient, seeing almost everyone around him as an ignorant child– but he’s also lonely.  It wouldn’t be a stretch to think this, considering his poor choice in lovers.

When Iracebeth enters, we see that she’s in a “relationship” with Time, but she’s clearly abusive.  She demands gifts, favours, influence, feeling entitled to all of it.  So now the question is, why would Time, possibly Underland’s most powerful deity, give Iracebeth so much as a second glance?  Well, as I stated before, he’s lonely.

We see him craft her gifts with his bare hands, bow before her, comfort her when she’s whining, and do everything but give her control of the universe.  Later, we even see her strike him to the floor, in his own castle, no less!  He’s willing to tolerate her abuse likely because she’s the only person in Underland who isn’t afraid to be near him.  Think about it.  Everything that exists inside his castle is a being of his own creation, and most of them are of a … lower intelligence.  Imagine how intimidated everyone else must be.  Time, the ruler of time.  Note how none of Alice’s friends, though perfectly capable, wanted to accompany her to his kingdom.  Note how scared they were to even suggest going.  Now ask yourself this:  If God is real, would you want to meet him?  Would you want to see what he’s like?  Would you want to make demands of him?  It isn’t far-reaching to suggest that no one in Underland is brave enough to face him.

That said, I don’t think Time can control life and death, only time itself.  Notice that when the grand-clock stopped ticking, no one died, they simply ceased to be.  As Time himself explains, he has to give a piece of himself for others to live, but when that time runs out the person inevitably dies.  It’s possible that he serves both Life and Death, stopping clocks when he’s told to, or that he’s simply unable to control how much time a person gets.  Naturally, not all of us get the same amount of time as others, and some people don’t use their time wisely.  That’s where the subject of free will comes into play– but that’s another analysis entirely.

When we first meet Time, he’s in the process of ending a life.  This immediately paints him as a villain, because death in inherently evil, right?  But then we get something unexpected.  We see him gently attach the watch to a garden of other inactive watches, then smile and say, “I hope you were happy.  I hope you used your time well.  Goodnight.”  In a matter of seconds the supposed villain turns into a man of compassion, who actually cares about each life he’s forced to end.  This leads me to believe that Time can’t control life or death, or even time in general.  Rather, he is a giver and keeper of time, simply doing his job.

From the get go, Time is perceived as the antagonist.  He “kills a man”, denies Alice the ability to save Hatter, and he’s seen with Iracebeth.  How could a person be more evil, right?  As the film continues, however, we see that that simply isn’t true.  Despite his love for Iracebeth, he refuses to give her the one thing she desires most– the chronosphere.  He realises that protecting time, and by extension others, is more important.  When Alice steals the chronosphere for herself, Time’s one and only goal is retrieving it, but not violently.  He never hurts Alice, he never shows any signs of hatred towards her, and after all is said and done, despite how much pain he suffered and the fact that she almost killed him, he forgives her.  More than that, he cherishes her apology.  When close to death himself, he even trusts her to fix her mistake, saying, “It’s up to you now, Alice.”  Almost like a parent guiding his daughter.  Father Time.

The subject of giving is significant to this film, as well.  At the beginning, Alice regards Time as a thief, stealing everything she loves.  This feeling is also likely shared by everyone in Underland, hence Time’s isolated loneliness.  Until the end, Time is widely regarded as a taker.  He takes and takes and takes and takes, but in reality he’s the most sympathetic and giving being in existence.  Literally, all he does is give.  It’s really quite sad, when you think about it.  Such a thankless job, where everyone either fears or hates him.  He gives people time, and we see him shower Iracebeth with gifts as well.  In fact, he’s so attuned to giving he doesn’t even realise the Red Queen is using him.  At the end of the movie, when Alice hands him her father’s watch, he naturally assumes she wants him to fix it.  The thought that she was offering it as a gift didn’t even occur to him, which makes it all the more heartwarming when he realises what it is.  He fully understands the impact of such a gift, knowing its significance to Alice.  Truly, he is touched by her generosity, as this may be the first and only gift he’s ever received.

This may be the most beautiful scene in the entire movie.  Ignoring the fact that the visuals are absolutely stunning, the emotional exchange affects the audience deeply, making them smile along with the actors.  It is here that Time says he’s a friend to no man (how can he be if he’ll outlive everyone?), but that he’ll remember Alice always.  How can that not tug at your heartstrings?  After all, to Time, “always” is forever.

[hardcoregamer]

The Top Ten Games of PAX East 2024

Another PAX East is now in the rearview mirror, and now having had enough time to recuperate from the experience and everything involved with it, it's time to reflect on the whole shebang and craft a list of the show's ten best games, as seen with previous events.

Check them out!

[theindieinformer]

The Indie Informer Plays Enter The Chronosphere

Enter the Chronosphere is one to watch y'all! Come watch me blow myself up while playing around with time and explosives:

Episode 31 I didn’t know what to expect from a “psychedelic roguelike that blurs the line between real-time action and turn-based tactics” when I jumped into Enter the Chronosphere. But I came out of it calling it one of my most anticipated future titles. Jump into it yourself this weekend as the demo is up all through Steam’s Endless Replayability Fest. Support Videos This show is made…

[officialhexrpg]

Arts & Graphics April Writing Challenge 1st Place: Morgana Malipiero

Pocket approached the cooks and gave them the nod. They needed to get Father Time’s supper onto the tray now. They carefully placed a large bowl of soup on the tray and on a side plate, they put two thick slices of buttered toast. The aroma was heavenly, but there was no time to luxuriate in the smells emanating from the fragrant cream of tomato soup or the hot buttered toast. Pocket knew that it took him exactly thirty-seven seconds to walk from the kitchen to the Dining Room, so he set off at the exact moment that was required and he counted his steps. One, two, three, four. Entering the room, he walked solemnly to the dining table and placed the tray in front of Father Time. “Ah, breakfast. Just in time. I'm famished this morning,” said Father Time. “Breakfast?” asked Pocket. Feeling a sudden rush of panic, he looked at the clock on the wall. It was seven o’clock. But how can it be seven o’clock? The clock in the kitchen was approaching eight o’clock, time for supper. And the cooks had clearly prepared a meal that was more suited to supper than breakfast. “This is delicious,” said Father Time. “We should have soup for breakfast more often. A good start to the day. Give my compliments to the cook. And now be gone, Second!” As he walked back to the kitchen, Pocket scratched his head and turned a few knobs and dials on his metallic arm. He was feeling very nervous. It had never happened before that Time was cheerful and chatty. Or that he liked to eat soup and toast for breakfast. The clocks in the kitchen and the dining room were not synchronised. Had time taken a turn for the worse? And had Time taken a turn for the better? Was the world turning upside down and back to front? I will personally strangle the Second who is supposed to synchronise those two clocks. This time, he has stepped over the red line. Total dereliction of duty. Laying me wide open for the possibility of a scolding. Or ridicule. Or worse, losing my high status as Second-in-Command in the Castle kitchens. Entering the kitchen, he looked up at the clock dedicated to showing the times for the serving of meals. It was indeed showing a few minutes after seven. But that meant that it had moved backwards. “Oh no,” said Pocket. “I think we are suffering from the Mirana effect. Time is moving backwards, just like how she lives her life.” Pocket wasn’t sure why he thought that Mirana had anything to do with this. Was it something he remembered from his past? Or his future? He was wondering whether time was moving forwards or backwards now. How could he remember something from his future, unless that memory was located in his actual past and that meant that his future was now his past and his past would be his future? And what meal would he need to serve to Father Time next? If that was “breakfast” that he had just served, then the next meal ought to be lunch but if he needed to travel backwards in time - if they were all travelling backwards in time now - the next meal would be supper. What comes before breakfast? Supper. There, there, Pocket. Not so hard to work out, was it? he thought to himself with just a hint of pride. The other Seconds in the kitchen looked at Pocket in horror. Many of the older Seconds understood what he was saying. But the young ones had no idea what was happening. “But shouldn’t time go forwards not backwards?” asked Tick Tock, a young Second who had only recently joined the team in the kitchen as a sous-chef. “Of course it should go forwards,” said Pocket. “That is the normal way of things. But sometimes times goes skewy here in Underland. Blame it on that wicked White Queen, Mirana. We are now living in a state that could be described as being behind the times. Or behind time. Or backwards in time. Take your pick.” He loved using the word “skewy”, it was just so perfect for describing the skewed version of time that they were experiencing now. But he hated the fact that Mirana may have caused more mayhem in Underland with her backward-living ways. If only Mirana were as nice as her sister Iracebeth, the Red Queen. Well, neither of them were very nice, but Pocket preferred the Red Queen. She was more "normal" and predictable. At least she lived her life forwards, and you could always count on her to scream, "Off with their heads!" No big surprises. But Mirana, she was a totally different story. ===== Pocket was the Second-in-Command in the kitchen at Father Time’s Castle. It was his job to carry the meals to Time. The master was very disciplined about his meal times and there was a very strict schedule that had to be followed every day. Breakfast at seven, lunch at one and supper at eight. Time would get grouchy and bad-tempered if his meals were not served precisely on time, and there were special clocks in the Kitchens and the Dining Room that were synchronised to the second by a Second whose sole duty every day was to run back and forth from dining room to kitchen and back again, counting the seconds as he ran and making sure that the two clocks told exactly the same time. Because if they were not synchronised, Time would get very angry and you definitely did not want to be around Time when he was in a fury. If he was angry, Time stood still - and time itself seemed to stand still as well. The scolding would go on a for a very long time. Time ranting about time, lateness, lack of discipline. It was a terrible sight to behold and hear - Time lecturing a Second about the importance of being on time all the time. And if there were Minutes and Hours present, they also got the same scolding because as far as Father Time was concerned the whole crew of creatures at the Castle were a bunch of cogs and wheels and clock parts that could not even keep good time. "Trying giving the right time to Time, will you!" Father Time often screamed at the Seconds, Minutes and Hours who served him at his castle. "And there's no point in joining yourselves up into larger teams. Are you planning a rebellion, or what? An army of Minutes? An army of Hours? Stick to being Seconds, and try to do your jobs well, that's all I ask of you." Did I mention the word “time” often enough? thought Pocket as he wiped the silver tray that would be used to carry in Time’s dinner. He polished the silver until it was gleaming and shiny, then held it up to look at his own reflection. He smiled when he saw the cogs and wheels and chains that made up his facial features. Not such an ugly Second, if I do say so myself. He looked at the clock on the wall. Ah, start the countdown. Five minutes to go. Almost time to serve supper. ===== Father Time did not often entertain guests at the Castle, and especially not at mealtimes. So Pocket was surprised to hear that the White Queen would be joining Time for lunch. He pulled out a second silver tray from the cupboard and carefully polished it until it reflected everything surrounding it just like a mirror. He picked up a soft cloth and carefully rubbed at a scratch that he could see in the corner of the tray. So clumsy of me to scratch the tray with my metal fingers. Hopefully, Father Time will not notice. And hopefully, the White Queen will not see it either. He glanced at the clock and noted that he should serve lunch in ten minutes. He assumed that the White Queen would know that Father Time was very particular about his mealtimes, and when he heard the large wooden door of the castle creak open at five minutes to one, he guessed that their royal guest had arrived and that she would be shown directly to the dining room where Father Time was most likely impatiently waiting for his lunch. The old man had a good appetite and was always ready for his meal at the precise hour it should be served. He had no patience with tardiness when it came to breakfast, lunch or dinner. Pocket looked at the clock again and nodded to the chefs to prepare the food on the silver trays. He knew that he would need to carry two trays today and he did not wish to be late. If anything, the Second decided that he might leave the kitchen a few seconds earlier than normal. He knew exactly how long he needed to reach the Dining Room, he had done it hundreds of times before. And yes, there they were: Father Time and the White Queen, each sitting at one end of the long oak table. Pocket placed a tray in front of each of them and then looked at his master. Time signalled that he wished for Pocket to remain in the room, but to stand away from the table. “The reason I wanted to talk with you, is that I want to make sure that you never use the Chronosphere in such a way that everyone or anyone can travel back in time,” said the White Queen. “Why would I want to do that, anyway?” asked Father Time, grimacing at what he obviously thought was a particularly ridiculous request. “You know that I live my life backwards. I am a hundred and one years old but I appear to be twenty-three now. I started off as an old woman and now I look almost like a girl. It is easy for me to believe six impossible things before breakfast because in fact I think of them after breakfast then move back in time to breakfast, you see what I mean? When and if I die, I will have the appearance of a babe in arms, but I will then be one hundred and twenty-four years old. Get it? One hundred and one plus twenty-three equals one hundred and twenty-four. I am very good at addition. What is one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?” The White Queen paused for a second, then continued, “Too slow! You were too slow to answer. Anyway, I am really interested to know what will happen when I live my life so far backwards that I reach the age of being one minute old, or even just one second old! Will I then die or will time turn around and start going forward again? Or will I move into negative numbers or ages, being minus one-month-old, minus one-year-old and so on and so forth.” This woman is stark, raving mad,thought Pocket, trying to keep a straight face as he listened to her babble away about living her life backwards. And they say that the Hatter is mad? They should be calling this one Mad Mirana. The Hatter is simply stuck in time at six o’clock. Forever tea time, that would drive anyone bonkers. But to live their whole life backwards, by choice? Now that’s a crazy concept if I ever did hear one. “So what is it that you want me to do?” asked Father Time wearily. “I’ve been thinking that it might be safer to hand the Chronosphere over to me for safekeeping. That way I can make sure that nobody manages to travel back in time.” “You must be madder than I thought,” said Father Time. “No way are you going to be given the Chronosphere. You are irresponsible and, and. . . . you live your life backwards! That’s not a good example to set for the people of Underland. Try to grow up, or grow down or whatever direction in time it is that you are growing or not growing.” “You horrid old man!” screamed Mirana. “I am the Queen! You should do as I say. Just you wait, I will get my revenge on you.” “I will not wait. Time waits for no man or woman. And certainly not for a Queen who is as bonkers as you are,” said Father Time, looking at Mirana sternly. “Well, if I can’t have it my way, you will all have to follow my way. You can all live your lives backwards, even you, old man. I know powerful spells and charms. I think I might just be able to swing it in a few hours’ time. You’ll see. I will turn time around in the whole of Underland, even here in this dark and dingy old castle. You will wish that you had given me the Chronosphere. From time to time, you will wonder why it is that you did not do as I requested. But for the time being, I shall take my leave of you, old man. This lunch no longer suits me. I shall go now, and just you wait. Just you wait!” she shrieked and then the White Queen pushed back her chair and left in a right royal huff. “You may leave me now, Pocket. Take her tray back to the kitchens,” said Father Time. “I am glad that vixen of a White Queen has gone. She almost put me off my lunch. I prefer to eat in peace without listening to her diabolical diatribe.” “Yes, my master,” said Pocket as he bowed low, then he walked out of the Dining Room and back to the kitchens. Back to the future, or back to the past. He was no longer sure what direction he would be travelling in time.

[drmavisandco]

  —  he shut off the engine, opening the driver-side door and shutting it, hastily making his way up the drive to arthur’s house. it was around 7 pm that night, the fields of grass swaying in the early night breeze. the large oak tree adjacent to the house was swaying along with them, a small storm would brew. mavis thought nothing of it, enjoying the cool break of the long august days: there was nothing wrong with autumn.

he didn’t answer the door when he rang the doorbell nor when he sent him a message, so mavis trudged around the englishman’s garden and tried the back door. it took him a few tries but managed to unlatch the rickety lock and step inside the kitchen. it was dim and abandoned, like most of the house. he worried arthur wasn’t even home, or he was asleep and he was just breaking and entering. but he had no doubt the englishman had took his chronosphere, and if that was true, he had to do whatever it takes to get it back.

guilty for the intrusion, he called out: “artie? it’s me, mavis! are you here?” there was no answer, nothing aside from the loud shuffling coming from upstairs. mavis looked up towards the wooden stairs and took a deep breath before venturing onward.

he went through the various warnings mr. mallory had given him: “these nations have seen a cluster of horror, they learn to forgive and forget . . . but it’s never easy.” it rang out in his mind and he feared for what he could be walking into.

he could hear shuffling coming from down the hall, he made his steps light and steady. his breathing hitched, apprehensive as he approached the door at the end of the hall. it was his office, a small room filled with books and his desk filled with papers and emergency numbers, records, etc. mavis wrapping his hand around the door knob and slowly opened the door.

the room was dark, the curtains closed and the only light being emitted was the moonlight that tracked inside the house. but he could make out the shape of arthur’s legs, “arthur? it’s mavis . . . where’s the light?” he waited for a moment, noticing the sudden shift that was his head. he was looking at him. mavis stepped inside, remembering that there was a shelf beside the door with a lamp atop of it. he found it and turned it on, the dim light revealing arthur on the floor, his back against the desk with his hands tucked by his sides.

his blonde hair was disheveled, along with his clothes, as if he had just woken up. his emerald eyes were bloodshot and dark, mavis gulped. “what’s wrong?” he asked, hesitating before inching a bit closer. he didn’t see the chronosphere anywhere near him, but could see something bulging from his pocket. he took a risk and sat down a few feet away from him, “you wanna talk to me?” he felt like he was speaking to a child, all the englishman would do was stare at him. he stared into his dulled eyes and could feel his heart sink, something must have happened, yet he was afraid to ask what.

“arthur, we’re friends, right? if something’s wrong, please, tell me.” mavis said.

arthur’s lips twitched, his eyes beginning to shift as if he was suddenly in pain. he leaned his head against the desk, slouching a bit before saying, “i have no friends.”

“of course you do,” mavis said, smiling in disbelief. “there’s me, alfred, francis, lukas — “

arthur chuckled, his eyes fixed on his lap. “those aren’t friends, sir. those are savages.” there was a cold smile on his lips.

mavis’ eyes narrowed, “arthur, where’d you go?”

he looked up this time, cocking his head to the side as he met mavis’ eyes. “i didn’t go anywhere, i was just reminded . . .” he got up, “ . . . of something i had forgotten.”

mavis stared up at him, reaching out to grab him before he got a chance to leave but as soon as his hands gripped around his pants his face was met by arthur’s shoe. mavis fell back on to the floor, holding his nose. “arthur . .” mavis coughed out, checking for blood. all he could feel was pain shooting up from the front of his mouth to the bridge of his nose, he dared to look back up towards the englishman. “give it back.”

arthur glared down at him, taking a moment to pull out the chronosphere from his pocket and letting it dangle in his hands. “for what? so you could continue to entertain yourself with our suffering and feel lucky to have never really experienced it?” he snarled, anger and hatred fuming in his eyes. “you get to die with your sins.”

mavis’ eyes widened, shocked by the vibrant disgust in his voice. “look —” he began to get up, “just hand over the chronosphere so we can talk about this — “

he cut him off, “you can’t even take pride in it,” he said, chuckling to himself, a smirk curled on his lips as he reached behind him. mavis froze as he watched the way arthur held the shotgun, aimed towards him. “might as well get it done and over with.”

mavis held his hands out, smiling nervously. “arthur, come on — don’t. don’t do it.” arthur ignored him, taking a few steps closer. mavis watched as the barrel of the gun came closer to his chest, right against his heart. he looked into arthur’s eyes and couldn’t see the bright, awkward man he found himself enchanted with every time they spoke. he placed his hands by his sides. “i don’t want to die.” he said, tears wallowing up in his eyes.

the smirk fell from arthur’s lips, hesitation evident in his fingers. “i know.” he said eventually.

the bullet missed his heart, the gun falling right along with him as arthur found himself watching the young man grasp onto life. mavis lied at his feet, his eyes wide as he groped the area in which the bullet entered and escaped. blood slowly circled around him, his vision becoming disorientated as he stared at the hysteric figure kneeling beside him.

arthur panicked, his fingers having betrayed him the moment he pulled the trigger. he was afraid: the moment he returned, the moment mavis walked in, the moment mavis begged for his life. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry . .” he kept repeating as he pulled mavis’ body into his arms. he cradled the bleeding young man, whispering apologies as mavis tried to hold on.

beyond them, romano had just pulled up in antonio’s car, the owner beside him in passenger seat. mavis had taken his car to get to arthur’s house, and here they all were to confront him. the italian noticed the dim light at a window towards the back of the house and didn’t hesitate to find a way inside. once noticing the open back door, they ventured in.

it was antonio who found them in the office, witnessing the horror of mavis’ slow death and arthur’s mentality. he called out to romano before stepping inside and pulling arthur away from mavis, disgusted by the blood on the englishman’s hands. romano ran in, frozen at the scene as he watched antonio pin arthur against the wall by his collar. the spaniard was infuriated, his cries echoing throughout the house as he demanded arthur to tell him what he did. romano found the gun beside mavis and made no move to pick it up, instead, he knelt beside the young man.

“lovi . . .” mavis began, but romano shook his head. he pulled out his phone, trying to dial 911 but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. he looked up as mavis placed his weak hand over the phone’s screen. “nothing . . .” he whispered, crying. his hand moved to romano’s palm, grasping it tightly against his lips, trying to whisper his last words:

“he didn’t mean it.”

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

5 Stupid Things We Need To Stop Clicking On

We “re living” the final choke of the Information Age. Experts estimate that 62 percent of all the points we now receive is purposely mistaken, and that includes the percentage and professionals I made up at the start of this sentence. The sad fact is, the majority of members of you are able to never have the critical envisage or research abilities to know what’s real, and that will simply manufacture you more absolutely convinced the erroneous situations your stupid ass belief. The good story is that this article isn’t about that shit. The imitation information fighting is over, and stupid won. No, this article is about the dumb things we all keep falling for — even you, the genius who chose the right political area and religion. 5 Pointlessly Insane Product Are Not That At All Last year, Tiffany& Co. started selling the Sterling Silver Tin Can, an empty can that costs $1,000. You’ll notice that this is far more than you’d naturally pay for soupless garbage. To be clear, this wasn’t some tin can that once impounded Prince’s final dark-green nuts. It’s simply a can. As an imaginative word, it was 50 years stale, and as a money-making strategy, it was somewhere between a portable diarrhea carton and that same product without a eyelid. It’s the kind of sentiment that they are able to offset the other Saved By The Bell novelists tell, “Look, if you’re not ready to come back to effort, make more time off to deal with the death of your son.” The item I’m building is that it’s hard-boiled not to comment on Tiffany’s silly can, and that’s more appealing to Tiffany& Co. than where reference is comment on how the ones who quarried their concoctions all lived of slavery. “Darling, I was part of many someones transcending penetration to convert a utilitarian men’s room into an installment of signature Tiffany oeuvre.” — this Tiffany copywriter justifying to his wife why “theres” seven colourings of pubic hair in his underpants Read Next 8 Baffling Poop-Themed Toys Kids Are Lining Up To Buy And it’s is not simply tin cans and Wu-Tang recordings that are marketed in intentionally strange modes. Food advertisers have figured out that they can get more attention by being ridiculous than by being delicious. Retain when KFC employed fried chicken as sandwich food in the Double Down? Or when Chick-Fil-A announced that their fried chicken detested lesbian people with the Cajun Titty Jiggler? We all made amusing of them, but they perfectly did not care. These are people souring pigeon meat and “deported” foreign nationals into nugget figures. They’ll take any press they can get. We need to stop doing this. It’s very possible the only conversation any of us had or will ever have about Dr. Pepper started when they liberated a special copy of their soda for men exclusively . We all went on Twitter to add stuffs like, “Forbidding females from savor Dr. Pepper Ten will only retard the disclosure that it’s made from semen , not stop it completely.” We asked questions like, “Why would you make a soda for men exclusively? Are you trying to find the perfect drink to pair with losing custody of your adolescents? ” Or maybe you are only pondered, “Dr. Pepper Ten sounds like the refreshing discus you contact for when defending an alleged rapist you haven’t met.” SORRY LADIES, OUR CREATIVE DIRECTOR IS STILL DEALING WITH SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA INVOLVING PENISES . b> Products should conclude the customer happy , not be so intentionally foolish that the customer hears about them during a Jimmy Kimmel monologue. You shouldn’t spawn every tenth new Oreo out of cat suppository in the hopeles said he hoped that cookie influencers tweet about it. And pizza, you peculiarly need to get your shit together. In 2012, a Pizza Hut employee happened upon the relevant recommendations of a hot-dog-stuffed crust, relatively by coincidence, when his administrator caught him fucking a pizza and asked written explanations. This distinguished the last experience there would ever has become a non-insane pizza ability. Today, pizza marketing is a series of deranged inventions, like a serial killer’s pilgrimage toward becoming the Minotaur. For speciman, Pizza Hut created “smart” shoes that situate an degree for you. Aside from get the elderly to wonder what they’re going to come up with next, what the fuck good do pizza shoes do anyone? If you have a use for dictating Pizza Hut via shoe, your foot is going to fall off from diabetes long before you get to make love a second time. essay > And did you know that Domino’s devoted millions of dollars promoting something called “carryout insurance? ” It’s what it sounds like — a monetary guarantee that when your haphazard ass puts a pizza, they give you another one. Aside from getting us to mention how foolish that is, what’s the pitch? Was there a community of overweight idiots devouring pizza off the foot and involving their representatives do something? Let’s say it’s only to place your subconsciou at ease. Let’s profess you’re “ve been thinking about” prescribing Domino’s, but decide against it because you’re always stopping pizza. Will this convince you? Of track not. You’re not even here. You were taken in the night by mad scientists, and now you’re a bulge of brain material named “HISTORY’S SADDEST FUCK.” “CARRYOUT INSURANCE !? Hey, boss? Yeah, I just perceived a loophole that gives me boundless flooring pizza. So what I’m saying is you can kiss my ass . i> “ div > 4 All Things “Of The Year” Are Arbitrary Decisions Made By Small Teams Of Random Assholes We are living in the darkest of goes. Our current sexiest guy alive looks like a rectangle who acquires its living hustling milk-drinking contests. “I’m digesting four gallons of Half& Half. Hi, I’m Blake Shelton, your sexiest mortal alive.” When People store announced hoedown music standout Blake Shelton as the sexiest humankind alive while Casper Van Dien was still not dead, it stumbled like a bomb. Every Gab report and Safeway express lane had a hot take on it. It wasn’t simply controversial; it was a direct challenge to what vaginal lubrication even wanted. What will it do to society if passably handsome NASCAR dads are the brand-new standard of seductive? Do we need to stop doing sit-ups? Will there be enough denim? What will Casper Van Dien do with this boner? div > You know what we should have been doing that whole season? Not establishing a shit about how handsome Blake Shelton is. Don’t get me wrong, Blake Shelton is alright. His condoms maybe don’t expire, and if he was arrested for sodomizing a dairy moo-cow, you’d anticipate “Him? ” But let’s not play games. He’s not the sexiest male alive. At best, he’s “Oklahoma’s Hottest Mostly Ham DNA.” But we should remember that this isn’t some enormous honor decided by appraising the gonad stimulation of test subjects. “Sexiest Man Alive” is picked by four or five journalists desperately trying to hang onto print media chores, and every now and then one of them is smart enough to say, “What if we trolled everyone? ” With all respect to Blake Shelton’s fuckability, if you died trying to learn a prosthetic forearm how to give a handjob, the People organization would write your figure up on the “Sexiest Man Alive MAYBES” board. It’s important is maintaining mind how insignificant these entitlements are before we get outraged. Before Donald Trump, Time opened its 2006 “Person of the Year” title to You, as in the second-person pronoun. And in 1938 they gave it to Hitler, the Donald Trump of 1938. These are meaningless choices meant to engender awful conversations between uninteresting people. Did you think LaTonya from Fayetteville was chosen as Jet ‘s “Beauty of the Week” because of her prevailing tits and smile? Wake up. It’s because her front tattoo announces “Abortion is Bae.” Please, all of us, we have to stop get outsmarted by the Jet magazines of the world. 3 It’s Not An Contest When Fictional Characters Die In 1992, DC Comics killed Superman — an indestructible ventriloquist with laser noses, frost wheeze, and chronosphere-bending flight speed — with a rock ogre who was pretty good at punching. Despite it being the third occasion he had died, the country is entered into mourning and the tale was picked up by the actual bulletin. Which was weird, because if the media wanted to cover upsetting Superman fibs, where were they when his girlfriend get turned into a pony and fucked his mare? I think about this every day. Every day. div > Why are we so preoccupied with fictional deaths? Most of the time, they’re not even real in the make-believe macrocosm in which they happen. Captain America and Batman vanish around 20 epoches a year, each in different combinations of fake-outs, resurgences, and universe reboots. If a dead guy’s best friends own a meter machine and the Eye of Agamotto, you can probably hold back on making funeral proposals. And if your favorite person dies on The Walking Dead , perhaps don’t debris an hour watching Chris Hardwick cry until you accompany the body. It should help you relax knowing that most fictional fatalities are exclusively abusive escapades, but the “real” ones are about as meaningless. I mean, you knew there wasn’t going to be any more Firefly . This death cost us maybe two wisecracks. div > Remember when Han Solo expired? He was a 73 -year-old laser gun fighter scheduled to get his own movie in three years. His death was both long overdue and altogether inconsequential to the amount of Han Solo you will continue to see on your TV. His father-in-law, Darth Vader, was on screen for about 36 minutes before he died in 1983, and since his death, there have been more Anakin Skywalker narratives than anyone could ever require. Anakin Skywalker is the Nicolas Cage of outer space. He stopped making good movies three decades ago, more he’s still everywhere and radiating inexplicable planetary energy. If George R. R. Martin gone on TV to announce that a comet smacked Westeros between works and everyone in A Song Of Ice And Fire is lead, how is that different from “the worlds” you’re living in now? The chap have undoubtedly wanted to focus more on snacks for about four works. You know what’s sadder than identifying Ned Stark get his head chopped off? Watching some fragile-hearted slobs go across the various stages of sorrow in a YouTube video afterwards. Mothers, if your child is filming themselves weep over a make-believe death, that’s a bigger default than if your child is filming themselves pee into a tube sock for Patreon advocates. I symbolize, you can do whatever you demand, but when you cry over forgery people whom you can still hear every day for as long as you miss, you’re exclusively sending a message to the people around you that you’re a drastic piece of shit. But I know something that will ovation you up! 2 Being Special Is Free That’s right, I said it. You’re welcome. It’s pretty easy to sell someone nothing more than the notion that they’re special or important for actual money. For illustration, somewhere right now, a Todd is looking through a rack of keychains to see if they have one with his reputation on it. “I hope they have a Todd, ” he might announce as he thumbs through dusty debris. “They do! And it’s spelled right ! b> ” So Todd will buy it, a cute remember of the worst collected in the least interesting part of a town he formerly called, and it will never occur to him that an Indonesian plant gambled and won that a completely shitty Todd would one day pay money to prompt himself of his own name. This next part is way off-topic, but not even the Indonesians could have foreseen that this keychain would one day be used to frame Todd … … for Toddslaughter. div > Back to the point I was trying to utters: We are all prone to this idiocy. Coke had its first marketings increase in more than a decade when it introduced the idea of adding the customers’ stupid fucking lists to their cans and bottles. And the internet has been recurred by ego-stroking personality quizs and IQ tests since before we used it to pay girlfriends peeing into tube socks. We are so desperate to be told we’re special that we will expel all disbelief and critical consider to hear it. You should know that answering a few simple-minded personality interrogations does not determine you the coolest ninja turtle, and you shouldn’t trust the scores of an Iq test that you watched yourself cheat on which likewise advertises free Slavic women and four new pounds of dick girth. One of my favorite a few examples of this, and favorite things in general, is an online community announced Intertel — “An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted.” It’s very difficult to get in. You can only affiliate if you tally in the top one percent of any self-administered intelligence test and mail in a $10 lotion reward. You may have considered that this in fact checks to see whether you’re stupid enough to forward in a test with a 98 percent composition or less and nothing else. If you get accepted, you then compensate a $39 annual reward to be a part of a genius squad for people who are very specifically not. What do you get? I’m so glad you asked. For the annual reward, you get inexhaustible pity and the human rights of berth a photo and bio about your singularly unsophisticated soul. It has created an avalanche of unearned narcissism that looks like a late ‘9 0s Casper Van Dien supporter page whose webmaster travelled mysteriously missing. Image courtesy of the property of the Casper Van Dien Fan Page& Genius Community webmaster. div > OK , no, but seriously, this next epitome is a real screenshot from the Inertel( An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted) website. This is a real person who really thinks he’s in the 1 percent of intellectual nobilities, and this is his real profile. I didn’t doctor this. This is what an actual genius named BigJim3 69 remunerations $39 a year to expose. Fucking! This macrocosm is spell and you get to live in it! div > Another business that employs your adoration of yourself on a big, sprawling magnitude is the pop-up museum manufacture. The reputation implies that there are things to do or learn inside them, but they’re more like oversized photo booths than artistry halls. For speciman, if you take a junket to the zany, world-famous Museum of Ice Cream, you will memorize zero to one things about ice cream and feed ice cream worth $45 less than the entering ticket. What you will do is wait in line to make photos of yourself next to what you’d describe in any other situation as “nothing of interest.” So to be clear, we are so self-obsessed that it’s now an efficient business model to charge us money to make pictures of ourselves so we can promote you online. You didn’t fool ME, Museum of Ice Cream. But my family loved it. Five stars. div > 1 Stop Attaining It Seem Like There Are Nazis OK, so the world has just fairly stupid prejudiceds to elect Donald Trump chairman, but not all of those voters were full white supremacists. Some of them were simply extremely theological to know when someone is lying or too old to change their memory about politics. And yes, a troubling number of them were Nazis. But in a lot of ways, most things are fine and the world isn’t as unpleasant as you think. You’re welcome again. div > Impossibly shitty parties, like the Trump supporters who made that Garfield mug privately, looks a lot like they’re everywhere. A pile of that is our omission — the good beings making fun of them. They use us to amplify their articulates, like Han Solo( R.I.P .) reassuring a hallway of Stormtroopers that he’s acces more people than he actually is. Every few minutes, a website publishes a variant on the article “These Miserable Fucks Said Something Racist About A Thing And Got Annihilated By Twitter.” They’re fun and vaguely heroic, but if you read more than one, you’ll start to see that they all share the same content. It’s the same three or four prejudiced tweets quoted in each article, tweeted by the same three or four prejudiceds who “attacked” the Star Wars with the Asian girl and “staged boycotts” of the all-lady Ghostbusters . We need to stop treating these three or four beings like they’re a threat to anything other than skewing PornHub’s algorithm to favor mother-son incest. BREAKING NEWS: Regional high school’s least-likable puncture still manufacturing quite a sight out his irrelevant awfulness. div > Here’s a comforting information: A analyse of Reddit found that 1 percent of communities were responsible for 74 percent of all conflict. We are taking the intentionally insensitive notes of a Kia’s worth of debate club hobbyists and feigning they’re a tidal wave of detest “were supposed to” stand together against. The “alt-right” movement is 30 sons more cranky to year and too slow to hear Dungeons& Dragons . Their adherents are a lethal group of gamers who will disappear once they sour 17, and their media channel is a cable network whose entire audience will be dead in two more flu seasons. All these people want is for the other side to get upset, so if we stop writing thinkpieces about the rise of dapper grey patriotism and focus more on how liberals hate suicide religions, we can be rid of them almost immediately. BREAKING NEWS: C-word who are tweets C-wordy antisemitic concepts DOES! div > Ann Coulter is a good example. She’s the skeletal are still in relic antipathy, and she has about as much cultural affect as Corey Feldman’s band, Oral Thrush and the Yeast 2000 s. Has she ever done anything other than hiss bad acts at impatient Tv identities or suppose that clinical antisemitism is antisemitic slapstick? She only seems like she is a thing because 10,000 of us dunk on the bitch each time she condemns her oral thrush on the Jews. Without all of us excusing to one another how mistaken she is, Coulter would just be straying through Home Depot to see if there are any lily-white works she can ask about the lavatory refuge rails. And soon she would be spawning spider eggs in her lip while her parakeet watched their own bodies rot. “Rawk! The Jews are at it again! ” it would recite to her undiscovered body. “The Jews are at it again! “ We all seem to get how foolish it is when the story answers “teens” are doing a comically apeshit circumstance like human centipede gatherings or detergent eating. Why can’t we use those same beings psyches to figure out how one Nazi nerd looking for attention isn’t “the Right”? I know it’s tough to stand trolls, but Kim Kardashian owning all the world’s money should have taught you that there is virtue in shutting the fuck up about some things. We need to stay strong not in the battle against the “alt-right, ” but in the battle to ignore them. The next time you verify another tower about how maids won’t time republican people, leave it alone. Let those dickless Nazis prevent writing versions of that section into the empty vacancy until they discover evil campaigns brides to dry up. And the next time someone on your Facebook thread attacks their Second Amendment liberties after local schools shooting, don’t confirm their child assassination fandom with tending. Move your cursor to the left and click on their mother’s chart. Pose as Blake Shelton, acquire her moist rely, and calmly destroy that child-murderer’s family. Every one of us can shut up and make a difference. Seanbaby devised being funny on the Internet. You can follow him on Twitter, or frisk his hit mobile competition Calculords . b> Did you realise Casper van Dien was in a Tarzan movie in the 90 s ? i > b> Support Cracked’s journalism with a tour to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you . i > b> For more, check out 5 Deeply Embarrassing Thing The News Keeps Doing and 6 Time The News Went Totally Overboard Chasing A Story . i > b> You should click on this join and follow us on Facebook . i > b> Read more: http :// www.cracked.com/ blog/ 5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on / http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/06/30/5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on/

[esonetwork]

Timestamp Special #5: Real Time

New Post has been published on https://esopodcast.com/timestamp-special-5-real-time/

Timestamp Special #5: Real Time

Doctor Who: Real Time (6 episodes, 2002)

  It seems appropriate to visit the one visual Big Finish Sixth Doctor tale after saying farewell to Colin Baker’s live-action television portrayal.

After a brief reprise of the Third Doctor‘s opening credits, we are reintroduced to the Cybermen as they search the rooms surrounding a large ball called the Chronosphere. Two humans emerge after the patrols pass and send a “doctor” (who was connected inside the sphere) to the past, potentially destroying their timeline.

On a starship called the Cassius, an officer named Kruger talks to Professor Osborne on the state of the planet below. Two teams have disappeared in two days, but their disappearance has stymied the search teams. During the debrief, the professor and his team are engulfed by a wave of temporal energy and disappear, exactly on schedule with the last two events. They also witness a Cyberman as they vanish.

On the planet, the TARDIS overlooks a camp and pyramid-shaped temple. Evelyn Smythe and a third survey team are digging into the mystery with the help of the Doctor (as requested by the authority called Central) because of the Cyberman sighting. Evelyn and Doctor Reece Goddard discuss the Doctor before settling in for a chat about the history of Cybermen.

Inside the temple, the survey team and the Doctor are studying the hieroglyphs printed on the walls of a large chamber. This version of the Sixth Doctor is more conservatively dressed and far less pompous, and he helps the team unlock a few secrets of the building’s architecture. Together, they decide to open a sealed door and examine the wall beyond. The team leader, Nicola Savage, is adamant and eager to find her missing colleagues, but the Doctor and the rest of the team are hesitant and cautious. As they argue, the door opens on its own accord and exposes an extra-dimensional space beyond. The Doctor warns the team not to mess with the membrane covering the entrance, but the scientists don’t listen and they Savage is pulled through. After the lights go out, half-converted Cybermen (including Savage) emerge and threaten to assimilate the rest of the team.

Evelyn and the administrative team in the camp muse about the subcutaneous bio-trackers that keep tabs on everyone on the survey team – except Evelyn, the Doctor, and the allergic Goddard – and how Savage’s signal has blipped off then on. Their discussion and debate are interrupted by the Doctor and the partial Cybermen. The Cybermen cannot recognize the Doctor in his sixth form until Evelyn inadvertently reveals him, and they demand that he follow them into the portal to meet the Cyber Controller and turn over the TARDIS. The portal itself leads to the Chronosphere chamber from the story’s opening.

The Doctor puzzles over Cyber Savage’s ultimatum: She plans to kill the survey team if the Doctor doesn’t comply, but the Doctor notes that the threat is impotent since he sees a handful of lives as insignificant against the survival of the universe. He also deduces that the Cyber Controller didn’t build the temple, but instead is using it after the previous occupants have long since gone.

Cyber Savage reveals a critical key to the audience: The Cyber Controller is interested in an heir to its power, and the Doctor (along with his knowledge of time travel) is the perfect candidate. That’s an interesting idea. Anyway, Administrator Isherwood offers to betray the Doctor by making a duplicate key, and the Cybermen agree with the plan. The Doctor doesn’t think it will work, and he confirms it by watching the Cybermen struggle with basic logic as they try to carry the TARDIS into the temple. They are usually more intuitive than that.

After consulting with the Cyber Controller, Cyber Savage provides the Doctor with the history of the situation and a demand to provide sanctuary from the impending temporal wave inside the TARDIS. The Doctor also figures out the plan to assimilate him and travel back to the origins of the temple. The Doctor confronts Isherwood over his plans for the TARDIS, then develops a plan to prevent the Cyber Controller from communicating with Cyber Savage. Evelyn and Goddard enter the ruins with scientist Carey, but there are two problems: First, Carey has an implant so he can be tracked; Second, Evelyn has potential knowledge of TARDIS operation. The Doctor has no choice but to go after them, but the Cybermen catch them first and take them to the Cyber Controller. Carey is assimilated in a most gruesome fashion, and Evelyn is faced with a future as the new Controller.

Cyber Savage stands in the Doctor’s way as he tries to pass through the portal, prompting the Doctor to debate her with empathy. Cyber Savage responds with force and logic, driving the Doctor to relent. Cyber Savage uses this to her advantage later by tricking the Doctor by manipulating his empathy for her prior humanity.

Meanwhile, Goddard confronts Isherwood and his plan to take time travel for his own uses. On the other side of the portal, Evelyn discusses empathy with the Cyber Controller and makes some headway through logic and reason.

The Doctor figures out Cyber Savage’s deception before she succeeds in securing the TARDIS, and the Time Lord uses the distraction to confront Goddard. The Cybermen have ignored him so far, and the Doctor wants to know why. Goddard is a Cyberman from the future (sort of), and his technology is based on Time Lord knowledge, which the Doctor will inevitably yield.

Nice twist!

In 1927, the Cybermen unleashed a virus on Earth that transformed humans into cybernetic hybrids. Goddard was one of the few who survived and joined a rebellion to reclaim the planet, and his research has brought him to this point. The ability to travel in time has allowed the Cybermen to completely conquer the universe and Goddard (who was the doctor in the time sphere) us trying to stop the origins of the Cyber-verse using a counter-virus.

The downside: This creates a time paradox.

The Doctor tries to stop Goddard, but the hybrid knocks him out. The scientists see this happen, but Cyber Savage cannot see Goddard. Unable to explain the event, Cyber Savage kills Renchard while torturing him for the truth and then takes Isherwood to the portal. Goddard and the Doctor follow, but the Doctor is ambushed by a Cyberman. Goddard kills it with the counter-virus and they proceed, but the transition through the portal destroys most of the counter-virus. Once through the portal, the Doctor makes a few changes to the hieroglyphs.

I love the point/counterpoint of the clashing moralities between the Doctor and Goddard.

As Evelyn’s assimilation begins, the Cyber Controller demonstrates to Ishwerwood how the portal negatively affects the organics under the cyber armor. The Controller finds the Doctor and begins to reason out the existence of Goddard, and a slip of the tongue from Isherwood leads to a change in the Cyberman algorithms, making the young scientist is visible to the enemy. The Cyber Controller finds the virus and questions the Doctor’s morality around it, calling back to Article Seven of the Time Lord Constitution and the laws against genocide.

Goddard assures the Cybermen that he will use the counter-virus even if the Doctor will not, and the Doctor negotiates with the Cyber Controller over the TARDIS as Cyber Savage analyzes the counter-virus. Cyber Savage finds that the counter-virus will only help them and sends Isherwood and Goddard for assimilation.

In the assimilation chamber, Evelyn’s transformation stops as the overseeing Cyberman has a human epiphany of emotions. After the Cyberman leaves, the Cyber Controller notes the irregularity and reactivates the chamber. The Cyberman engages Cyber Savage, and the Doctor and Goddard use the distraction to gain the upper hand. Goddard kills Cyber Savage, then delivers a coup de grâce to Isherwood as the former administrator shares a secret with him.

The Doctor finds Evelyn and frees her from the conversion chamber, but Goddard arrives and reveals the secret: Evelyn is carrying the original virus, engineered from the counter-virus and completing the paradox that the Doctor warned of. Goddard defeats the Cyber Controller and opens the faceplate, revealing Evelyn’s face beneath as the being dies and the temporal wave washes over them both.

The Doctor and Evelyn reach the TARDIS, the former unaware of the terrible burden the latter carries. Evelyn is weary and a deeply respectful Doctor takes care of her as he sets course for a cliffhanger: The TARDIS hurtles toward Charles Lindbergh‘s historic flight in 1927 and the birth of the Cyber-verse.

  This was a decent story with some great twists, and it operated almost like the reconstructions of the First and Second Doctor‘s eras. The downsides are numerous, including far too many close-ups on random bits, such as the cat brooch (which emotes as the Doctor does) and Cyber Savage’s cyber-crotch. It was also far gorier than previous stories and maintained the Fifth and Sixth Doctor era tradition of large body counts.

That said, the big positive is a better representation of the Sixth Doctor himself. This Doctor shucked the cynicism and abusive attitude while maintaining his standoffishness. He has really grown up, and I would have liked to see this Doctor for a season on the actual show.

  Next up, our journeys with the Sixth Doctor come to a close with another non-canon tale.

  Rating: 4/5 – “Would you care for a jelly baby?”

    UP NEXT – Doctor Who: A Fix with Sontarans

  The Timestamps Project is an adventure through the televised universe of Doctor Who, story by story, from the beginning of the franchise. For more reviews like this one, please visit the project’s page at Creative Criticality.

[ethelbertpaul444-blog]

5 Stupid Things We Need To Stop Clicking On

We “re living” the final choke of the Information Age. Experts estimate that 62 percent of all the points we now receive is purposely mistaken, and that includes the percentage and professionals I made up at the start of this sentence. The sad fact is, the majority of members of you are able to never have the critical envisage or research abilities to know what’s real, and that will simply manufacture you more absolutely convinced the erroneous situations your stupid ass belief. The good story is that this article isn’t about that shit. The imitation information fighting is over, and stupid won. No, this article is about the dumb things we all keep falling for — even you, the genius who chose the right political area and religion.

5

Pointlessly Insane Product Are Not That At All

Last year, Tiffany& Co. started selling the Sterling Silver Tin Can, an empty can that costs $1,000. You’ll notice that this is far more than you’d naturally pay for soupless garbage. To be clear, this wasn’t some tin can that once impounded Prince’s final dark-green nuts. It’s simply a can. As an imaginative word, it was 50 years stale, and as a money-making strategy, it was somewhere between a portable diarrhea carton and that same product without a eyelid. It’s the kind of sentiment that they are able to offset the other Saved By The Bell novelists tell, “Look, if you’re not ready to come back to effort, make more time off to deal with the death of your son.” The item I’m building is that it’s hard-boiled not to comment on Tiffany’s silly can, and that’s more appealing to Tiffany& Co. than where reference is comment on how the ones who quarried their concoctions all lived of slavery.

“Darling, I was part of many someones transcending penetration to convert a utilitarian men’s room into an installment of signature Tiffany oeuvre.” — this Tiffany copywriter justifying to his wife why “theres” seven colourings of pubic hair in his underpants

Read Next

8 Baffling Poop-Themed Toys Kids Are Lining Up To Buy

And it’s is not simply tin cans and Wu-Tang recordings that are marketed in intentionally strange modes. Food advertisers have figured out that they can get more attention by being ridiculous than by being delicious. Retain when KFC employed fried chicken as sandwich food in the Double Down? Or when Chick-Fil-A announced that their fried chicken detested lesbian people with the Cajun Titty Jiggler? We all made amusing of them, but they perfectly did not care. These are people souring pigeon meat and “deported” foreign nationals into nugget figures. They’ll take any press they can get.

We need to stop doing this. It’s very possible the only conversation any of us had or will ever have about Dr. Pepper started when they liberated a special copy of their soda for men exclusively . We all went on Twitter to add stuffs like, “Forbidding females from savor Dr. Pepper Ten will only retard the disclosure that it’s made from semen , not stop it completely.” We asked questions like, “Why would you make a soda for men exclusively? Are you trying to find the perfect drink to pair with losing custody of your adolescents? ” Or maybe you are only pondered, “Dr. Pepper Ten sounds like the refreshing discus you contact for when defending an alleged rapist you haven’t met.”

SORRY LADIES, OUR CREATIVE DIRECTOR IS STILL DEALING WITH SOME CHILDHOOD TRAUMA INVOLVING PENISES . b>

Products should conclude the customer happy , not be so intentionally foolish that the customer hears about them during a Jimmy Kimmel monologue. You shouldn’t spawn every tenth new Oreo out of cat suppository in the hopeles said he hoped that cookie influencers tweet about it. And pizza, you peculiarly need to get your shit together.

In 2012, a Pizza Hut employee happened upon the relevant recommendations of a hot-dog-stuffed crust, relatively by coincidence, when his administrator caught him fucking a pizza and asked written explanations. This distinguished the last experience there would ever has become a non-insane pizza ability. Today, pizza marketing is a series of deranged inventions, like a serial killer’s pilgrimage toward becoming the Minotaur. For speciman, Pizza Hut created “smart” shoes that situate an degree for you. Aside from get the elderly to wonder what they’re going to come up with next, what the fuck good do pizza shoes do anyone? If you have a use for dictating Pizza Hut via shoe, your foot is going to fall off from diabetes long before you get to make love a second time.

essay >

And did you know that Domino’s devoted millions of dollars promoting something called “carryout insurance? ” It’s what it sounds like — a monetary guarantee that when your haphazard ass puts a pizza, they give you another one. Aside from getting us to mention how foolish that is, what’s the pitch? Was there a community of overweight idiots devouring pizza off the foot and involving their representatives do something? Let’s say it’s only to place your subconsciou at ease. Let’s profess you’re “ve been thinking about” prescribing Domino’s, but decide against it because you’re always stopping pizza. Will this convince you? Of track not. You’re not even here. You were taken in the night by mad scientists, and now you’re a bulge of brain material named “HISTORY’S SADDEST FUCK.”

“CARRYOUT INSURANCE !? Hey, boss? Yeah, I just perceived a loophole that gives me boundless flooring pizza. So what I’m saying is you can kiss my ass . i> “

div >

4

All Things “Of The Year” Are Arbitrary Decisions Made By Small Teams Of Random Assholes

We are living in the darkest of goes. Our current sexiest guy alive looks like a rectangle who acquires its living hustling milk-drinking contests.

“I’m digesting four gallons of Half& Half. Hi, I’m Blake Shelton, your sexiest mortal alive.”

When People store announced hoedown music standout Blake Shelton as the sexiest humankind alive while Casper Van Dien was still not dead, it stumbled like a bomb. Every Gab report and Safeway express lane had a hot take on it. It wasn’t simply controversial; it was a direct challenge to what vaginal lubrication even wanted. What will it do to society if passably handsome NASCAR dads are the brand-new standard of seductive? Do we need to stop doing sit-ups? Will there be enough denim?

What will Casper Van Dien do with this boner?

div >

You know what we should have been doing that whole season? Not establishing a shit about how handsome Blake Shelton is. Don’t get me wrong, Blake Shelton is alright. His condoms maybe don’t expire, and if he was arrested for sodomizing a dairy moo-cow, you’d anticipate “Him? ” But let’s not play games. He’s not the sexiest male alive. At best, he’s “Oklahoma’s Hottest Mostly Ham DNA.” But we should remember that this isn’t some enormous honor decided by appraising the gonad stimulation of test subjects. “Sexiest Man Alive” is picked by four or five journalists desperately trying to hang onto print media chores, and every now and then one of them is smart enough to say, “What if we trolled everyone? ” With all respect to Blake Shelton’s fuckability, if you died trying to learn a prosthetic forearm how to give a handjob, the People organization would write your figure up on the “Sexiest Man Alive MAYBES” board.

It’s important is maintaining mind how insignificant these entitlements are before we get outraged. Before Donald Trump, Time opened its 2006 “Person of the Year” title to You, as in the second-person pronoun. And in 1938 they gave it to Hitler, the Donald Trump of 1938. These are meaningless choices meant to engender awful conversations between uninteresting people. Did you think LaTonya from Fayetteville was chosen as Jet ‘s “Beauty of the Week” because of her prevailing tits and smile? Wake up. It’s because her front tattoo announces “Abortion is Bae.” Please, all of us, we have to stop get outsmarted by the Jet magazines of the world.

3

It’s Not An Contest When Fictional Characters Die

In 1992, DC Comics killed Superman — an indestructible ventriloquist with laser noses, frost wheeze, and chronosphere-bending flight speed — with a rock ogre who was pretty good at punching. Despite it being the third occasion he had died, the country is entered into mourning and the tale was picked up by the actual bulletin. Which was weird, because if the media wanted to cover upsetting Superman fibs, where were they when his girlfriend get turned into a pony and fucked his mare?

I think about this every day. Every day.

div >

Why are we so preoccupied with fictional deaths? Most of the time, they’re not even real in the make-believe macrocosm in which they happen. Captain America and Batman vanish around 20 epoches a year, each in different combinations of fake-outs, resurgences, and universe reboots. If a dead guy’s best friends own a meter machine and the Eye of Agamotto, you can probably hold back on making funeral proposals. And if your favorite person dies on The Walking Dead , perhaps don’t debris an hour watching Chris Hardwick cry until you accompany the body.

It should help you relax knowing that most fictional fatalities are exclusively abusive escapades, but the “real” ones are about as meaningless.

I mean, you knew there wasn’t going to be any more Firefly . This death cost us maybe two wisecracks.

div >

Remember when Han Solo expired? He was a 73 -year-old laser gun fighter scheduled to get his own movie in three years. His death was both long overdue and altogether inconsequential to the amount of Han Solo you will continue to see on your TV. His father-in-law, Darth Vader, was on screen for about 36 minutes before he died in 1983, and since his death, there have been more Anakin Skywalker narratives than anyone could ever require. Anakin Skywalker is the Nicolas Cage of outer space. He stopped making good movies three decades ago, more he’s still everywhere and radiating inexplicable planetary energy.

If George R. R. Martin gone on TV to announce that a comet smacked Westeros between works and everyone in A Song Of Ice And Fire is lead, how is that different from “the worlds” you’re living in now? The chap have undoubtedly wanted to focus more on snacks for about four works. You know what’s sadder than identifying Ned Stark get his head chopped off? Watching some fragile-hearted slobs go across the various stages of sorrow in a YouTube video afterwards. Mothers, if your child is filming themselves weep over a make-believe death, that’s a bigger default than if your child is filming themselves pee into a tube sock for Patreon advocates. I symbolize, you can do whatever you demand, but when you cry over forgery people whom you can still hear every day for as long as you miss, you’re exclusively sending a message to the people around you that you’re a drastic piece of shit. But I know something that will ovation you up!

2

Being Special Is Free

That’s right, I said it.

You’re welcome.

It’s pretty easy to sell someone nothing more than the notion that they’re special or important for actual money. For illustration, somewhere right now, a Todd is looking through a rack of keychains to see if they have one with his reputation on it. “I hope they have a Todd, ” he might announce as he thumbs through dusty debris. “They do! And it’s spelled right ! b> ” So Todd will buy it, a cute remember of the worst collected in the least interesting part of a town he formerly called, and it will never occur to him that an Indonesian plant gambled and won that a completely shitty Todd would one day pay money to prompt himself of his own name. This next part is way off-topic, but not even the Indonesians could have foreseen that this keychain would one day be used to frame Todd …

… for Toddslaughter.

div >

Back to the point I was trying to utters: We are all prone to this idiocy. Coke had its first marketings increase in more than a decade when it introduced the idea of adding the customers’ stupid fucking lists to their cans and bottles. And the internet has been recurred by ego-stroking personality quizs and IQ tests since before we used it to pay girlfriends peeing into tube socks. We are so desperate to be told we’re special that we will expel all disbelief and critical consider to hear it. You should know that answering a few simple-minded personality interrogations does not determine you the coolest ninja turtle, and you shouldn’t trust the scores of an Iq test that you watched yourself cheat on which likewise advertises free Slavic women and four new pounds of dick girth.

One of my favorite a few examples of this, and favorite things in general, is an online community announced Intertel — “An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted.” It’s very difficult to get in. You can only affiliate if you tally in the top one percent of any self-administered intelligence test and mail in a $10 lotion reward. You may have considered that this in fact checks to see whether you’re stupid enough to forward in a test with a 98 percent composition or less and nothing else. If you get accepted, you then compensate a $39 annual reward to be a part of a genius squad for people who are very specifically not. What do you get? I’m so glad you asked. For the annual reward, you get inexhaustible pity and the human rights of berth a photo and bio about your singularly unsophisticated soul. It has created an avalanche of unearned narcissism that looks like a late ‘9 0s Casper Van Dien supporter page whose webmaster travelled mysteriously missing.

Image courtesy of the property of the Casper Van Dien Fan Page& Genius Community webmaster.

div >

OK , no, but seriously, this next epitome is a real screenshot from the Inertel( An International Society of the Intellectually Gifted) website. This is a real person who really thinks he’s in the 1 percent of intellectual nobilities, and this is his real profile.

I didn’t doctor this. This is what an actual genius named BigJim3 69 remunerations $39 a year to expose. Fucking! This macrocosm is spell and you get to live in it!

div >

Another business that employs your adoration of yourself on a big, sprawling magnitude is the pop-up museum manufacture. The reputation implies that there are things to do or learn inside them, but they’re more like oversized photo booths than artistry halls. For speciman, if you take a junket to the zany, world-famous Museum of Ice Cream, you will memorize zero to one things about ice cream and feed ice cream worth $45 less than the entering ticket. What you will do is wait in line to make photos of yourself next to what you’d describe in any other situation as “nothing of interest.” So to be clear, we are so self-obsessed that it’s now an efficient business model to charge us money to make pictures of ourselves so we can promote you online.

You didn’t fool ME, Museum of Ice Cream. But my family loved it. Five stars.

div >

1

Stop Attaining It Seem Like There Are Nazis

OK, so the world has just fairly stupid prejudiceds to elect Donald Trump chairman, but not all of those voters were full white supremacists. Some of them were simply extremely theological to know when someone is lying or too old to change their memory about politics. And yes, a troubling number of them were Nazis. But in a lot of ways, most things are fine and the world isn’t as unpleasant as you think.

You’re welcome again.

div >

Impossibly shitty parties, like the Trump supporters who made that Garfield mug privately, looks a lot like they’re everywhere. A pile of that is our omission — the good beings making fun of them. They use us to amplify their articulates, like Han Solo( R.I.P .) reassuring a hallway of Stormtroopers that he’s acces more people than he actually is. Every few minutes, a website publishes a variant on the article “These Miserable Fucks Said Something Racist About A Thing And Got Annihilated By Twitter.” They’re fun and vaguely heroic, but if you read more than one, you’ll start to see that they all share the same content. It’s the same three or four prejudiced tweets quoted in each article, tweeted by the same three or four prejudiceds who “attacked” the Star Wars with the Asian girl and “staged boycotts” of the all-lady Ghostbusters . We need to stop treating these three or four beings like they’re a threat to anything other than skewing PornHub’s algorithm to favor mother-son incest.

BREAKING NEWS: Regional high school’s least-likable puncture still manufacturing quite a sight out his irrelevant awfulness.

div >

Here’s a comforting information: A analyse of Reddit found that 1 percent of communities were responsible for 74 percent of all conflict. We are taking the intentionally insensitive notes of a Kia’s worth of debate club hobbyists and feigning they’re a tidal wave of detest “were supposed to” stand together against. The “alt-right” movement is 30 sons more cranky to year and too slow to hear Dungeons& Dragons . Their adherents are a lethal group of gamers who will disappear once they sour 17, and their media channel is a cable network whose entire audience will be dead in two more flu seasons. All these people want is for the other side to get upset, so if we stop writing thinkpieces about the rise of dapper grey patriotism and focus more on how liberals hate suicide religions, we can be rid of them almost immediately.

BREAKING NEWS: C-word who are tweets C-wordy antisemitic concepts DOES!

div >

Ann Coulter is a good example. She’s the skeletal are still in relic antipathy, and she has about as much cultural affect as Corey Feldman’s band, Oral Thrush and the Yeast 2000 s. Has she ever done anything other than hiss bad acts at impatient Tv identities or suppose that clinical antisemitism is antisemitic slapstick? She only seems like she is a thing because 10,000 of us dunk on the bitch each time she condemns her oral thrush on the Jews. Without all of us excusing to one another how mistaken she is, Coulter would just be straying through Home Depot to see if there are any lily-white works she can ask about the lavatory refuge rails. And soon she would be spawning spider eggs in her lip while her parakeet watched their own bodies rot. “Rawk! The Jews are at it again! ” it would recite to her undiscovered body. “The Jews are at it again! “

We all seem to get how foolish it is when the story answers “teens” are doing a comically apeshit circumstance like human centipede gatherings or detergent eating. Why can’t we use those same beings psyches to figure out how one Nazi nerd looking for attention isn’t “the Right”? I know it’s tough to stand trolls, but Kim Kardashian owning all the world’s money should have taught you that there is virtue in shutting the fuck up about some things. We need to stay strong not in the battle against the “alt-right, ” but in the battle to ignore them. The next time you verify another tower about how maids won’t time republican people, leave it alone. Let those dickless Nazis prevent writing versions of that section into the empty vacancy until they discover evil campaigns brides to dry up. And the next time someone on your Facebook thread attacks their Second Amendment liberties after local schools shooting, don’t confirm their child assassination fandom with tending. Move your cursor to the left and click on their mother’s chart. Pose as Blake Shelton, acquire her moist rely, and calmly destroy that child-murderer’s family. Every one of us can shut up and make a difference.

Seanbaby devised being funny on the Internet. You can follow him on Twitter, or frisk his hit mobile competition Calculords . b>

Did you realise Casper van Dien was in a Tarzan movie in the 90 s ? i > b>

Support Cracked’s journalism with a tour to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you . i > b>

For more, check out 5 Deeply Embarrassing Thing The News Keeps Doing and 6 Time The News Went Totally Overboard Chasing A Story . i > b>

You should click on this join and follow us on Facebook . i > b>

Read more: http :// www.cracked.com/ blog/ 5-stupid-things-we-need-to-stop-clicking-on /