#almost politically correct redneck

[sheogayrath]

kids these days. they don't even remember Good Guy Greg or Scumbag Steve or Courage wolf or Insanity Wolf or Foul Bachelor Frog or Paranoid Parrot or Unpopular Opinion Puffin or Actual Advice Mallard or Really High Guy or Karate Kyle or Sudden Clarity Clarence or Annoying Facebook Girl or Godfather Baby or Almost Politically Correct Redneck or Unhelpful High School Teacher or Musically Oblivious 8th Grader or

[tipsywench]

in the midst of all this Imane Khelif bullying, I was actually searching out subreddits of boxing fans who know their shit and reading their comments and analysis of the fights

And it was like the one meme about the almost politically correct redneck, because all the comments were like: "aint no way that's a man, you see the way she's punching? she hits like a girl. she's doing a damn good job though."

[ludinusdaleth]

Hello, hello~ how about 14, 18, and 20? For of course Ludinus and Artagan lol.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

ludinus - when he showed up in that long cloak & capelet in c2e88 i knew he would thrive with victorian fashion. anything historically british is probably something i wouldn't blink twice about on him, but victorian era longcoats? oh man.

artagan - this is maybe going to sound like the most out of left field thing you've ever heard in your life but listen.... arti would rule redneck "fashion", okay. if he grows his stupid adorable chin beard out, puts on shitty oakleys, and wears camo cargo pants with a sleeveless shirt....? that man would look, frankly, beautiful to my texan self. he would make it work because even despite matching the wild disarray of the look, he'd still very obviously be out of place, like a queer/hippie who somehow stumbled into a bass pro. and yet it would at the same time look correct on him. he'd have a blast down here, trolling conservatives but also genuinely enjoying southern chaos. it fits in my head perfectly. even if it is insane.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

artagan - how could it be anyone but jester. genuinely the best relationship of all fucking time. i want to weep thinking about them. they love each other so much. jester doing everything for him even when he's failed her and him rising up to that when he's never risen up to anything and learning to be selfless. just. oh my god. oh my god.

ludinus - it's incredible how ludinus operates with otohan & liliana, but your meta's gone into that thoroughly. im also very floored every time he does try to extend an olive branch and just be human (for lack of a better word) to characters like fearne, imogen, or caleb.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

ludinus - i very often imagine a world where devexian & ludinus learned of each others existence, met, and silently sat together in a small nook in a tea shop or lud's tower. not much needs to be said, except the occasional sigh at an old shared memory of an aeorian park, or the buffoonery of the somnovem. a world where they aren't probably on opposite or at least different sides of vengeance, where both can just admit they are fucking tired old men who've lived too long.

artagan - apart from jester? i think arti needs to meet fearne, morrighan, even yu. he's far from any kind of father figure, but.... he sure could be their uncle. these young fae folk are being tossed in the seas of their peoples useless politics, and arti's heart would strain knowing even more of his people are pawns who are forced out of their whimsy for war. he would almost dote on them, in his odd aloof dick-joking way.

thank you!!

[cothica-keywitch]

It's all about the Almost Politically Correct Redneck vs Fake-Nerd Girl or Annoying Facebook Girl energy

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[hafalafel]

בוצע ניסיון לסקר בטלגרם, אך תוצאותיו לא פורסמו כי אין למפלגת עלה ירוק מספיק חברים למלא כנסת שלמה

[starburstsobsessions]

redneck Kai strikes again

[fapangel]

WELCOME, NEW GUN OWNERS!

A Brief Intro To The Whole ‘Gun’ Thing Business Stuff

By Planefag

1. So You Bought A Coronavirus Gun and you’re honestly a bit scared of it. What now?

You already know the four rules of gun safety because 1. the guy at the store told you, 2. it was in the users manual, which you read, and above all 3. you’ve not a redneck going “yee-haw BANG-GATTY!” you’re a goddamn sane human being. In point of fact, this new gun kind of scares you a bit and you sometimes have second thoughts.

Congratulations! You’re already becoming a Responsible Gun Owner.

Y’see, what us gun nerds don’t tell you is that we practice gun safety to the point of obsessive paranoia. Guns don’t shoot people, people shoot people – including by accident. The gun doesn’t do jack diddly shit – YOU do. All that responsibility is on YOU. And if you’re sitting there eyeballing the damn thing like it’s a live snake, it means you respect and fear the power, which is the first step in fully accepting the responsibility of gun ownership. You didn’t buy that damn thing as a dick replacement or to kill tin cans in the backyard, you bought it to protect yourself and your family should the worst happen – i.e. you’re already taking responsibility for your and/or your family’s own safety.

Being a grown-ass responsible adult is what qualifies you to own a gun. That’s it. Everything else is just knowledge, and none if it means diddly squat without the attitude, and as a (likely) reluctant owner, you already have that.

Never forget this.

2. What Nobody Will Tell You About The Safety Culture Of Firearms

You are absolutely going to fuck up gun safety a lot and the entire system and culture of firearm safety is designed to deal with this.

It starts with the Four Rules themselves:

All guns are loaded at all times.

Never point the gun at anything you don’t want to destroy.

Keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to fire.

Never shoot an unidentified target and always consider what’s behind it.

These rules are multiply redundant safeties. Just ONE of these rules can and will save your life. You, as an ordinary mortal human, cannot possibly be perfect all the time, even with well-ingrained safety habits, but with multiple safety habits, you don’t NEED to be. Once Upon A Time a friend brought over her husband’s new gun for us to see, and my whole family handled it and tried it out. I asked to try the trigger pull, and before I touched the trigger, I decided to check the chamber – and a live round popped out.

That’s when I realized that, despite all of us having failed to check the chamber, we had all: 

1. Never touched the trigger 2. Never walked in front of the muzzle 3. Never pointed it in an unsafe direction - only at the floor.

My whole family, my friend, and I all fucked up, and nobody was hurt because while you will occasionally forget one or even two rules of gun safety, it’s effectively impossible to forget all four.

This “multiple redundancy” extends to other gun owners, and it’s why gun nerds seem to be such tiresome pedantic pricks about precise terminology – it all starts with “trigger discipline;” i.e. pointing out when someone else has their finger on the trigger when they’re not about to shoot; in a movie, in pictures, in real life, in a TikTok video etc. Muzzle discipline (don’t point it at things you want to destroy) is a close second. This is how gun owners work together to reinforce each other’s safety habits until they are second nature. This is the root of much gun culture – for instance, “silencer” is a perfectly valid name for the round make-gun-more-quieter-can, but lots of people get uptight and insist they be called “suppressors” because they don’t actually literally silence a gun, and your hearing can still be damaged if you fire a louder/bigger gun with a “can” on it and omit hearing protection (“earpo.”) Safety is serious business and you can expect other gun owners to coach you in it.

This system is formally enforced at shooting ranges, where someone called the Range Officer walks around for the sole purpose of making sure every rule of gun safety is observed at all times. With so many people in such tight confines, perfect gun safety is required, which is beyond the ability of any mere mortal. The range officer’s job is to be your second brain, helping you observe gun safety. They will often show you tricks to help avoid common mistakes in gun handling – one RO showed me how to stand sideways to my bench, so that when I manipulated my pistol in both hands, I could hold it sideways (as one naturally wants to do, to inspect it,) while still keeping the muzzle downrange. It’s natural to feel embarrassed if an RO corrects your mistake in gun safety, but you shouldn’t be – RO’s see every knuckle-dragging moron on Earth and can easily tell someone who is trying to be safe from a simple moron who doesn’t give a damn. RO’s treasure earnest newbies, because its easy to teach knowledge and habit, but difficult if not impossible to instill responsibility.

A final note on safety involves storage. To be of any damn use, your gun must be loaded and ready in your home, but many people also need to secure it against children, dumb-ass visiting friends or in some neighborhoods, possible burglary. What you need is a quick-access safe, like this one linked here. Note how the keypad has grooves so your fingers can find it in the dark, and only has four buttons. These tools are expressly designed to keep your firearm readily accessible and also safe and secure. Avail yourself of these.

3. You Don’t Know Jack Shit About Guns And That Doesn’t Matter.

Everything you think you know about guns is probably complete fucking bullshit – but if you know how to point YOUR gun’s loud end at the bad guy and pull the trigger, that’ll do.

Many in my own tribe will rip me a new asshole for saying this, but its true nonetheless. A TON of what you think you know about guns is total bullshit propagated by Hollywood, and some of it’s dangerous because it could get you killed – for instance, if you think your new shotgun doesn’t need to be aimed because it’ll light up half the living room from five feet away like in video games.

But you don’t own every gun from movies or games, do you? You only own YOUR gun. That’s the only one you need to worry about learning right now. You’re probably stuck “sheltering in place” and all the shooting ranges are closed, but that means you have plenty of time to watch youtube videos, and damn are there a lot of good, informative youtube videos on firearm topics. Paul Harrell alone has tons of excellent, down to Earth videos on every topic you can imagine, and he often caters to fresh-faced newbies, such as this introduction to shotguns and what they do. Full30.com is “gun youtube” and has nothing but informative gun videos.

Watching these videos you’ll soon realize that what sounds like basic newbie information to you is being delivered in videos aimed at experienced gun owners – because we gun owners often don’t know shit, either. Even among gun owners ourselves, a great many myths and legends persist; the classic example being old-timers who think the springs in magazines will wear out if you keep them loaded too long (they don’t, any more than the suspension springs on your car do from just sitting in the garage.) These rumors persist because while their recommended techniques don’t help, they almost never hurt, either. Gun owners pursue these almost mythical rituals for the exact same reason they have such strong opinions (and sometimes bitter arguments) over trivial differences in firearm performance or utility – even though the differences are very minor, when you are fighting for your own priceless life, even slim advantages are worth having. Even though most gun owners keep a simple shotgun for home defense and spend most of their money on Fun Shooty Guns for the range and/or competitions, the entire community is, ultimately, rooted in traditions and lessons pertaining to actual practical use of firearms for community, family and self-defense.

Thus: when fellow gun-owners, in person or online, give your selection of firearm shit and recommended ten billion other accessories or methods to buy or use, do not be fooled into thinking your gun is useless or seriously sub-par; almost anything that you can put lead downrange with, where you want it, will do the job. At the same time, understand that this community has such strong opinions on often trivial differences because you’re preparing to defend your and your families lives, and with infinitely high stakes, no advantage is too trivial to consider.

Sights and slings and magazines and such are all well and good to have, but if you need to make a choice, remember that having the gun, and the skill and familiarity to use it is already 90% of the equation. Paul Harrell demonstrates this very very well in his video on using double-barreled shotguns for home defense, which he opens with the line “not everyone can afford thousand-dollar guns,” and “you don’t need the latest, greatest thing to get the job done.” Clint of Thunder Ranch – a man who has in fact shot people and been shot at – is also on-record as warning people that you can absolutely be killed by the oldest, silliest damn Oregon-Trail looking goddamn Elmer Fudd popgun if the wielder knows how to run it well. Look no further than the return of lever-action Old West guns for home defense.

4. The Right Of The People To Keep And Bear Arms Shall Not Be Infringed AND YOU ARE PEOPLE

YES, YOU, YOU LEFT-WING BERNIEBRO TRIPLE-COMMUNIST FROM SOVIET MORDOR. AND YOU, TRANS-QUEER-POC-NONBINARY OTHERKIN. YOU ARE PEOPLE.

IF YOU ARE PEOPLE, THIS IS YOUR CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT. IT IS NOT CONTINGENT ON YOUR POLITICS, YOUR RELIGION, YOUR SEX, GENDER, OR PREFERENCE OF GAMING CONSOLE. YOU BOUGHT A GUN, NOT A POLITICAL PARADIGM SHIFT. IT CAME WITH A TRIGGER LOCK, NOT A PACKET OF KOOL-AID.

WE GUN OWNERS HAVE FOUGHT TIRELESSLY FOR GENERATIONS TO DEFEND THE RIGHT OF THE PEOPLE PRECISELY BECAUSE WE KNEW TIMES LIKE THESE WOULD INEVITABLY COME. AND NOW THAT THEY’RE HERE, BEING VINDICATED IS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NO FUN AT ALL, BECAUSE WE’RE ALL IN THIS SHITSTORM TOGETHER.

5. Come Talk To Us – We Don’t Bite

Most gun owners collect guns because we can’t afford to collect cars or old tractors or whatever, and worse, we can’t race them against each other nearly as easily as we can go to an IDPA competition and blap steel pop-up targets. Firearms are exquisite works of engineering, and marksmanship is a science, an Olympic sport, and a true art that was respected as the domain of the experienced and wise even in Antiquity. Most of us were taught gun safety as a case-study in the responsibilities of adulthood, at our parents and grandparents knee, and we find real joy in introducing new people to the joy of firearms ownership and shooting sports.

Gun owners have been subject to non-stop, wall-to-wall abuse for decades due to our views on firearm rights – quite often to our faces, from family members. It makes us scornful and defensive – but it also primes us to welcome fellow supporters of self-defense rights with open arms as long-lost brothers. Hit us up on Twitter or BookFarce or whatever the hell you use. Ask your questions – yes, even the dumb ones. We asked the exact same ones ourselves when we were starting out. We’ll deny it till the sun burns out, but we did, and our guilty memories mock us still.

It often feels like the divides in America are too deep to ever be healed, and even in the midst of this crisis, where there should only be two sides – humanity vs. virus – the bitter recriminations continue. But it’s still the best chance we’ve had to see eye-to-eye with each other, and that new gun of yours, lying in its factory grease still in its factory hardcase, is proof positive of that.

You’re disgusted by this reality, aren’t you? That such ugly measures are necessary? That things have gotten this bad?

Good. So are we. Which is why we need you; you people who wish for a world where guns aren’t needed and people sleep with their doors unlocked at night. People who push forward, finding a way to advance. And this current disaster is why you need us; people who know how bad it can get, how easily the center can fold, who prepare for the worst.

We will need you again in the future. And that is why we are here for you now.

[jiskblr]

“He a little confused, but he got the spirit” and Almost-politically-correct Redneck are wholesome memes. You don’t know what you’re doing in a hilarious way, but you’re honestly trying, so we'll laugh at you but in a fairly kind way.

[tehfabbooty]

Cupid, Part 2

As you walked down the street to Rick's, you looked around. It was still unbelievable a place so civilized existed in such a fucked up world, and even more so that you were here. Sometimes you wondered if you had actually died and this was your version of heaven: being with Daryl and all your family all the time.

You smiled to yourself, happy. Even if Daryl had no idea of your feelings, you still loved being close with him, even as friends. You grew close when you guys were on the Greene farm, and ever since then you've only fallen harder for the redneck. You told each other everything, from birthdays to middle names to people you have lost. Secrets, weaknesses, pasts, favorite colors, foods. Scars.

You cringed a little. When Daryl told you about his scars, you knew immediately to tread lightly on the subject. You never brought them up, you just let him tell you when he was ready. Another reason he fell for you. You never pushed him on things. You were understanding, concerned.

He watched you walk in thought, wondering what you were thinking. He couldn't help but admire the way you seemed to always glow. To him, even when you were covered in mud and blood, you still glowed. You were the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen. He watched as your beautiful long h/c swung back and forth behind you, listened to you hum quietly to yourself. Damn.

Suddenly he felt something pinch his back. He started to turn his head to see what had hit him, but he didn't get that far. His eyes landed on you. He couldn't take them off of you. He never could.

Immediately forgetting whatever just pinched him, he kept his eyes on you, but made sure not to make it obvious as he didn't want to be caught staring.

It didn't matter anyways. You could feel his eyes burning through your soul like fire. A blush made its way up your cheeks, so you made sure to keep your face forward to avoid eye contact.

As you two climbed the steps to Rick's porch, a sound behind you caught your attention. Daryl scowled when he realized who it was.

"Hey Y/N,"Spencer greeted.

"Oh hey, Spencer,"you replied casually.

Daryl leaned towards you so Spencer couldn't hear. "Thought this 'get-together' was for just the group?"he muttered, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

You didn't notice. You turned towards him. "I thought so too, but I guess since it was a close call for all of us, Rick must have invited him over."

Daryl scoffed. He was going to have a talk with him about this later.

Before anyone could knock, the door swung open revealing Michonne with Judith on her hip. She grinned at you, knowing your crush on Daryl. Then her eyes hit Spencer.

For a second, a flash of confusion crossed her brown eyes, but it was gone in a flash as she welcomed you inside.

"Dinner will be ready in a few. Ran a little behind thanks to this monster,"she joked as she bounced Judy.

You smirked. "She keeps you busy though,"you said with a smile at the baby.

"Ohhh yes." You both laughed.

Sitting down on the couch in the living room, you yawned. Tonight would be an early night for you.

Spencer sat down next to you. "Tired much?"he joked.

"Nah, wide awake. Did nothing today to make me tired,"you replied sarcastically.

Daryl rolled his eyes as he sat across from you, glaring daggers at the Monroe boy. That seat should have been his.

Before he could make snide remark to Spencer, Rick came in. "Dinner, y'all."

In the dining room, you sat between Carol and Daryl, with Spencer directly across from you. Rick sat at the head of the table across from Michonne, with the baby next to him in a high chair. Next to him was Carl, then Glenn and Maggie. Abraham next to Maggie, Rosita across from him. Eugene decided not to join the party, you guessed.

Plates were passed around and dinner was served.

"Some mashed potatoes, Y/N?"Spencer asked politely while dumping some on his plate.

"Ooh, yes,"you said excitedly. That was your favorite food.

Daryl smiled at your excitement, but it quickly vanished as Spencer loaded your plate for you. He bit his lip, trying not to start shit.

You didn't notice. You got your plate back and dug in, almost moaning at how delicious it was.

You looked at Carol. "You made this didn't you?"

She laughed. "Correct. Why, is it good?"

You moaned. "Oh yes."

Everyone laughed, except Daryl. He was trying to fix the slight bulge in his pants after hearing you moan. For some reason, all of his senses were extremely alert to everything about you today. Not that he isn't everyday, but today felt different.

After dinner, everyone settled in the living room to hang out for a bit. You decided to help Carol wash dishes first, and as soon as you two were alone, Carol smirked at you.

"What?"you asked, smirking back.

"Don't pretend I don't know what's going on between you and Daryl,"she said with a grin as she scrubbed a plate.

You almost choked, a blush furiously growing on your cheeks.

"I dunno what you mean,"you lied, avoiding eye contact.

"Bullshit. He's been googly-eying you for weeks now. Years maybe. He just hid it better before we got here." She giggled. "And you have too, don't lie."

You swallowed. "Am I that obvious?"

"To us, yes. But Daryl is very oblivious, and so are you it seems."

You rolled your eyes. "He doesn't like me like that."

She raised her eyebrows at you. "And you know that for sure? Honey, I have caught him staring at you more times than I can count. Blushing when I bring it up, watching him get jealous when Spencer's around. He's madly in love with you, even if he won't admit it, even to me,"she said.

You snorted. "He must be good at hiding it from me then, if he is."

"Or you're that blind." Carol grinned.

You chuckled.

After washing up, you guys joined the rest in the living room, watching a few people start a card game.

Suddenly Maggie pulled a black box out from her bag. "Anyone down for Cards Against Humanity?"she called.

"Hell yes! I love this game,"you retorted.

You guys formed a small circle around the coffee table, Spencer to your left and Daryl to your right.

"Gonna join, Carol?"you asked.

"Nah, I'll just watch." She winked at you.

For the next few hours, you lost yourself in the game. Loud laughter, shocked expressions, and hurt stomachs from laughing so hard brought you almost to the edge of exhaustion, but you didn't want to stop. You were having the time of your life.

Daryl couldn't believe, even after all these years of knowing you, how dark your humor could be. He watched your eyes glinting mischievously as you won round after round, his eyes widening after realizing how dirty and dark your mind was.

And it turned him on bad.

"Okay, who had the Ak-47 card?"Glenn demanded, grinning.

You raised your hand slowly, laughing.

"Goddamn, Y/N. You're such a fucking savage,"Glenn said, shaking his head with a smirk as he handed you the question card.

"Damn right I am, Glenny boy." You raised your fist in a victory punch.

A twinge of jealously shot through Daryl. Over Glenn, a married man, no less. But he couldn't help himself, for some reason. You never gave Daryl a nickname.

He chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating. Why was he feeling so jealous today? He was never this bad any other day.

After everyone finished up their games, it was time to go home. You stood up and stretched your arms out, your shirt raising a little, exposing your stomach and your belly button piercing.

Daryl stared. He knew you had that piercing, but he never knew the belly button ring was that of an arrow.

A low growl rumbled in his chest. Sunovabitch, he thought.

It was getting harder and harder to resist you. To slam you against a wall and kiss you.

Dirty thoughts filled his head. His eyes darkened as he watched you lower your arms, a tired smile on your face. He wanted you bad.

[posteminent-blog]

@fullydrcwn it’s the Almost Politically Correct Redneck meme.

[weatherman667]

Rampage

It’s a great movie.  Unfortunately, it was made by people who don’t know how to make great movies.  Despite the fact the entire movie revolves around giant animals, they have to shoehorn in a man-vs-man plot, the most simplistic plot, rather than say, a man-vs-nature, or man-vs-self.  They also suffer from Strong Black Woman syndrome, where they have a black female character who doesn’t do anything other than remind people that she’s a strong black woman.

For fuck’s sake, The Rock is like what?, 6-8 ethnicities.  He has your diversity hiring covered.  Now all you have to do is add interesting characters, which they almost fail to do.

The Rock:  Primatologist

George:  Albino Gorilla

Cowboy:  Southern Other Government Agency Agent.

The rest of the characters are all completely meaningless.  Most of them rightly get ignored, but the sassy black woman forgets she’s supposed to be a geneticist and focuses all of her screen time saying how much of a strong, black woman she is.

The Rock and George have fantastic chemistry, and if they had stripped away most of the rest of the movie it would have been better.  Most of the characters other than the three listed above only serve as sounding boards, which George could have done better.

Yes, the CGI gorilla has more personality than 99% of the human characters.  The only useful thing the Strong Black Woman does for the whole movie is be the one to suggest there might be an antidote.  That’s all she does.  Everything else she does is complete space filler.  The generic evil executives have them at gun point.  Who should take the gun away?, the ex-special forces who has the vast majority of his record redacted, or the sassy black woman who is supposed to be a geneticist.  It’s gotten to the point that if I see her in a movie / tv-show I will normally avoid it like the plague.  And I say her, not them, because they are all the fucking same.

Okay, okay, okay, let’s say you want to fill your diversity quota with a person-other-than-white-geneticist, how about?

or

or

or at least give her some personality other than Strong Black Woman.  If you are writing a story, and one of the characters is a drag on the story, cut them out.  Less is more.  If you still want to keep your diversity quota, have the OGA agent be black.  Yes, there are plenty of black rednecks in the southern US.  Just think about why it’s politically correct to portray the white guy as a southern redneck, and not the black guy.

And while we’re on it, why don’t you have the military guy just try and look for a possible antidote.

Colonel:  I’m not going to send any of my men into a war zone on a wild goose chase.

The Rock:  I volunteer.  My friend’s already in that war zone, and I’ll remind you that the war zone is Chicago.

Not only does he not look for an antidote, he doesn’t even consider turning off that giant, obvious radio antenna.   He jumps straight to (just short of) nuking one of the biggest cities in the US.  He doesn’t even try MOABing them in the cornfields.

Despite all of my complaints, there is enough good in the movie to go and see, though maybe wait for it to come out on Netflix.

[vicdougherty]

I’ve always been compelled by people pushed to their extremes. I’m sure a lot of it has had to do with the fact that my own immediate family history has been pretty dramatic.

I remember pestering my dad to tell me his story. I could tell it was big because he never talked about it. Then finally, when I was in Middle School, he told me how he’d watched his father die by Nazi firing squad in his own backyard. His father had been a political opponent of Hitler’s in their small community near Vilna and that didn’t go over very well. My dad’s mother died in a mass grave somewhere – either in a Communist or Nazi concentration camp – he wasn’t even sure which.

He spoke those words with an even tone – restrained. Without a single tear, or heavy sigh. It was what made his story so powerful to me. He told it cold. At night, I would put pictures to his story in my mind, creating a sort of slide show that would replay over and over again as I drifted off to sleep.

On my mom’s side, she and her parents fared better, but not by much. A world war and a Soviet takeover obliterated the life they knew and thrust them into a new existence of danger and intrigue – at least until they escaped to America.

I was well familiar with those stories – no prying needed there. They made their way into our dinner conversation somehow in some way almost every night – usually prompted by a report in the news. As a small child, I turned one of their stories into a heroic mind movie, replacing the characters – my family and others – with talking squirrels. My older brother had nightmares for years, stemming from being caught trying to escape Czechoslovakia with my mother. He’d jump up from bed, hands in the air, crying “Don’t shoot.” Consequently, one of my squirrels had the same affliction.

It’s been odd at times to think that I’m the only one in my birth family who hasn’t had a gun pointed in her face. I’ve certainly spent way too much time imagining what it would be like. I’ve wondered about my reaction both during and after. Speculated as to whether I could act under pressure and do the right, moral thing when push came to shove. I always hoped I would be the good squirrel.

I think it’s that hope, that speculation about circumstance and motive that has inspired me to write about this kind of stuff pretty doggedly – whether I’ve been immersed in the very adult world of spies or have been swimming through the rough seas of an emotional Young Adult novel. It’s the role I’ve taken on since I was a kid: people tell me their experiences and I process them, turn them up, down and around, try to make some sense of it all and eke out meaning.

It’s a beautiful process – like helping a troubled child navigate the loss of his innocence.

But lately, that child has been vexing me and I’ve found myself stuck.

For the first time in my life, I’ve been experiencing a form of writers block. It’s not that I can’t write. I have been writing and editing every day. I’ve just been feeling a bit creatively adrift.

“You need to recharge your batteries,” my husband said. “When is the last time you took a break to exclusively feed your imagination?”

Hmmm. The truth is, I can’t remember when. Doing something for pleasure that mightspark my imagination – while I’ve completely agreed with the idea in concept – always seemed frivolous to me. Like I was wasting time.

And I have been in a constant war with time.

But reluctantly, I made the decision to take my husband’s advice.

I could’ve gone on long walks, to the movies, or put a dent in a “to read” pile that has grown as tall as an NBA basketball player, but none of those things were doing it for me. Just thinking about them was burdensome.

I needed something bonzai.

Then I remembered that a character in one of the YA novels I’ve been writing is a huge horror fan. A Walking Dead fan to be specific, and my editor, Kate, shares her obsession with that particular show.

I know as a writer I was not supposed to do this, but I actually wrote in my character’s Walking Dead fixation before I ever saw a single episode. I meant to watch it, and had every intention of becoming fully fluent in all things zombie before finishing my draft, but once again time got in my way.

“[The Walking Dead] has all of your themes,” Kate told me. “Faith, loss, redemption, destiny. Consider it research.”

Someone once told me that a writer always goes home to stir the creative gumbo. Home can be a place – literally. A visit to an old stomping ground, stalking the ruins of a childhood haunt. It can be a bottle of Jim Beam, even if you’ve long switched to Oban or given up the juice altogether. Or a call to an old mentor – the kind of glorious bastard who never lets you get away with any of your usual crap.

For me, I’ve come to realize, home is the end of the world.

Whether it’s Doctor Zhivago, Schindler’s List or a wild west style Armageddon filled with gun-toting rednecks, Dudley Do Rights (or at least Dudley Do Not-As-Wrongs), and of course, drooling, oozing, quasi-dead creatures with a rabid hunger for human meat.

I have always felt a sense of familiarity with the moral dilemmas that true-blue s**t storms can bring to the surface. In that world, gut-feelings trump intellect, muddled, over-evolved dictums on social order and political correctness become obsolete. Yet bonds strengthen. Love becomes cherished again. Evil, no longer shameful to identify. We lose our comforts, but reconnect with our primal instincts to fight, lead, follow, hate, worship.

We stop being so damned precious.

“Nowadays you breath and you risk your life. You don’t have a choice. The only thing you choose is what you’re risking it for.” – Hershel, The Walking Dead

In the rigmarole of chauffeuring my kids to their myriad enrichment activities, picking out paint colors for our bedrooms, trying to make it to the gym, and deciding on meals everyone in my family is willing to eat, my connection to the handful of things – people, principals, beliefs – that have the ability to bring me to my knees had become a bit fuzzy.

I’d immersed myself in all the stuff on the mid-list, as the past year had been filled with the kinds of important life events that can’t exactly be called horror movie awful, but involve careful navigation. Aging parents, a child’s growing pains, a rocky patch in a lifelong friendship. The truth is, I wanted to lose sight of the bigger things, take a break from Reality with a capital R.

In its own, funny way, The Walking Dead – this long, winding narrative about the possible extinction of the human race by means of a zombie apocalypse – has actually come to serve more as a reminder of reality for me than an escape from one.

Thanks to Rick and Darryl and the whole gang, I was able to put my nose back to the grindstone. Instead of another day of back to back zombie episodes (I’ve finally made it to Season 5), I sat down to some edits.

That went pretty well.

Next, I took a look at my epic YA love story – the one that’s really been giving me trouble. It was same-old at first, and I wanted to bang my forehead into my keyboard. But I read on and actually added a sentence or two – good words, the kind that sparkle. Nothing revolutionary there, but a start.

Then I sat down to write this post.

[hafalafel]

מם זה הוכן כשירות לציבור על ידי גבר אשכנזי.

[tessatechaitea]

Darkstars #8

Worst homecoming theme ever.

This is the last issue of Darkstars I own. I'm a little bit sad that I own this one because this cover is poo on fire. I suspect that Past Me, much like current me, never looked at the covers of the comics as he bought them. He just saw the title and grabbed the magazine, adding it to the pile to take to the register. Usually when the cashier is ringing up my comics is the first time I'll really look at the covers and I'm not the type of person to grab the cashier's hand as they pick up a comic book to ring it up and yell, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not so fast! This comic book looks like runny diarrhea! I'm putting it back." No, I'm more the kind of person who notices how awful the comic book looks and simply lets out a nearly inaudible, haunting moan from the deepest part of that part of me my old friend Soy Rakelson would probably call a soul. I just call it the part of my brain that's going to get the skewer first when I finally decide none of this Goddamned pain is worth it anymore. Look at this fucking terrible cover. This 90s art is the kind of art that was (and often still is) hailed as dynamic by critics and fans who never seem to know the difference between "dynamic" and "posed." This doesn't look like a shot of these idiots having just finished a battle with a mechanical bull. It just looks like they stood in line with their prom photo tickets until they were waved over and told to look at the camera and smile before being hustled off the stage for the next couple's chance at a shitty memory. It's been a few days since I wrote a comic book review because I've been busy with my other project. I set up an Artificial Intelligence program to come up with new names for Xanth novels. These are some of my favorites: Centaurs Can't Masturbate The Boner Tree Titillating Minors Makes Money The Word Bosom Fifty Thousand Times in a Row No Matter How Many Naked Women are Described, Never Mention Their Genitals Whoops! That Scene Was Too Sexy In This One, A Dragon Fucks a Duck The Human Nickelpede Seriously Though. They Can't Fucking Masturbate! Seventy Unfunny Puns and Sixteen More That Don't Make Any Sense This Book is the Merriam-Webster Definition of Chauvinism Convicting Somebody of Rape is Embarrassing for Both Parties So Maybe Just Forget About It? Whoops! I Gave a Ten Year Old Female Centaur Huge Boobs. Can We Fix This in Post? If You've Read Piers Anthony's Other Books and Enjoyed Them, Maybe You'll Like This Book That He Put Way Less Effort Into Magic Doesn't Recognize Same-Sex Relationships But a Human Can Fuck a Goat and Produce a Mutant Offspring

Oh no! Are they planning on destabilizing a region so they can send in the military and take control of its oil?

Eight issues in and I haven't discussed the Darkstars uniform. Ignore the one on the cover; the artist completely fucked that one up. Just check out the one on the panel scanned above. What's with the piano keys theme? Will we eventually learn that they're powers are tied to music in the same way the Green Lantern power is tied to emotion? Did Grant Morrison ever use the Darkstars in his Multiversity lore as the movers and shakers of the harmony of the spheres which allowed for the different universes vibrating on different musical frequencies? But most importantly: can you play Chopsticks on a Darkstars' chest? Another great (?) aspect of the Darkstars uniform is the huge arrow pointing at the crotch. Whenever I wear super tight material that hugs my junk and exposes my intimacy, I love to call attention to it. "Hey hey hey! Ladies and Gents! Have you ever wondered exactly what my cock and balls look like? Check it out! Also this isn't vulgar because you're looking at cloth and not my skin even if the cloth hugs every wrinkle and vein. So please stop trying to have me arrested." It turns out "The American Way" isn't destabilization of countries who have resources that Americans want but don't want to pay for; "The American Way" is advertising jobs for needed positions. Man, that's so boring. And yet, it's the most interesting part of this comic book series so far!

In 1993, what does "some familiarity with computers" mean? That you've used Koala Pad and wasted tons of meat by killing bears on The Oregon Trail?

I know, I know! By 1993, people no longer even remembered Koala Pad and The Oregon Trail. It's just I don't really remember what was big in 1993. AOL Chat and Myst, maybe? You might also be wondering why Carla is dressed like a lunatic. Turns out, she's taking the Darkstars to a Country Western Bar. Yee haw! I'm pretty sure the first bar I ever went to was a Country Western Bar, The Saddle Rack, in San Jose, California. It was my 21st birthday and we were there because my friend Bob and I had made a pact when we were ten that when we turned 21, we were going to ride a mechanical bull. Bob turned twenty-one 23 days before me and he also remembered that stupid pact for eleven years. I also opened some presents that night and the woman I was dating gave me a Lobo t-shirt.

Geez, we get it, Darkstar. Your entire race was murdered. Don't make us feel guilty about having fun just because your people "used to have fun too."

What a dumb question, Carla! Obviously he knows what music is. He's got a fucking piano painted on his chest. While Darkstar hits the bar, Homeless Mo hires an office manager and K'lassh destroy's Darkstar's ship in orbit. Also, I should probably stop calling Mo Douglas "Homeless Mo." He lives at the office now!

Ugh! What's with all this political correctness and virtue signalling?! Why can't this old comic book be more like, um, older comic books and just stick to bank robberies and punching bad guys? I mean super villain bad guys bent on taking over the world and not white supremacist bad guys intent on taking over America! I mean, well, you know what I mean! Just have the good guy punch the obviously bad guy who doesn't need to espouse terrible social beliefs that I might also espouse! We know he's bad! Just make him generally bad or you're going to alienate your readership! I know racism is bad! But shoving it down my throat like this just makes me think, "Maybe it's not so bad?"

That previous caption was satirical and not actually my personal feelings. See, the thing about writing is that you can write whatever you can imagine and it doesn't make the thing you've written some secret insight into the truth of the writer. It's just shit that was typed in half a second without any thought at all behind it. Except, I mean, there was a lot of thought behind it. And a lot of that thought was less about Comics Gaters types currently spouting a lot of that kind of garbage and more about comic book fans writing letters to old comics that were saying the same kinds of things twenty and thirty years before it got a stupid "Let's append -gate to another word!" name. Also, it did not take half a second. Mostly because my brain is broken and it took me forever to pull the word "alienate" out of it even though it was the word I wanted to use and I knew the definition and could almost hear the word in my head but my brain was all, "Fuck you. Why should I give you this word you're seeking? You know how many hits of LSD you rammed through me, you careless asshole? Get fucked!" Darkstar takes an interest in the mechanical bull and is all, "Aw, that doesn't look so tough! Not like this space mechanical bull from this place in space I know!" Some drunk and tough cowjerk hears Darkstar's comments and simply assumes, like I assume he always assumes, that Darkstar is emasculating him with his words.

Beau is the Lobo of the Country Western Bar.

Darkstar decides the best way to calm the situation is to ride the mechanical bull. Beau watches him and yells, "He's the best I've ever seen!" It begins to look like Darkstar's plan is going to work until some other rube tells Beau, "That guy ain't human!" Beau goes full redneck and is all, "Yeah! He ain't! That means I have a duty to try and get him killed!" He then throws the switch on the mechanical bull to "Do Not Attempt This! Dangerous! Why Did We Even Add This Setting?!" Carla cold cocks Beau to help save Darkstar even though he doesn't need help. Wasn't she listening when he told his story about the space mechanical bull in space and how it was way harder than the Earth version? Darkstar breaks the mechanical bull with his crotch and will now have to pay for the damages. It's a good thing he's saved all that gold by firing Flint last issue. I don't know if it ever happened because this was the last issue of Darkstars I ever read but I hope Beau came back as a villain and called himself Low Beau.

Dammit. Now I want cake.

Carla writes a check to pay for the damages to the bar just as K'lassh arrives. Carla decides to keep her checkbook out. Darkstars #8 Rating: B+. I don't know if this issue was better than the rest because I knew it was the last issue I was going to read or because it objectively was better. At least I didn't have to suffer through Travis Charest's 90s art. This issue was done by guest penciller Patrick Zircher! Basically that meant it looked like 80s comics which I never mean to defend when I say 90s comics art was terrible. There was a lot of 80s comic art that was fucking awful as well! But it was standard awful! 90s art was unbearable because it was objectively terrible in so many ways (anatomy, asymmetry, overuse of specific tropes) but people proclaimed it the greatest art they had ever seen. I wouldn't have minded so much if everybody was all, "Well, this isn't great but it's different. Let's see what happens with it for awhile!" Anyway, in my world, Darkstar was murdered by K'lassh and there was never another issue.

[kayla-diane-blog]

Can someone DM me and help me deal with my racist family

Here’s how our convo went...

ME:

I wish u guys (and Kirsten and Kaiti) didn’t say the n word. It’s racist hate speech

Brother 1: N*gga what

Me: Why do you refuse to use any other word? Are you that uncreative or just an asshole?

Brother 1: The word nigga has no meaning. You're sheltered life hasn't granted you sight into the real word to see that it's use only offends liberals who have nothing better to do than stir the pot of racial tension. Nigga has as much value as fag. These words only have as much value you give them. Stop trying to save the world by being politically correct. Your acts of false social justice are waisted.

Me: It’s not just a word tho. You know that whole 600 year time period when White Europeans were buying and selling Black Africans as chattel? And remember how that whole system was enforced by a violent system of repression whereby Black slaves who did not act the way the White folks wanted them to were beaten and murdered? Oh, and remember that time after slavery when Black people were locked in a system called Jim Crow that used a similar fear of violence and repression to keep Black people in “their place?” Well, in the midst of all that shit, there was a word invented by White people as a pejorative for Black folks. And it was used just about every time a Black person was whipped, chained, beaten, insulted, spat upon, raped, lynched, or otherwise humiliated and mistreated by White folks.

Brother 2: Correct... However the word has lost meaning I'm its potency. Respectable members of the black community such as al sharpton and Jesse Jackson damned black entertainers such as comedians and musicians to not use that word so frequently. "Nigga" has been over used in the media its literally a joke. Its no different than redneck or cracker. Redneck if you didnt know was a derogatory term for Irish slaves/workers in Europe and the US because of their fair skin and how easily it would burn in the hot sun just like African counterparts. "Cracker" was a term for fieldhands who "cracked" the whip on slaves (white, black, native) here's the thing. Slavery has always been a thing. All people in written history can trace their roots to slavery even British, Saxon, Greek, Italian, natives, Indians. Language evolves. Thats etiology. The n word was created to be a derogatory term but in almost all context in modern dialogue its used as filler or a non offensive use. Thats exactly what older generations of black people wanted to prevent. But instead younger generations took it upon themselves to make it "their word" and in doing so made it taboo to use unless you were of African descent. However over use of it has turned this once harsh term into basic filler. Obviously their are some who use the full n-i-g-g-e-r and mean it to cause offense but trying to convince people who aren't racist. Who use the word In its modern offense less term is absolutely ludacris. There are actual issues to tackle. You're scolding a goldfish for not fetching the paper instead of the dog who tore up the rug. No let's quit arguing. We could all use this energy to actually benefit the greater good instead of micromanaging and bring false justice to our inner circles.

Me: No matter how many times it has been said it does not erase the history behind it not to mention you can’t tell black people how to feel about it or what’s racist to them or not. I don’t want to fight with y’all, but that’s just how it is. Especially when white people say other white people think it’s OK to say it and use it to oppressed and degrade black people, like the KKK, They love that word

Brother 2: Yeah except it literally does Kayla. You have a false sense of right and wrong based soley on what other sheltered children of the internet deem right or wrong. You have no idea how things work in the real world and you never will if you retreat to your safe space every time you're offended, either personally or for some other people or group. If you approach things with a one track mind and can't think how the other side thinks you'll never achieve anything I'm an argument. I tried to mediate between you and David by pointing out both sides but your sjw mentality retards your ability to have a real discussion.

[android-13-blog]

🔮 "What is true strength?"

Send 🔮 to debate Philosophy with my muse! || OPEN

Ellis bites his tongue initially, brows furrowing in thought as he really thinks about the question. “Well Marcia,” He grumbles through his teeth, mostly because he, himself, is unsure what exactly it is. No one was ever really correct when it came to questions like these, sure they provoked thoughtful discussion but in the end, it’s a subjective question. “My answer ain’t what’s right, it’s a…well, there’s no right answer to this.”

He supposes, the real question was what HE considered to be true strength. That was something he’s often thought about on his own time when reflecting on his intense teen years. Ellis sighs, hand rested on his forehead. “Everyone’s got their own guess- whether it’s physical or emotional strength, hell, sometimes both. Who am I to tell them they’re wrong?”

His own opinions on the matter were…complicated, to say the least. He had one opinion as a child, it grew into another as he grew and now he has something different entirely. He was just terrified to bring up context.

“When I was a young man, sixteen, beaten like a dog by my old man and barely livin’ on the streets ‘cus I was too stubborn to take up Keith’s offer to stay with him, I always thought that to be strong ya had to have muscles. I was scrawny, livin’ off drugs, scraps and alcohol. I thought if I could get stronger I could get back at my old man for bein’ the bigot he was and messin’ me up.” His eyes are distant, looking someplace far beyond the gaze of Marcia’s eyes. “But I realized, when Keith finally took me in, helped me rehabilitate, took me to get help- strength is realizin’ it’s okay to ask for help, to admit yer weak.”

His fingers are twiddling with one another, almost trembling nervously as he looks down. “I learned a lot through the years, changed a lot and my idea of strength changed too. Ya gotta be a better person, realize people ain’t gonna agree with ya or look to kindly to who ya like or what ya look like. It takes strength to be the better person and leave them behind, it takes strength to acknowledge everyone’s not gonna like ya. But,” He sighs. “True strength is not succumbin’ to that cycle of hatred and violence, to acknowledge that yer roots and people like family can be entirely wrong and disposable. It’s strength to change from that, its strength to BETTER yerself and move on from someone ya used to be.”

“To change yerself for the better, to cut off ties people who were close for the better is strength because it fuckin’ hurts sometimes losin’ someone ya thought was a great person.”

Ellis is quiet. Too many thoughts running in his mind a minute. He probably just spewed too much political bullshit and he shakes his head, soon rubbing his forehead to ease his headache. “I guess my point is is that strength is what the person makes of it.” He laughs, snorting and shaking his head.

“But what the hell do I know? M'an alcoholic redneck with a degree in engineerin’.”