#THEY WERE SUPPOSEDLY BRAND NEW TIRES

[evildeerboy]

welp it finally happened, my tire inflator died and now i have to actually get my tire fixed or replaced and buy a new inflator for emergencies rip

[thefrogman]

Froggie's Mailbox Adventures

I have been wanting to tell this story for a while now. This all happened right before my birthday and then I got sick for 4 weeks and didn't have the energy to talk about it.

So let us take a trip into the recent past to hear a tale of woe and triumph with a bunch of extra woe interspersed throughout.

It all began on the 4th of July.

Some neighborhood rascals ruined my old mailbox with a baseball bat.

They also destroyed my brand new mailbox sensor that lets me know when there is mail so I don't have to make multiple trips to check.

(Ring replaced it for free, so that was nice.)

Originally, I was going to hire someone to replace the mailbox. But I was not having much luck finding someone who could do that specific task. (I've been having trouble finding help in general due to living in a supposedly "dangerous" area.)

So I decided to try and install the mailbox myself. And I had no idea how much of an adventure that was going to be...

My first step was tearing off the old one to see how it was mounted.

I got some paper and a sharpie and noted where the holes were. And, of course, they didn't line up with the new mailbox.

Which is a really nice mailbox. I mean, it is solid. Check this bad boy out and please don't notice the dirty clothes lying on the floor in the background.

It is always so tempting to save a few bucks and get the cheaper thing, but I am so glad I splurged on this. It looks nice. It functions well. It has magnets. And I don't think it can be baseball-batted without some instant karmic retribution from Newton's third law.

My next step was to get a new mounting plate. And even though I try not to go to Home Depot because it is run by a bunch of conservative religious bigots... I went to Home Depot.

I was a little nervous about leaving the house at the time because I was still struggling with my heart issue (which I think is mostly resolved now). I was trying to be very careful about how much I exerted myself. I really didn't want to have an episode while I was out and about.

After searching for a while I discovered they had a mounting plate and a pressure-treated mounting board. I could do wood or metal. And they were located on completely opposite ends of the store because of course they were.

I had both items in my hand and I did that thing where you just keep staring at something hoping a useful thought will pop into your brain. I had no clue which one was better for my needs. There is surprisingly little information regarding mailbox installation on the internet. YouTube really let me down on this one. I was just kinda winging it and solving problems as I went along.

I stared for for a little while longer and no useful thoughts happened.

I was tired of staring so I just said, "Fuck it" and made an executive decision.

Then I almost passed out in Home Depot.

I spent too much time walking around that gigantic monstrosity of a store and my heart started beating super fast and my legs felt like jello and I started getting quite dizzy.

I was in rough shape.

So... I had a little lie-down next to a wall of tape measures.

I just stared up at them thinking about all of the things I could measure.

I could measure a dog.

Or a horsie.

Or a horsie the size of a dog.

Then I thought, "Ooh, that one has lasers! I NEED IT."

My brain was not functioning at 100% in that moment.

After about 10 minutes of thinking about lasers and things I could measure with lasers, my body seemed to reboot and I was able to get up. Thankfully no one saw me and thought there was a dead body in the aisle or something. But that was still embarrassing all the same.

Once my heart slowed down I was able to pay and make it out to the car. I headed home and saw one of the most unusual sunsets of my life. The sun was dim and a shade of orange I have never seen in nature. It was like, cheeto orange. Not only that, it was a perfect circle with a super crisp outline. It didn't look real.

I tried to get a picture of it but when I looked at the picture later, the camera didn't capture anything like what I saw.

This is the best approximation I can manage. But it still doesn't do it justice.

I was hoping I could get home in time to grab my real camera and capture this strange setting sun, but it dipped below the horizon just as I pulled into my driveway.

I then started problem solving how to get the new mailbox in place with the items I purchased. And I was on a deadline because I have no clue what happens when the mailperson arrives and they don't have a mailbox to put the mail in. Do they just throw it on the ground? Do they get to keep the mail? Are they going to use all of my grocery coupons?

And for some reason, my post office does not keep a consistent delivery schedule. I've been trying to figure out a pattern for weeks and they just seem to come "whenever" and that is about as close as I can pin it down. Which is why I got the mailbox sensor.

Due to my near fainting episode in Home Depot, I was in no shape to be handy, so I was trying to think of a temporary solution to put the new mailbox on without properly mounting it. At first I was going to just wrap it in packing tape a bunch of times. But then I noticed I had a bunch of string. And I decided that was a more interesting solution... for reasons? My brain was still not doing well. But when I tried to tie the new mailbox to the post with the string it failed miserably. And I realized the packing tape wouldn't work either. The mailbox did not sit flat on the post and it wiggled. However, because I tried the dumb string method, I discovered this wiggle issue and it actually helped me figure out how to mount it.

I gave up for the night and decided to hope I could install the box in the morning before "whenever" happened. The next morning I started drawing dots on boards and comparing my old holes to my new holes and measuring clearances. (Measuring without lasers like a chump.) I needed to elevate the mailbox in order to mount it and that's when I thought to combine the board and the plate. I could screw the board into the old holes and then create new holes in the board for the plate to attach. And the plate lined up with the holes in the bottom of the new mailbox.

EASY!

It was a pretty big brain moment for me and I felt like I just solved quantum physics or something.

You're probably pretty confused because you are not as smart as I am.

Here is a diagram to help.

The board mounts to the post arm. The plate screws into the board. The mailbox screws into the plate.

Or just use string.

Also, how fortunate was it that I stared for all that time and got frustrated and just bought both things?

My next problem was that my drill wouldn't fit inside the mailbox and I couldn't screw the screws in place. So I drilled pilot holes in the board so I could manually screw in the screws with a ratcheting right angle screwdriver.

And the only reason I had one of those is because I use it as a fidget toy. (I like the clicky sounds.)

Another lucky happenstance!

I tried to prepare as much as I could in my garage before dragging all of my tools to the end of my lengthy driveway. I brought along my dad's old rolling walker so I'd have something to transport everything.

But also so I'd have something to sit on while I was installing the new box. Then I wouldn't have another heart episode and need another lie-down.

Seriously, how big is my brain?

I am like the smartest person alive.

So I got to the end of the driveway with all of my tools and my board and my plate and my templates and I realized something was missing.

The new mailbox.

I am like the dumbest person alive.

After a quick back-and-forth to retrieve the mailbox, I got started on my master mounting plan.

I screwed the board onto the post arm.

Then I screwed the plate into the board.

Then I lined up the new mailbox onto the plate.

But as I was doing this, I was kinda sticking out into the street a little bit. And usually that isn't a big deal. Cars can see me from very far away and they were just steering around me. But then two cars came from opposite directions at the same time and I was in a precarious position where I could not move. One car steered wide to avoid me, and for some reason, the other car decided not to slow down but to drive off the edge of the street.

And as they pulled this maneuver I heard a loud thump, followed by a loud pop, and then the sound of hissing getting farther and farther away.

Like a snake version of the Doppler effect.

They drove directly into this and popped their tire.

On the one hand, I felt a little responsible and guilty. On the other, it is not my responsibility to fix the street. And on a third hand, that was silly driving behavior and perhaps they will see this as a learning moment.

After processing what just happened I got back to the task at hand. To my delight and surprise, all of my planning and problem-solving was working. Everything fit together perfectly. The right angle ratcheting screwdriver was screwing in the screws. And after I tightened the final one...

I had successfully installed a new mailbox, on my own, without any jankiness or tape or string.

Like, I did this legit proper.

Tons of pure endorphins rushed into wherever endorphins go. (Again, I am very smart.) That feeling of accomplishment was pure ecstasy. I had no idea how to do this and in less than 24 hours I was basically an expert mailbox installer. I took some shots of my work on my phone so I could brag to Katrina, packed up all of my tools, and began to walk back to the house.

And... my heart started beating fast again.

And... I needed to have another little lie-down in the grass next to my driveway.

I stared up at the sky and was frustrated and proud simultaneously. A weird mixture of emotions. At the time I didn't know if my heart could be fixed. But thankfully I had my sense of accomplishment to temper my heart sadness.

And then I thought, "I should get a new address sign."

Epilogue time!

I got on Amazon and started looking up new signs. And I found one that was solar powered and lit up at night. So clearly I needed to have that one. My midnight food delivery people will never struggle to find my house again!

And it actually looked pretty neat.

(My address is not actually four 0s, but you are free to try sending me something.)

The sign was very easy to read... if you were super duper close.

But if you were farther away...

You couldn't actually distinguish the numbers. And it kinda looked weird next to the mailbox. And headlights made the numbers even harder to see. Which was the opposite of what I was going for.

So I opted to get a more traditional sign.

(Please send items to the realm of nothingness. I am in the void.)

But this bugged me because the sign was a different size than the old sign and the connection points didn't line up perfectly.

I HAD A CATAWAMPUS CHAIN!

WHICH IS THE MOST UNACCEPTABLE KIND OF WAMPUS!

It was at this point that Katrina started making fun of my perfectionism.

But this wasn't perfectionism for perfection's sake.

My Dad was having trouble fixing things around the house. And some other kids knocked over the previous, previous mailbox. And he found the strength to go to the store, get a new one, and install it all by himself. He was at the end of the driveway, attached to his portable oxygen canisters, and fixing one last thing for this house.

And I guess I just wanted to get it back to perfect. Because he never did any handyman task half-assed. He was a full-ass handyman. Always.

So... I fixed the sign.

Perfectly balanced.

Again, feel free to send me stuff to 0000 Road.

I'm sure it will get here... "whenever."

[phantom-of-the-memes]

Trinity College Dublin are union busters who support Israel

Just to recap from my last post because MORE shite has gone down.

It’s exam week and while everyone was busy studying the other day, the Provost of the University sent an email to the ENTIRE student body, basically trying to turn us against the student union. Here are some highlights:

This was in response to lobbying by the student union not to increase student fees, namely masters fees. And to instead increase the cost of tickets to the book of Kells only by a few euro. This would solve the university’s “money problems”. Which let’s face it, they don’t have. I mean where is the money from tourism going that they’d need more?

The union had put out the ultimatum in the email, saying that if their demands weren’t considered, they would increase their protests. Throughout this year the union has organised protests that block entrance to the book of Kells, once of the main things tourists come to see. These were to protest the student housing crisis, the masters fee increases, and the university’s ties to Israeli institutions and refusal to make a statement condemning or even acknowledging the genocide. Here’s a link to the student unions post on the most recent protest.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Trinity College Dublin Students' Union 🌈🇵🇸 (@tcdsu)

The student union then replied to the email (and therefore the whole student body) restating their demands and the fact that they were going to proceed with the protest. They also included a video of the provost saying she wouldn’t increase fees.

Then, the next day this story breaks on our universities news (sorry link wouldn’t work but it’s from Instagram @ trinitynews):

WHAT THE FUCK!?!?? They are also calling in prominent members of the union who participated in the protests for disciplinary meetings. I mean this is how you completely alienate your student body. Outrage obviously ensued. They defended their decision by saying they had to “protect the book of Kells”, as if the union wasn’t just silently protesting outside. People made some funny comments about that:

Due to pressure the Provost then made a bullshit ass statement on Palestine:

So in conclusion, trinity is a fucking shit show. We are so tired of tourists being prioritised over us. They have brand new incredible facilities, meanwhile the student sections of campus are run down, broken, and completely inaccessible. It’s just a normal thing for lecture equipment to not work on the daily. And yet the tourists are getting new stuff built for them!

The biggest joke of all is that tcd is supposedly the top university in Ireland, and yet anyone I speak to from other universities have better facilities than us. Which is kind of funny since they don’t get tourism, just government funding. So how are we lacking when we have money from government and tourism?

I’m not telling anyone what to do here. I just want people to be aware what they are funding by either attending or giving tourism to the university. If it makes you change your mind about this, tell them! Specifically state why!

[max1461]

This is a bit of an exaggeration but I increasingly hate all aesthetic elements based on any amount of self-referentiality or meta-awareness or whatever. I just want some plain damn shit. I'm fucking tired of thinking about the nature of the text I don't care about the nature of the text, I don't care about layers of representation it's not interesting to me, but I also don't want any of this kitschy like, I don't know what to call it, naive new sincerity shit. Like have you ever noticed that? New sincerity shit, it's supposedly like "oh we're all so jaded that we just want sincerity again" but it's not, you know, it was made by a generation of people who saw the old jaded shit, didn't understand it, and thus wanted sincerity not because they had like dialectically processed jadedness but just cause they were actually genuinely naive in a world of jaded shit made by their parents. Or whatever.

No. I want to straight fucking plain ass shit. I think the modernists did it well, although they're not the only ones who did it well. But I admit that I really do have a soft spot for modernism, in literature, in art, in all of it. They saw that the world was kind of in many ways fucked up and absurd, you know, the world is very complicated, and they felt comfortable in just portraying that without like, gimmicks? I don't know. You know what I'm talking about. Post-modernism went in for gimmicks. It's actually good when done well, but.

Ok, revised thesis. Mediocre modernism is still tolerable, mediocre post(^n)-modernism is just lame. Whatever. Or like Baudrillard simulacrum blah blah. Everybody's grown up in this world of representation they don't know what's real. They're making fake plants in their Minecraft houses remember that post of mine? Well go find that post and read it. I'm tired of living in an ecosystem of media where things of that type are common. You know. I just want, fucking, whatever. Maybe none of this is true. I think it's a little bit true but it's not all the way true because I'm stressed about final papers today (I have 4 due by Friday) and like, idk. Feels like a bullshit... situation, so it's like, I'm extra sensitive to perceived like, bullshittiness or kitschiness of things. Because of my bullshit situation. I would have more mental room for respecting like, a world in which it's common to have indie horror games whose main idea is what if there was a fucked up kids thing like a chucky cheese and it seems innocent but actually it's fucked up and it's like, a brand but not a real brand it's a fictional brand, if I didn't have final papers. The idea of a "fictional brand" is fucking exhausting to me.

Do you get it? Why do we live in a world where a fictional brand that's scary because it represents one thing but actually it's a different thing, but it already represents the different thing because that was already a widespread association with the real brand it's a fake brand of, aijflajprognqo. Why do we. This is so fucking exhausting. Stop with the layers of representation I'm fucking done with this shit. This shit is tiring to live next to.

But I'll probably be able to see the value in well-executed (not FNAF) examples of all this bullshit when I have less to do. But I don't like how it's half of everything. Tiring.

[spell-cleaver]

Portrait of an Empire

Flufftober

Day 4: Market Day

The holocams were rolling. Sheev made sure to take Luke’s hand and angle them both so the nearest one, branded as Imperial News, the network he owned himself, got a stellar shot of them. This part of Coruscant could only be described as hippy, with colourful banners streaming wherever the eye landed, flower petals drifting upon their heads from where the plants themselves spilled out of flowerboxes far above them, and something that Sheev was to understand was meant to be music pounded through the duracrete at their feet. It was all very overwhelming for a young boy, but Luke was running around in excitement for now.

He would tire later, and throw a tantrum, but they would make sure to turn the holocams off and get him out of there before that happened.

The stalls that lined the two side of the footpath over the Coruscanti airways were equally overwhelmed, barely supporting the weight of the goods they held. Trinkets, all of it—dangling decorations, scarves, jewellery, sweet soaps small enough as to be useless, and good luck charms. As a much, much younger senator, Sheev had occasionally frequented markets like these. The stalls claiming to be spiritual, which peddled advice for meditation, soothing tinctures, and enchanted amulets, were largely nonsense. Either fools or scammers—or both. Sheev had seen even the open-minded Jedi walk past them with a wrinkled nose.

But sometimes—sometimes—they got their hands on something of true power. A Sith artefact, or Jedi emblem, imbued with some echo of its creator’s strength. Sheev had always known he must be the one to acquire it before a Jedi could find it. He’d built up a curated image of himself as an art and artefact collector and critic so that the Jedi did not suspect a strong interest in the Force from him.

There was nothing here today. Sheev had had the market swept in advance of their visit—while valuable, artefacts could be dangerous, and the last thing he needed was Luke getting hurt while on holocam. Still, the boy made a beeline for those occult stands, staring wide-eyed at crystal balls, silks, and rings that supposedly helped your sleep. Sheev tamped down a pulse of irritation.

He was on holocam. He couldn’t say anything too harsh, anything that would offend the stall-keeper—a Zabrak woman with enough piercings and tattoos that Sheev thought she might be Dathomirian at first glance. But he did not want Luke wasting his time here.

“See something you like?” the stall owner asked Luke, her wheedling sales tone softening into something a little more genuine. Luke looked up at her, blushed, then looked at the many twinkling trinkets on her table.

Shiny things. That was it. Children liked shiny things.

Luke pointed hesitantly to a box of crystals. Before the stall owner could react, Sheev leaned over to answer him first.

“What is it about them you like, Luke?” he coaxed.

Luke looked up at him, then the lady. “Pretty,” he squeaked out. “And”—he squinted at the sign—“magic.”

The stall owner smiled knowingly. “They are. Sleep with them under your pillow, and they absorb your stress. So you sleep peacefully and have a great day when you wake up.”

Kyber crystals did do that—to an extent. Kyber crystals absorbed all the world around them, especially the emotions of those who they had a connection with. But these weren’t kyber crystals. Sheev would be surprised if they weren’t just stained and polished glass.

But Luke’s eyes widened. He looked up at Sheev. “Grandpa,” he said, his tone urgent with want.

Sheev was about to say no—being involved with the rearing of a child meant that was one of the foremost words in his vocabulary—before he remembered the holocams rolling behind them. Luke had already drawn a crowd, various people awing at the sight of him, their own personal holocams lifted. He had his own little cult following already, the boy, thanks to the events of Sheev and his PR team.

They needed to buy something at this market. Otherwise, what use was it as a PR stunt? They could’ve just walked along a balcony and had the same effect.

But he still gave Luke a hard look. Luke got the point. “Please?” he tried.

Sheev let his face break out in a grin. His warm, grandfatherly smile wasn’t as winning as it had once been, before his scars, but Luke had never known him to smile otherwise. It still worked fine on him. His reaction made it work on everyone else.

The stall owner was already sifting through the crystals. They clinked together—definitely glass, by that sound. “What’s your favourite colour?”

“What’s your favourite colour, Grandpa?” Luke asked.

Laughter and more coos. Sheev, blindsided, blinked. He needed to say something regal. Something that fit with the image of the Empire—and, even if those watching the stream wouldn’t appreciate the significance, with the image of the Sith. Black was no good; there were no black crystals in the box. Red was better. The colour of his lightsaber. Of blood. Of the scarlet banners that added what little splash of colour came to Imperial design.

“Blue,” he said.

It had been, a long time ago. When the seas and skies of Naboo were the only freedom he’d known. Then purple—for the prestige that accompanied it on his homeworld, and the implicit connection to power. Slowly, his outfits had shifted darker and redder. The Sith, perhaps. But also just because he no longer needed purple to show off, and he liked to cut a dark, striking figure. Blue sat in the background too easily for him to endorse it.

Only sometimes, though, he thought, looking down into Luke’s eyes. Only sometimes.

When he looked up again, there was an ultramarine shard of glass in the stall owner’s hand.

Hating to give credits to these peddlers, Sheev gestured for an attendant to bring payment. He consoled himself with the positives. It was good that Luke was showing an interest in magic, as he’d breathed so reverently. That would keep him engaged in his training, and perhaps one day he’d be interested enough to assist Sheev with his own research into Sith artefacts. As such, his interest should only be encouraged.

And the want welling in him at the sight of the pretty crystal was to be encouraged as well. Sith wanted, and what they wanted, they took. Abnegation was only practised by the Jedi.

But the stall owner shook her head. “For you,” she told Luke, pinching the end of the crystal and holding it out to him, “for free.”

Luke’s smile was shy. He took the crystal and immediately buried himself against Sheev’s side. Everyone laughed. Without needing prompting, he said, “Thank you.”

“Are you sure I can’t induce you to take…” Sheev asked the stall owner, but she shook her head. Then hesitated, narrowing her eyes at him. She was likely one of those loudmouthed intellectuals who said they disapproved of the Empire but rarely did anything about it. Talking to him wouldn’t be good for her image in the circles she ran in, bowing to him even less. But she inclined her head. The red guards behind him probably encouraged that.

His smile widened. If Luke came to assume that all he wanted was due to him for free, and there was no requirement for fair exchange, all the better for a Sith.

“Very well,” he said. To Luke: “Is there anything else you wish to examine? We can move on.”

Luke shook his head, pulling back. “For you,” he said—and held out the crystal.

Sheev blinked. It seemed none of the many onlookers knew how to react either. He raised a hand to his chest. “Me?”

Luke nodded earnestly. “You work hard. The Empire is busy. You’re always stressed. I can sense it.” What Luke was sensing was the dark side, Sheev suspected. But he couldn’t explain that in front of everyone. “It’s for you.”

Finally, Sheev inclined his head and accepted the gift. “Thank you,” he held. With an effort that he put on for show more than necessity, he knelt down and opened his arms wide. Luke threw himself at him in a hug. “You are always so thoughtful.”

More cooing. Over Luke’s shoulder, Sheev smiled. It was always so easy, charming the crowd.

Especially when Luke was here.

[gerec]

Hi Ger, me again! I'm curious if you have any ideas/thoughts/wishes/fantasies about the continued X-Men movie/tv-verse. Storylines you'd like to see explored? Old cast members brought back? New cast members/characters? Do-overs of particular storylines? Personally, I've been so disappointed by a lot of the latest X-Men tv/film content that I've lost my capacity for dreaming - but i bet you'd have some awesome takes!

Oh man I have so many opinions about the state of X-Men bear with me!

First of all, shout-out to X-Men 97 because it was AMAZING and managed to give almost everyone on the team a great character arc and compelling motivation, and managed to deliver some pretty iconic stories in just 10 episodes (Ep. 5 is an absolute knock-out punch; the tension that builds throughout the 37 min to its explosive end is some of the best story-telling I've ever see for X-Men - really great stuff). Having said that, the pace was a bit too much, too fast - we basically got like 5 of the all time top 10 X-Men stories crammed into one very short season lol. Slow down! Let the storylines cook!

I didn't start reading X-Men comics until the start of the Hickman run with House of X, so I can't really compare how it stacks up to past eras but I was BLOWN AWAY by its premise and the promise of a new normal where mutants stopped fighting each other and got a chance to live together in peace (mostly without human interference). I wanted to see the inner workings of their ruling council, how they build and manage a brand new nation-state, and explore Krakoa's geo-political impact on other nations of the world. It started out with SO MUCH PROMISE, and there were a couple of years of mostly interesting stories but then they decided to end it all with mutant genocide (again) and reverting to status quo (again) without really answering those big questions they asked at the beginning of the era. 'Mutants will be persecuted' and 'Mutants always lose' is TIRED and TIRESOME and I'm so disappointed I've stopped reading the comics completely. Marvel let these poor people be safe and happy for longer than a minute and stop killing them with giant robots I'm begging you!

As I mentioned in my other post, I'm not really invested in the MCU's version of the X-Men - and I certainly don't want to think about a new cast lol - so I've not been giving future content a lot of thought. I'm more interested in how they're going to explain/fit X-Men in the current MCU; whether they'll bring them in from another verse like they're supposedly doing with the Fantastic Four, or somehow magic a convoluted reason why no one has ever heard of them in 616 (or why none of them showed up to help with Thanos). Whatever they do I'm sure it will be aggressively fine, because the MCU has long moved past the point of taking risks and making interesting choices (or bothering with good characterization and story-telling) for the sake of 'continuity' and 'building the verse' and 'making more and more money'.

AMA about X-Men!!!

[accio-victuuri]

(CPN) Chanel Dinner things 🍷 + gg’s leaked MV

I will probably make another post about this event the more news we get, but i just wanna keep it in one place in the meantime. CPN aside, i’m looking forward to having more photos, videos and everything else from this dinner.

hello bobo. he is so cute. 🥺

onto the clowning. ✔️

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Similarities / same energy with them. They are both so polite in shaking hands with people or handing things to them, I love them. such good boys! Also them minding their own business and all alone in a public event.

p3 and p4 makes me sad, but not entirely cause i understand why it has to be this way and the reason why they are quiet can be a lot of things. they may be tired or they feel unsettled in public events like this when all eyes are on them. yes i’m sure they know that it comes with the fact that they are famous celebrities but it doesn’t mean it makes it easier for them. even if they have friends or acquaintances, they cannot interact with them freely. i miss the times when they attend events together, at least they had each other to fall back on in interviews or just generally keeping each other company. one day, I hope they will have that again.

we also noticed that bobo had his airpods on from his car to the event (see gif below). maybe he was listening to music earlier or he was talking to someone. also after the event when he left secretly, he was holding his phone. he was wearing a long coat that’s a similar style to what GG was seen in last tuesday. GG holding his phone and texting at the airport. Web also having his phone with him. What’s so special right? These two almost never bring their phones out in public. If you’ve seen photos and videos of them at airports, leaving events etc — they don’t bring it out. maybe they don’t want to miss a message from each other. 🥺🥺🥺

There were some comments on wb of turtles who were sad that the 🦴 is missing. This is Web’s first public appearance after GG’s video leak and i guess some people are unneccesarily fragile over it. Let’s just take step back and think about what this event is. It’s a dinner organized by Chanel as well as their 2023 spring and summer preview series viewing. Everyone in that room is wearing Chanel and as their ambassador, would it be good to wear a necklace that wasn’t from the brand? I mean come on. He was front and center along with 9 other people and in the middle. He was also the only one wearing something from the preview collection. He is, so to speak, the Belle of the Ball 😂

Also see below other Chanel events that the 🦴 was not found. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Lastly, let me address the MV performance of Xiao Zhan that was leaked today. To be fair, it was deleted pretty quickly and everyone were wondering what is it from. It was supposedly from Mid-Autumn Festival 2021 and it was cut. I don’t wanna speculate further on why it was not shown in public but here we are. It’s a performance of the song “Accompany you through Time” by Eason Chan and from the OST of the movie A Journey Through Time with Antony. I don’t really want to CPN too much in songs that are performed for events like this. Mid-Autumn festival is a big deal, so i’m thinking XZ is not the only one who made a decision on the song. They might have given him a list, but yeah, the production team is the one who will have a final say.

A screenshot was going around of where it was from but we can’t fully trust things on the internet. But it said that the director posted it on an APP that was supposedly for the advertising circle. and well, it’s XZ so of course it will get out. OP said the director is problematic and i agree. These unreleased things cannot be shared because even if they are the director, the do not own the rights. It’s a copyright violation. Maybe that’s why it was wiped so quickly.

It was such a beautiful performance tho. 🥲🥲🥲 we need more Singer! XZ. My favorite will be the last part tho. The sound of the bells and him all alone with the Moon. 🌙

-END.

[fictionalhubbydreamer]

“What are you doing in my bed?”

"That's not your toothbrush, that's mine!" (Reader finds out they've been 'sharing' a toothbrush with a turt for MONTHS)

Lmao! Here we are again and Im just having a blast here!. So now for this feature I'm doing two written pieces. One is reader based in my Bayverse AU, and the other I must use my dorky OC Keiko the Maneki Neko or Lucky cat! In my Rise verse- well um kinda lucky in this case 🤣.

Now everyone remember the turtles are aged up here! No hate and no jealousy etc. Lets have fun!

Enjoy everyone!

🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡

Bayverse AU:

It was a long day for you, the job was just so much more stressful than usual. The one thing you look forward to is your bed. However you had no idea what or who was waiting for you in your bed.

You come home to your quiet apartment, still neat as you left it. Making your usual cup of chamomile tea, you head to your room to read some of your favourite fics. Only there was one problem....RAPHAEL was in YOUR bed."Umm Raph? What are you doing here in my bed?."

He just gives you this mischivious look and gestures you come closer. Oh you did NOT trust him with your tea in your hands, so you placed it on the night stand. Next thing a strong arm sneaked around your waist and all but yanked you into his grip, he had you now in his cuddle grip and once that happens then good luck getting out of that."You need rest Doll, so I'm making sure of that." He all but stated while he was dozing off...well supposedly.

You sigh in defeat and allow him to cuddle you, he seemed to know when you are stressed or not. In a thought, you realised that the past few days you have been working overtime with little to no rest. "Can I at least get showered babe?." All you heard was an amused chuckle as he released you...for now. The only thing you could do was hurry up and get showered and dressed in your yoga pants and oversized shirt. He does not like your over sized shirt and you know it. In seconds you are in his arms again, and he is not letting you go until morning...or afternoon.

🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡🍡

ROTTMNT Universe:

It was morning time and as usual Leo was first up due to Raph been way too tired lately and needing extra sleep. A sleepy Keiko comes in and sighs,"Thats not your toothbrush its mine!."

Leo looks at the toothbrush a second then her, a rather mischivious grin spreading across his face. Then he takes out a brand new pink toothbrush that has not even been opened and hands it to her. The expression on her face was priceless, she realised that indeed she has been sharing his toothbrush unknowingly for MONTHS!.

"LEONARDO HAMATO!."

The chaos that ensued was all but rather amusing, Mikey had to help Leo from been caught and wrestled by Keiko. Oh these two dorks were adorable. Raph and Donnie stood in the doorway watching all this, Raph was just confused as Donnie snickered."Bet $50 Keiko kicks his ass."

Raph looked at Donnie mortified,"DONNIE!....$100 is more worth it."

Lets just say Keiko did end up with Leo in a headlock. Leo learned not to tick her off or embarrass her.

Note from Author:LMAO! Oh man this was epic. Its SFW no worries folks.

@turtle-babe83

@tinkabelle19

@sharpwindow

[tabswrites]

Happy Storyteller Saturday! Your OC has become (in)famous for something, whether they wanted to be or not. What was that thing? How do they feel about it?

Happy STS! Thank you for giving me the chance to talk about some of my favorite people: The two most infamous traitors in Caledon’s short history…two people who are infamous for almost doing something.

Killian Rameau grew up hearing stories about magic, about the days when it wasn’t illegal to just say the word. When he got older, he decided to make it his goal to learn about the magical city of Highgrave and explored Caledon in search of its ruins. Along the way, he told stories to all who would listen about the “visions” he had received, and eventually gained a following. These people believed that he would be the one to return magic to the world, but unfortunately, his followers grew tired of waiting. He was betrayed by someone close to him and was eventually arrested and executed as a traitor. Yes, it’s illegal to speak about magic let alone search for it—but he died for an idea, not a crime.

Mara Wilkes, one of the MCs in ToL, heard the rumors about Killian growing up. She spent her life studying and searching for information that could help push her country into a new era, but Caledon’s limited knowledge failed her. When her partner Oliver mentioned that Killian’s journals and research were collecting dust in his family’s archives, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She found a map that supposedly led to Highgrave, and was determined to find her way there—but she was also betrayed, and the map was torn from her hands before she could even read it. She was given a less severe punishment (more or less), but she was still branded as an exile, a traitor—just for reading.

All she ever wanted to do was make life better for others around her, and they buried her for it. She’s become a very jaded person during her time in exile and has lost sight of her true purpose in life.

[ausetkmt]

The Massachusetts attorney general's office has launched an investigation into allegations of racial bias at the Boston Police Department’s youth gang unit and its associated database, according to a statement from the office released late Monday.

The probe by state Attorney General Andrea Campbell’s civil rights division will examine an alleged “pattern or practice of racially biased policing” within the Youth Violence Strike Force, the department’s gang unit, state officials said. A Boston police spokesperson says the department will cooperate with the review.

State officials saythe review will look into the task force's work since 2018 with a goal of reforming the gang unit, following calls from civil rights advocates who want the database to be abolished, citing alleged racism and a lack of transparency. It comes amidst a national review of similar units following the death of Tyre Nichols in Memphis, who was killed during a traffic stop by five members of that city's now disbanded gang unit.

"The Boston Police gang database is flawed and shouldn't be relied on to make consequential decisions about people’s lives,” said Carol Rose, the executive director of the ACLU of Massachusetts, one of several civil rights groups who sued the police department last year to make more information about the database public. “The database overwhelmingly targets Black and Hispanic young people, who have been labeled as gang members for little more than wearing popular brands or even becoming a victim of gang violence … the attorney general is right to investigate it."

A “gang” is qualified as three or more people who individually or together engage in criminal activity, frequent a specific location and share a common name or identifier, like a color or symbol, according to the Boston Police Department’s rules and procedures. Gang members are “active” if they have met the criteria to be associated with a gang, had contact with another gang member or participated in gang activity within the last five years.

Related Stories:

‘We are tired of inaction.’ A new anti-violence movement rises in Boston.

ACLU Sues Boston Police Department For Info On Police Encounters

Boston Police Target Alleged Gang Members

A summary provided by the department in response to the ACLU’s 2019 lawsuit showed that 90% of the 4,700 individuals in the gang database at that time were Black or Latino.

“Youth have been surveilled in Dorchester and Roxbury for wearing a certain kind of hat or hanging out in a certain corner of the neighborhood,” said Massachusetts Bail Fund Director Janhavi Madabushi. “There's just such a low threshold for what gets you onto a list, and whatever gets you on that list is something that justifies you being policed or surveilled for however long the unit deems necessary.”

An association with the gang database can prevent pre-trial detainees from getting access to bail for months or even years, Madabushi said.

“We're seeing an increase in dangerousness hearings, where a prosecutor and judge can determine through a random set of criteria that a person is too dangerous to be let out on cash bail,” she said. Detainees take plea deals to limit jail time in what Madabushi described as “a dangerous pattern in preventive detention … detaining of people who are supposedly innocent until proven guilty, but not this time.”

The investigation is ongoing and has not yet made any findings or conclusions. If issues are discovered, the goal is to work with the police department in reforming the unit and database, a spokesperson for Campbell said.

Madabushi says it remains unclear whether the investigation will result in “the type of victory that our community members need and want to see,” and will require the attorney general’s office to seek out directly impacted people, many of whom might be hesitant to come forward.

“I feel a little bit apprehensive to sort of rejoice before understanding how the [attorney general’s office] is going to conduct this investigation, what their considerations are,” she said. “But I hope that this surfaces what community members have been saying for a really long time.”

[faithfromanewperspective]

Religious hurt, ministry burnout and all in between set to 5sos5 // Prologue: You don’t go to parties

I realise this is a rather strange thing to do, what I’m doing. I realise most listeners to songs don’t apply them to the things that I do. But I went through a lot, and this album is like none I’ve heard before: it celebrates and laments and everything in between the power of simple human connection and I won’t lie: it changed my life. It gave me back the pieces and tools to take my life back from a rogue machine of parts that was sucking me dry yet I couldn’t find head or tail of nor differentiate it from the hand that was feeding me, keeping me alive. In some ways, I owe it nothing: the $19.99 I fully paid on my debit card to iTunes that probably gave the four dear humans who created this album maybe a dollar each. In some ways I owe it everything. And so this letter is for you, the strange conglomeration of fandom and random humans I’ve connected to and who don’t know my face or my real name but I enjoy baring my whole heart to. It’s the mark of an artist I suppose. It’s the early symptoms of the fever dreams that allow practical neighbours with my childhood to come up with the visceral imagery that makes up these masterpieces: four voices, and a handful of instruments. I don’t have something nearly as brand-new and original, but this is my voice. And this is how YDGTP gave back my life.

Picture this: it’s 5am. Somewhere, certainly not where I am, but it might as well be when I’m far too tired for 10, 11pm when I’m barely over 20. I’m feeling stuck, overwhelmed, unable to go home, clock off, head to bed. I’d say I’m on my couch but that’s an optimistic statement to assume I have the ability to make it to something soft to lay down my head. I don’t even own a couch.

I’m supposedly somewhere that’s home to me, but if I had any sense in my head I’d kick me out. Out to where? I have no idea.

I wouldn’t even admit it to myself then, but I knew somewhere that I was happiest when I got up before the sun. 5am, after seven to eight hours of sleep. Maybe more, when I’m so tired and drained. In the early hours of the morning (and I feel like I’m betraying this song by saying it) before the world has risen with its expectations, if I can get my life together then, I’m prepared for when I have to interact and feel their energy. I’m also prepared to get my needs met, which they obviously aren’t, or I wouldn’t still be here now.

How am I feeling? Don’t get me started on that. I’m starving, empty, longing for something I haven’t felt satiated in for quite a while. Longing for a bygone time that wasn’t any good, because if I could go back now I could do better with the information I have now. And yet, the world is moving past, the people from that era drifting further and further away. Whatever it is I’m holding my breath for, is starting to feel like I’m waiting at an intersection where the gaps between the cars are getting smaller and smaller and each time I see one I could maybe go in I don’t. I wish I had gone in the previous one, because it was much safer compared to this. That’s basically what my life’s like. I’ve got the last five years running out my mouth. Won’t you relive it with me? Won’t you fix them with me?

Because I still think about the times we were heavy. It sucked, but at least there was connection, something that I’ve run completely dry on now. Racehorse tripping on the dirt that you’ve got on me. I never felt included, loved, but sometimes being insulted is just as good as it means I’m part of the gang. They don’t do that anymore: is it because I’m too fragile now, or because they’ve moved on from me? Vulture circling above of what’s left of me. Because I’m a carcass in the hot sun, at least that’s how I feel. Slowly, not slowly at all actually, rotting.

We go stupid every night, and it was meant to be fun. But.

What a tragedy. Because I’m still here in the darkness, back where we started. It set everyone else up to move on, why can’t I? Everyone else goes home and goes to bed and doesn’t suffer the consequences of the night disabling them forever, going back to the start again and again and re-living it and changing what they’d do because I know better now than I did then, time ticking by me and getting more and more behind. I can’t help the fact that I’m behaving the way that I am.

You make me a heartless monster.

So set this to a fun beat and go dance. Everyone I ever knew is standing in my house. (Are they real, or are they ghosts of people I feel like I failed, when I was never given the resources to be everything they needed?) Maybe I’ll be alright, maybe I’ll be able to put together whatever makes me feel better, maybe, maybe, I said as I invited them, filling up my heart again and again with relational one-night stands and superficial connection just to feel the high for a little while, it’s kept me going for decades. Kept me moving so I can forget that I had it the way I liked it once and I never appreciated it, I didn’t know that I had to. I didn’t know how much it meant until I lost it. I thought I was just fielding distractions, fatal attractions, but maybe the only attraction that was fatal was the one to the world of ableism and the solutions that they said worked for them when I know I need more connection than this superficial world, even one that says they worship something else, lives for something more, can offer. I wonder who I’m looking for.

But you got out. You don’t go to parties anymore.

It’s easier to get manic than depressed sometimes, maybe because I’m already depressed and I learned from young to act like I’m not feeling it. To think of others, think of ways I can help, prioritise hope and isn’t this what I’m doing here? Working towards solutions, why oh why did it go so badly? So I focus on the ideas, I let them stack up in my brain like a tap that’s running at full blast into a tiny plastic cup and when it drowns me just for a little while I get high and life is exciting and come up with good ideas of the world I imagine could be where I’m not alone, up in the clouds I’m not the only one dreaming of this dream. All my friends are up on mars. We’ve been travelling. It’s such a simple explanation and so exciting and it’s exactly how I should be feeling when I’m pouring myself out into something I care so much about, something centred on helping people, as if in a divinely inspired book we have all the solutions for all the world when we read it through a lens of science and adaptive management that constantly re-evaluates the fruits of what we’re doing and doesn’t let silly traditions that sap our energy get in our way. Shoot for mars. Why, oh why, does no one else stand with me here? Why am I still longing for that kind of teamwork, belonging, purpose?

So I lost my limit. It’s hard to find it when I’m so perpetually starved for the thing I need, that I try to make sure everyone around me gets. I’m dumb and I’m passionate. I care. And what’s the sacrifice of one person in the scheme of things? It’s not an accident. I was the one who took my foot up off the brake. Another lonely night.

It’s easier to put a smile on my face and go through the motions to this happy beat, yearning, pouring out the passion and love I wish I received on others.

Fill it with the best country drum solo I ever heard.

And remember where I am. Longing for connection. Where are you? Where is the one who I’m looking for?

But I know. You don’t go to parties anymore.

And that’s why I need to leave.

[wpureimagination]

Word had spread; Rumours. There was a brand new chocolate shop, just opened up, and one like no other. People claimed the chocolate could make you fly. Could re-grow hair. Could boost your confidence. Rockland couldn't tell if what everyone was saying was hyperbole, or whether there was something real at play, but he planned on finding out. Maybe something there could help. At the very least, hopefully the chocolate could make for a nice pick-me up.

The teen didn't have to search very hard; there was a lineup out the door, grand banners with Wonka across them, waved in the breeze. The scent of chocolate wafted out, and the crowds buzzed in anticipation. Person after person stepped out with armloads of chocolate. Were they rich, or was this supposedly magical chocolate actually affordable, too? He was waiting on the catch.

His knee was getting stiff by the time he stepped inside, but the shop served as a great distraction; it was... breathtaking. He steadied in his tracks, jaw slack with wonder.

The buzzing sound of crowds, of people trailing through the factory was music to Willy's ears. Often, Mr. Wonka would take time to visit as many individuals as he could throughout the day. He was there to offer assistance to anyone that had questions, help those in need choose the perfect chocolate. And, of course, offer samples and encouragement to those hesitant to eat the decor. "Everything in this room can be eaten," he hummed to a young girl who had asked about a toadstool growing by the cherry tree. Promptly, he took a bight of one of the flowers to prove his point, to her astonishment. "Go on!"

The chocolatier was happily going on like this, chatting with groups as they walked in and greeting parents at the doors. It was a busy day for his chocolate shop, but Willy didn't mind it. Far from it! He loved to be overwhelmed with business--and busyness--flitting from one person to the next. It was where he got all of that delightful, bubbly energy of his! Course, his legs were beginning to grow tired from standing for so long, but that was simple all the more reason to keep moving! His attention, though, was caught by the young teen now stepping through the doors. He recognized the look of wonder in his eyes and it warmed his heart to see it.

Happy to introduce himself, Mr. Wonka stepped up just behind the young boy, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder with hopes of not startling him too badly..

"Isn't it marvelous?" he whispered, beaming. "Welcome to Wonka's. Please, do make yourself at home, and feel free to try anything! Would be a shame if no one tasted the tulips or nibbled on the sweet peppermint path. I put a lot of work into those, you know."

[artylo]

On Lecturing, Mansplaining, and The Way We Seek Information

What I find profoundly tiring about the senseless perversion of the conversational maxims nowadays is the seemingly insatiable urge for people to lecture others. Doubly so on the internet. I think this is somewhat of a new endeavour in everyone's repertoire, a honest to god brand new learned behaviour in the communal melting pot.

Of course, lecturing someone implies that there is some sense of superiority and of ego. One believes that the other could benefit with having something explained to them, so they do so with a sense of complete entitlement and with no consideration of one's receptiveness towards such an act. I see slighter examples of this online, like under interviews with rather oratorically gifted people like Orson Welles. Just here and there, someone will have isolated some pleasant and articulate phrase as one of the many comments. This in and of itself is not a bad thing - sententiae are after all fit for purpose. What is not to share? These individuals, however, cannot help themselves by just highlighting what they find pleasant to the ear, but the feel obligated to comment further on how "this is some advice a lot of young people can benefit from" or "this is a valuable lesson for everybody to learn right there". How observant. That these are words that the elusive "I" has deemed valuable - words that souls of perceived lesser taste ought to immediately apply. Of course, this seems innocent enough, but to me it speaks to a much larger shift in the way we perceive others and appreciate information.

Surely, if we are listening to or reading the same material, and we then come across the same sententia, which is evidently universally applicable to all facets of the human condition, something that everyone should and ought know, then why surmise that everyone else has somehow missed it. Why belittle the intelligence of your fellow man by acting as if your own intellectual facets are somehow better attuned to what is considered tasteful or profound. If the sententia is truly what you say it is, then shouldn't it be evident to the recipient without further elaboration on why this particular fragment is of vital importance for our species.

There is a whole industry of people who have essentially created a career putting together listicles of advice or quotes from famous people. Just the other day I came across a video, which was roughly about ten or so minutes, which essentially revolved around listing three sentences that were supposedly uttered by Ernest Hemingway, as advice to aspiring writers. This was of course padded for length and supported by several metric tons of visuals and calls to action, which as you might imagine could be a wholly different and lengthy topic of discussion. Yet, surely if I were to seek wisdom from the greats, then I would seek it out myself. That I would find meaning in their work or conversations they had had with their peers, rather than some montage bereft of all context.

The film critique industry has essentially morphed from mostly critique, analysis, and conspicuous marketing, into a factory for ready-made opinion pieces, which viewers eat up wholesale and regurgitate instead of indulging whatever thoughts they might have on the particular film. Dozens upon dozens of "Ending Explained" videos and articles, where people are given objective answers to subjective questions. Works to which many flock to immediately upon the credits rolling, just so there isn't any shred of ambiguity left. Not immediately knowing or being confused causes people to feel excluded from the group - excluded from people that can somehow explain - people who are perhaps confident enough to state their opinion at all, regardless of the consequences, in a way that to the rest of society looks like expertise and some higher sense of wisdom.

We're essentially begging each other to remove all doubt. To blindly trust in the loudest voices of our generation. Not doing so might open one up to being wrong or to being misinformed. In the court of public opinion, those are seen as grievous acts. How dare you not be aware that this is the case! Aren't you a fool!

This makes people afraid to share their thoughts and encourages a capriciously Orwellian exercise in doublethink. The environment which allowed for there to be the public's opinion and the private opinion is slowly being eroded. Conversing on a topic might seem fruitless when there is a video on the topic, which can be shared instead. The material doesn't contain the point - it is the point.

There is not innate reward in being able to synthesise your own thoughts any more. It's much easier to be indifferent after all. It's much easier to plead media illiteracy than it is to open oneself to ridicule. Expressing positivity or negativity towards a work might alienate you from the diametrically opposed group after all. Taste is prescribed, not cultivated.

Recently, I've been coming across a lot of media that mentions mansplaining - the act of a man explaining something, typically to a woman, in a manner seen as patronizing. I feel that that too is a symptom, or at least a more common example of what I'm seeing. In a sense, we want to perceive others' passions and interests as fundamentally their own and as non-transferable. There is no way of opening someone's eyes to something your hold dear without shoving it down their throat or presenting it as the rule of thumb. It creates this inane sense that the people around you are somehow less intelligent and less receptive to things, which you consider to be, of finer taste. That in and of itself motivates people to lecture and to present themselves as holier than thou. To present the information in a way that is mimetically palatable. If a lot of people believe something, then it must be correct. And if it is correct then it must be what people believe.

This kind of reasoning is indeed very democratic, but is liable to a vocal minority controlling the narrative and essentially prescribing what the majority opinion of a work will be. Worryingly so, this isn't even entirely isolated to fiction. News and information has become too plentiful and too difficult to sift through, so we flock to simple, pre-chewed, and condensed information, where some supposedly learned figure has handily decided what is important and what isn't for us. Being informed is becoming an exercise of trust in others, rather than a search for an objective truth.

Needless to say, what I am advocating for is for you to exercise self-restraint when it comes to satisfying your lust for information or the need to elucidate it in others. Form views of your own, before comparing them to those representing the zeitgeist. Do not seek to eradicate the views of others, so that you might substitute them with your own. Seek understanding in what you perceive as wrong. Question everything, including yourself, the views of those closest to you, and the views of those you deem wisest and most eloquent. Post-modernism is an exercise in individuality, and as we slowly move into an era of post-irony I feel it is going to become ever so important, if not more. In a very meta-modernist way, you might even choose to ignore my assumptions, which would also be valid. Are we there yet? You might very well think that; I couldn't possibly comment.

[mightyflamethrower]

One of the many satanic paradoxes of the Third Reich’s architecture of the Final Solution was the requirement—mandated after the 1939 outbreak of the war—that Jews anywhere under German rule or occupation had to wear a yellow badge or armband with the Star or David.

Yet was not all this elaborate bureaucratic need for identification embarrassing to the Nazi apparat?

After all, if Nazi doctrine about supposedly manifest Aryan “racial” superiority—Nordic looks and build, superior intelligence, stable disposition—were so persuasive, then why the need for Jews to identify themselves?

In contrast, the Star-of David IDs were prima facie proof that the entire bankrupt Nazi project was based on the unspoken fear that millions of Jews were indistinguishable in all respects from other Europeans.

In other words, on the fascist right, anti-Semitism was predicated on the pseudo-science that Jews were not European and thus somehow racially inferior. Yet currently, the entire industry of anti-Semitic hatred has flipped, from Jews as toxic non-whites to Jews as toxic whites. The two common denominators of racial obsession and hating Jews remain the same.

One of the key reasons leftwing anti-Semites have been so effective at galvanizing campus hatred of Israel, and by association of Jews in general, is their careful effort to brand themselves DEI victims why tarring Jews with the empty white supremacy slur.

Accordingly, Jews and Israel now supposedly enjoy toxic white privilege. They are libeled as veritable white supremacists illegitimately in the Middle East to colonize “Palestine,” and as European imperialists picking up the mantle of the earlier 19th century British and French—as if a prior 400 years of Ottoman imperialism in the Middle East never occurred.

As now-privileged white victimizers, contemporary Jews are not seen as victims of the Holocaust, explaining the comfortable alliance between Islamist Holocaust deniers and the DEI crowd.

It was no accident that a racist BLM on news of the October 7 massacres quickly issued posters glorifying Hamas hang-gliding murderers.

It was no surprise that DEI czars and professors in various ethnic and race studies programs proved the most prominent on campus in damning Israel and its Jewish citizens as racists. And who was shocked when university administrators—the cowardly MIT campus is a good example—simply warned Jews of no-go zones, rather than ensured there were no such zones anywhere on campus for anyone?

Jews seem to be collateral damage from the damning of an entire group of people, namely white Americans and Europeans. In a society that is supposedly wedded to Martin Luther King, Jr.’s dictum that we should be judged by the content of our character, not the color of our skin, it is shocking how the racist DEI and woke industries have been given a complete pass to castigate and demonize an entire group, without any concern for individual characteristics, or for class, religious, or ethnic differences.

Indeed, white is as sloppy a term as Hispanic. Just as third generation Cuban-American professionals have almost no intrinsic ethnic, political, class, or often even linguistic affinities with impoverished Oaxacans who just crossed illegally into America—and vice versa—so too a white male from rural America working as a welder in the Ozarks or a logger in the Sierra Nevada has zero solidarity with a white Bay Area techie at Google or an Ivy League legacy preppie screaming “from the river to the sea” in Harvard Yard.

But ��white” is not just a ridiculous construct that ignores the multiplicities of European ethnic and religious fault lines, the vast differences in “white” class, income, and politics, and the increasing frequency of whites marrying non-whites. When joined with the tired epithets “privilege,” “supremacy,” and “rage,” the result grows even more incoherent and sinister.

Is proof of the privilege of “whites” that their life expectancy is lower than Hispanics and Asians?

A suicide rate higher than blacks, Asians, and Hispanics?

Dying in combat in Afghanistan and Iraq at double their numbers in the general population?

An inordinate percentage of fentanyl deaths?

A current percentage of whites in Ivy League freshman classes of 20-40 percent, despite making up 55 percent of the youth demographic?

Why does “white rage” not result in whites being overrepresented as perpetrators of “hate crimes,” as are Latinos and blacks? Or in relatively rare interracial crimes, why are blacks far more likely to assault or kill whites than vice versa? In the DEI lexicon of reductionist stereotypes, is there a term “black rage” that reflects FBI statistics on hate or interracial crimes?

Woke and DEI fads have created entire anti- “white privilege” industries. One result was the epidemic of careerism-inspired and media-fed hoaxes, such as the Duke Lacrosse lie, the Covington Kids myth, and the Jussie Smollett fiasco. All were predicated on the idea the white male smear would alone obviate the need for evidence—and would provide exemption when the fakers were exposed.

Another bastard child of the “white privilege” myth was the ironic but pathetic effort of whites to fake a non-white identity to win privileges in hiring, admissions, and status.

What, after all, drove the transitioning of Sen. Elizabeth Warren to declare herself the first “native American” professor of law at Harvard, or careerist professor Ward Churchill to outfit himself in buckskin and beads—not to mention the famous Rachel Dolezal, former head of the NAACP in Spokane, Washington?

Identity fakery is traditionally an empirical guide to privilege, or otherwise nonwhites would be transitioning to white status, as in the segregationist and overtly racist days of the Old South.

In that regard, why did the New York Times dub Hispanic, half-Peruvian George Zimmerman “White Hispanic,” when they had never used that phrase for any other person, even though two thirds of “Hispanic” Americans self-identify as white? Because it was an acceptable affront in demonizing Zimmerman, but would have been considered a racist slander against another Hispanic American?

A hallmark of the white-privilege slander industry is the one-way application of “disproportionality,” or the idea that coveted or celebrity billets must reflect demographics.

Such institutionalized discrimination is now applied in crude fashion throughout companies and universities, but not when inconvenient. In professional sports, where meritocracy is deemed essential and whites are “underrepresented,” or in recording contracts, or even in the US postal service, there is no such sin in any group’s overrepresentation.

Another dividend of the blanket white privilege/supremacy slur is the racial shakedown industry. The BLM movement in the wake of George Floyd’s death ended up extorting millions of dollars from guilty or scared corporations. The vast majority of donations ended up unaccounted for, but likely enriched the founding grifters of BLM.

Ibram X. Kendi earned lucrative fees and honoraria espousing “anti-racism” and founded an “anti-racism” academic center that produced no tangible research. All that and more followed from his academic mish-mash of writings justifying racism against whites to “stop racism.”

The industry of white demonization also plays a role in the drastic reductions in U.S. armed forces recruitment. The Pentagon insists that labor shortages, obesity, criminality, gang affiliations, or drugs explain their current alarming dearth of recruits.

But the drop-off in white rural and suburban males is demonstrable, and the reason is most likely their weariness with constant woke hectoring and discrimination.

Such pandering was on display when Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Mark Milley in his June 2021 testimony to Congress pontificated about ferreting out “white rage” and “white privilege” in the ranks—despite providing no evidence or data to back up his white bias and racism allegations.

Indeed, the Pentagon publicly quotes in detail the racial makeup of almost every branch and rank of service—except the disproportionately-white demographics of combat deaths, which are considered taboo and inherently macabre and “divisive.”

The DEI virus and the incessant “white privilege” stereotyping infect all areas of American life, and have rendered our society obsessed and hypocritical, if not incoherent as it equates everything from meritocracy to punctuality to toxic “whiteness.”

The normal rules of media sensationalism dictate that when any law enforcement officer lethally shoots an unarmed suspect, especially at a distance that posed no direct threat to the shooter, the name of the officer is immediately released.

But when a capitol officer shot and killed the unarmed January 6 protestor Ashli Babbitt for the likely misdemeanor of entering a broken window in the Capitol, his name and identity were immediately hidden from the public for months.

The same coverup was at work in the suppression of the manifesto and diaries of the self-declared trans mass shooter in Nashville—given that current leaks reveal one of her motivations was sheer hatred of what she deemed “white privileged” children, or, as she also called them, “crackers.”

If New York Prosecutor Letitia James had been a white male conservative activist prosecutor, seeking fame and an upward political career in his state by indicting Barack Obama in an election year for some suspicious financial transactions or sweetheart real estate con from years ago, he would have been denounced as racist.

And what if said prosecutor was on record screaming, not the now socially acceptable and common slogan “too pale, too male, and too stale,” but something about the overrepresentation of the “not pale, not male, but stale?” Would the result be the summary dismissal of an embarrassing, superfluous, and racist writ by a grandstanding, incoherent political hack?

Inconsistency is a final hallmark of “white privilege” ideology. What characterized the exemptions given to the summer of 2020 riots—with 35 dead, 1,500 law enforcement officers injured, $2 billion in damages, and a courthouse, police precinct, and historic church torched—was their pretense that white privilege had resulted in George Floyd’s death and anti-racist violence was justified.

Black Lives Matter therefore was to be immune from consequences in its “rage” against “white supremacy.” During the lockdowns, when minor infractions of the quarantine warranted everything from social ostracism to jailing, thousands of health-care professionals—once the most adamant in insisting on the shutdowns—hit the streets claiming that they were marching against white privilege and therefore exempt from the very protocols they had inflicted on others.

By contrast, both the peaceful protestors and the rioters of January 6 were alike dubbed “white supremacists” and “insurrectionists,” and given harsh sentences. Some no doubt deserved such arrest and punishment, but the single-day event was hardly comparable to the 120 days of rioting, looting, arson, and killing associated with the Antifa/BLM-engineered 2020 riots.

The low bar for “insurrection,” of course, was white-privilege-inspired. Note the contrast with the recent “pro-Palestine” demonstrations. Ostensibly these protests should have qualified for all the new requirements of “insurrection” established by the official responses to January 6.

Some of them entered the Capitol rotunda, where protests are forbidden. They interrupted a session of Congress, yelling and disrupting congressional hearings. They defaced government property, smearing fake-blood on the White House stone wall and swarming iconic statues. The genocide of Jews was the theme of their “river to the sea” monotonous chants.

And to make the analogy with the January 6 “insurrection” complete, a prominent politician, Rep. Rashida Tlaib, delivered a speech to the protestors prior to their entry into the Capitol.  In fact, she too implicitly fired up the volatile crowd by calling for the destruction of Israel by demanding a Palestine “from the river to the sea.” Yet in contrast to the January 6 protestors, there were very few arrests and likely will be fewer convictions.

In sum, for years the left has been exempted for what in normal circumstance would be a cardinal civil rights sin. They demonize and stereotype an entire group solely on the basis of their skin color, attributing to them collective negative characteristics that trump all individual differences by presenting them as if frozen in a time warp of the pre-1960s.

Anti-Semitism is on the rise and fortified by the campus DEI and woke crowd. Hate crimes are soaring. Violent crime in general is on the upswing. Military recruitment is dropping. Trust in the media is plunging. Anti-Semites are proud and not ashamed of acting out their hatred. The progressive woke agenda is imploding.

The one common denominator is the now-acceptable notion that it is not just permissible but encouraged to smear without evidence over two-thirds of Americans as the sole beneficiaries of “privilege,” prone to rage, and conspiring to ensure racial supremacy—all lies.

But they are lies nevertheless as useful to their promulgators as they are toxic and incendiary to a multiracial consensual society if not addressed, refuted, and discredited.

It is past time for Americans to reject all racial stereotyping and the racist careerists who leverage it—before we all descend into tribal nihilism.

[imaginationofomi]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter Seven

☪︎

There wasn't enough aspirin in the world to cure Aubrie's migraine. She sat in front of a standing white board, looking between pictures, note cards and the red lines that connected them. It didn't make sense to her, such an odd group of people being affiliated.

She was trying to dive into their lives for clues, but Ellis was the only person with any worthwhile information online. He was still in the hospital, unconscious and unable to share anything that happened the night in question. She had yet to get in touch with his wife or daughters, and Hughes was on her ass about leaving the detective work to him and Edison, yet they weren't working fast enough for her. They should've had something solid by then. They were approaching month two since Bianca's body was found.

Staring at the brands on the women's wrist, she attempted to make sense of the braille. Madam Psycho. Harlot's Race. The Sacrificer.

"I got you coffee," an animated voice chirped. Aubrie took her eyes off of the white board and glanced at Kirsten.

"Thank you," she replied and redirected her attention. She picked at a hangnail, sighing as she grabbed Bianca's autopsy report. Her cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, not an OD as Hughes had assumed. Madison's was the same. The third woman who she now knew to be Larissa Baldwin died of a gunshot wound to the head Aubrie knew for a fact wasn't self-inflicted.

"How's it going?"

"I've come to a screeching halt, and it's bugging the hell out of me," she admitted and rubbed her tired eyes, "I've never been this stumped on a case before. Something usually jumps out at me by this point. Bianca's autopsy is the only one with an abnormality, and it was intentional. A person that lives clean supposedly ODing? That was some sort of message. Taking a step back helped me recognize the braille, but I'm about as far back as I can get. Nothing is adding up the way I expected it to."

"Where did you start with this?"

"The club where Bianca worked, why?" 

"My mom always told me to go back to beginning whenever I was stuck on an assignment. Seeing where you started can help you gain clarity about where you are. Look at what steps you took, where you went, where you could've gone. If the answer doesn't find you, more information leading you to it will."

It was worth a shot and already on her to do list. She just hadn't found the time with the other cases on her plate, but something had to give. Aubrie's regular tactics weren't enough for the moment.

Gio hadn't come to the precinct on his own accord to drop off the surveillance tapes like he said he would. His social media let her know that he was definitely alive and well, at least up until the previous week, but he wasn't talking. Not to the cops, though she might've been able to get him to talk to her again.

Her awareness of why he was hesitant kept her from being too upset with him, though she was pissed that he flaked. They could've been farther along in the investigation if he kept his word, but once the information hit the news cycle, and when they had more to tell it would, his business would be affected. She understood the need to protect his livelihood.

Aside from the extremely mentally unstable and true crime addicts, the threat of a serial killer being on the loose in the vicinity was sure to keep people from patronizing the establishment. The sooner they got the bastard off of the streets, the better, so Aubrie needed to make the time to go back to the beginning. She couldn't listen to and rely on Hughes anymore.

"Are you up for a field trip?"

🂡🂡🂡

She wasn't a nervous individual. If there was anything Aubrie's parents prepared her for, it was life. She approached most things in stride and would just deal with any consequences later, anxiety and overthinking be damned. She wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, but walking into Sticky Fingers with Kirsten at her side, a tense ball formed in her stomach.

The irony of the situation didn't help. She'd told Kirsten not to visit unless she was prepared for what she would encounter, yet there Aubrie was, dressed to the nines and dragging the woman who's eyes were filled with amazement and questions as she signed the standard NDA and received her wristband that signaled she was a guest unable to physically interact with anyone she didn't arrive with, got her picture and a copy of her driver's license taken and walked past a table of a couple "interviewing" a potential threesome partner with their mouths and hands on a mission.

"You can do that out in the open?" Kirsten asked in Aubrie's ear.

"In that section, you can. It's for the voyeurs and exhibitionists. We're going this way." Aubrie steered her to the bar and sat in Tom's zone, "Let me know if you're feeling uncomfortable and we can leave."

"I'm....interested. I've never been in a place like this before."

"Most people haven't." They were too uptight, insecure, or just plain vanilla, "As long as you know your limit, you should be okay."

"Just don't leave me on my own." Kirsten looked around skittishly with half of a smile, "This is the club you told me about at Rosario's, right?"

"Yeah."

"I can see why you said to avoid it unless I was ready."

Behind the doors that led down to the basement and into the club, there was no need to hide. People knew they could be themselves because they were surrounded by like minded individuals. There were couples, trios, and groups engaged in different manners of activity or conversation. Kirsten's gawking stuck out like a sore thumb, alerting everyone that looked at her that she was a newcomer. Some would avoid her, some would be nice, some would make her uneasy to ensure that she didn't come back and taint the vibe for them.

"Try not to stare so much," Aubrie said gently, pulling Kirsten's focus away from a leggy woman being tugged along by her Domme with an elaborately braided leash attached to the front of her matching leather collar. The sub kept her eyes down, arms straight and bound together tightly behind her back. The positioning made her posture rigid, breasts sitting high in her corset.

"I'm sorry, but this is wild. My ex-girlfriend would shit herself if she knew I was in here. She tried to get me to experiment, and I never wanted to. Now I feel like I might've missed out."

"If you want to come back after this, Wednesdays are the best nights for beginners. They give a fun, new meaning to the term hump day. You'll be required to provide recent lab results, but it's worth the appointment, trust me."

"Aubrie! I thought you left us for good." Tom finally finished serving the people that were there before them and pushed two tequila shots across the counter with a grin, "On the house." He smirked at her and winked at Kirsten.

"Thanks. It's not that kind of party," Aubrie said back. Tom was under the impression that she was on a date, her fault for wearing a freakum dress, but she hadn't wanted to stick out in regular clothes, "Is Gio here tonight?"

"He's been sick for a couple of weeks. He said he'll be back Friday."

Gio never got sick. The man treated his body like a temple, so Aubrie was on high alert.

"Sick with what?" she asked.

"He didn't say. He sounded fine when I talked to him a couple of days ago, though. Is everything okay? You have the same look you did the last time I saw you," Tom said.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You mentioned Bianca having another job and bringing Madison in from there. Do you know where else she's been working?"

"Suite Surrender. I'm starting to think the radio silence is her way of quitting. It wouldn't surprise me. The pay is superior there, but the clientele is filled with entitled assholes."

Aubrie tried not to let the truth show on her face. Gio heeded her instructions and kept the news to himself. No one knew Bianca was dead, and she felt guilty for playing along.

"Suite Surrender?"

"Don't tell Gio I said it, but we have nothing on them. The set up over there is insane."

"It's another club?"

"An adult resort. The only in the city and the best in the state. That membership fee and application process is fucking ridiculous on purpose. You have to be invited to apply. They only want a certain kind in there," Tom explained, stepping away to pour out another round for a nearby table. 

"A certain kind?" Kirsten questioned Aubrie, her mind immediately shifting to race. In a predominantly Black area, she didn't see how that kind of discrimination was possible.

Having grown up in the city and being required to learn the history of how it came to be in school, Aubrie knew exactly what Tom meant, and all of those people had two things in common; discretion and funds. "People with money, secrets and too much to lose if they were ever found out," Aubrie explained, her stomach sinking in the process. 

If Bianca was working in a place like that, a multitude of things were possible. Multiple people could be responsible. Robin Shank might've just been the tip of the iceberg. There was no telling what lie beneath the surface of the opaque waters. And Aubrie had absolutely no clue how she was going to find her way in.

[testingforhope]

27 - Stop The Action

I walked down the stairs to the kitchen. My mom was asleep at the table. She had seemed so tired when we first started planning on going to the surface. She tried to get past the guard doors, but they seemed to want something else from my mom.

At the door, I could see Vanessa jumping to be seen behind the tall back door. I walked over to it and left the house, making sure to close the door softly when I did.

“Where do you want to go before you finally leave?” Vanessa asked when she started walking down the street.

“I think you know where!” I said excitedly.

A few minutes later, we stopped in front of the new building on the street. The building was brand new and you could see people approaching it from all sides. Only one entrance wasn’t being used and we knew exactly where it was.

We ran around the side of the building and started climbing the ladder to the roof. Once we reached the top, we swung our legs over the edge and got our disguises on. A mask and wig is all that is needed for this place to not recognise you.

As soon as the masks were placed over our eyes and the wigs were situated on our heads, we went over to the door leading down the building using the staff entrance.

When we were inside we could not believe our eyes. It was so colourful, but it kind of smelled like hand sanitizer everywhere we went from the alcohol.

We went over to the dance floor and started dancing wildly, sometimes even close to a stranger. They didn’t need the money anyway.

The bar was so loud and crazy that we could only stand to be in there for a few hours and then we usually left. This time was different though. It seemed that mother dearest wanted a few drinks while her daughter was asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next Day~

“I can't believe you would do something so stupid!” Mom whispered to me, trying to stop herself from screaming so that the person in the front would not hear what was said.

The carriage pulled to a stop and the front of the carriage’s weight was shifted.

“You’re lucky I’m still taking you!” The door opened when she was done. A smile replaced the anger, but her eyes were still burning a hole through my skull.

“We have arrived. Would you like to be escorted inside to the throne room?” the driver said.

I looked past him and my mom exchanged a few words, no doubt her saying that they could use all the help that was given. The world above the surface was beautiful. We were much more inland then before, as I couldn’t see any water. I reached for the flask around my waist and took a long sip, feeling myself come back to the world around me.

“..Use all the help you can give us, with us not knowing the… human world all that well.”

The driver then started leading us up these big steps. My father was right next to me, holding my hand. He doesn’t really talk much but he is very nice.

The steps took forever, but when we got inside, the castle looked like a maze with the servant going everywhere and the only way to know where to go was the large group of people going to where the throne was supposedly placed.

After about 10 minutes, my mom was anxiously talking at dad and he had let go of my hand to calm her through physical touch. The line was taking forever, so I went back to the entrance and decided to climb the grand staircase at the end of the hall. When I reached another intersection, I just kept reaching for the one that went higher. Soon I was at the top of a tower that overlooked the whole kingdom.

I sat down on one of the steps and took off my bag. I grabbed a scroll and a pencil that was made to look like a quill. A gift from Vanessa.

I started drawing the kingdom to the best of my abilities.

“Hello? I’m sorry, are you allowed to be here?”

I turned my head over my shoulder and saw a boy, much older than me or Vanessa. I had seen some girls around his height, but they were all teenagers.

“I wanted to get away.” I replied. I then turned back to my drawing, finishing up the rough details.

He decided that this escapism was an invitation for coming closer because he sat down next to me. “I wanted to get away, too. Mind if I sit here?” He asked, clearly not aware of the fact that he was not welcome. “That’s a great doodle! My parents say that the kingdom is in the eyes of the beholder, or the king. They expect everything to be perfect. They are even talking to other kingdoms, calling over the commoners from there, trying to make peace happen. I think that it is dumb though. Why have peace everywhere when your home is already all you should need?”

So he’s a talker. “Sounds really interesting…”

Wait.

“Hold on. Did you just say King?”

He looked at me confused. “Yeah I did. He’s my father, though he is a very foolish king.”

I shoved my stuff back into my bag. “I have to go.”

I then ran away. Back to my parents. Away from the crazy boy. There is no way he’s the prince.

When I got back to my parents, I grabbed my dad’s hand and kept walking with them, not daring to run away again.

After a while they finally got to the courtroom and were told to follow the guards into the sectioned off room and wait.

The room was very red, but the cushions of the seats were very comfortable.

Soon the King and Queen got into the room. I scrambled to my feet after the entry and bowed, almost letting my hair touch the floor with how low my head was. When my head rose up, I saw him. The boy was actually the prince. He seemed to have noticed me and waved me over to the couch.

I looked over to my parents for approval, but they were already talking to the Royals. I slumped over and walked to the couch sitting next to the prince.

“Guess I know who I’m choosing.” Is this what hell feels like?