#but no ones specifically Expecting you to be a Bible thumper

[rottenlittlefink]

Sinville is New Orleans (specifically Bourbon Street), innit, Squidward? I s2g going there always felt like when u go to your cool neighbor’s house and u have no idea why the vibe hits different (it’s cus they’re gonna be cool about your weekend plans instead of guilting you into go to Sunday school, KAYLEIGH)

[galacticnova3]

Ok updating the pinned post because the old version… is old. Oop. Won’t repeat the stuff in my bio so I guess I’ll just… get into this.

•If you’re a terf, exclusionist, LGBTA+ phobic, think queer is a slur/not a valid identity, are racist/sexist, support p*dos/MAPs/proshippers/anti-antis, or are fatphobic, don’t interact. Also, block me. I hate you I am throwing so many rocks at your face and putting tacks in all of your shoes and changing all of your profile pictures everywhere to a picture of a clown because you’re a fucking joke

•I’m an adult, so if you’d prefer not to interact that’s no problem. Similarly if you don’t want me to interact with you, just let me know and I’ll respect that! In either case I would prefer it be mutual, as I don’t like the idea of only having one-sided interaction.

•Feel free to ask me questions whenever! Especially about headcanons or my own characters! Seriously, I love excuses to ramble about them and have trouble sharing otherwise. You can also ask about me and my opinions too, obviously, but I figure that’s not as likely. Please interact I still need enrichment

•Keep in mind that if an ask is super inappropriate(like actual nsfw) or gross, I probably won’t answer it. That being said I would really prefer not to get graphically sexual or otherwise unpleasant asks. There are better places to share that stuff and better people to share it with.

•If you need something tagged, let me know! However, I will not tag things as “q word” “q slur” or similar, because I see queer as an identity and not a slur, and will treat it as such. If you need it tagged for trigger reasons, I’d prefer a catch-all tag be suggested so that queer folks will not get the wrong idea or feel alienated. If you plan to argue with me about it, save us both some time and block me.

•I have multiple roleplay/ask blogs and they are all dead or dangling by a thread, said thread being an anon or two every few weeks. I’d love to revive them someday so if you are curious about them hit me up. I promise they are cool. One even has a canon url of the muse’s name, that’s worth something right? Pleas

•I support the (correct) use of tone tags! Though I don’t often use them on here beyond a small number in tags, I do on Discord, and I also know most of them.

•I have a Discord, by the way, but I’ll really only chat with folks I know.

•Free Palestine. Support for the current actions of Isreal is support for genocide. It will not be tolerated.

More specific/belief-based stuff under the cut. Not really necessary to read for average folks, but may be important to some. Kinda serious subjects.

•I am a Christian, but unlike some who call themselves that I’ve actually read the book. Tldr everyone is deserving of basic respect regardless of who they are, people aren’t inherently good or inherently evil, fuck capitalism, and choose peace until it isn’t an option. Also something something Jesus was a socialist feminist based on his actions and the conservatives who try to tell you otherwise have no idea what they’re actually talking about. Seriously I could go on about that for ages; don’t lump all Christians together with them, it’s not the fault of us decent folks that loud assholes call themselves the same thing despite being entirely different. That being said, while it rarely comes up, let me know if you want religious stuff like that tagged. At most I usually just reblog posts disproving the arguments of Bible thumpers and supporting the folks they try to use religion to justify their baseless hatred of.

•Related to the above, I don’t like when folks say Christians when they mean racists, homophobes, transphobes, etc. They’re not synonyms and that also lets members of those groups who aren’t Christian act like it doesn’t apply to them.

•I respect differing opinions on religion and am not the sort who forces it on others, but I expect my views to be respected in return. Basically I won’t be a dick to you if you don’t like religion, but don’t be a dick to me for being religious or a Christian.

•Kinning is cool, I do it, not going to elaborate beyond confirming this isn’t a joke.

•I do have several triggers and squicks, but don’t want to put them in the open for my own safety. If you really want to know, you can ask me in direct messages or in a non-anonymous ask.

•I do not want to be involved in discourse, please do not try to drag me into it. This can be anything from fandom stuff to issues between friend circles that don’t involve me to politics. I am here for a good time, I have already had my share of discourse that led to me getting death threats and anon hate over a fictional space clown, I don’t need any more.

Since that stuff was kinda heavy, if you read this far, here are some pictures of my cat Trail Mix

I would kill for her

[kaweeella]

Bonding Time, Kids

Chapter 2- You Say It So Normally, But What You’re Saying Is So Absurd

Warnings- Swearing, let me know if I should add anything else.

Words- 1368

Author note- :D

“Wait, do you have my quirk?!”

“It would appear that the fog did more to our quirks than we first thought.” Momo stands up with a sigh.

“I presume this was her objective since square one. I ponder, however, what she wishes to gain from this.” Reiko says so quietly it’s nearly a whisper.

“Aaah!” Kosei screams. Looking at him, everyone sees a large, dark, bird-like entity coming out of his midsection. It does not look happy.

“Dark Shadow!” Fumikage runs towards the two and gains their attention.

“How do you control it?!”

“I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“The sun is still out, so this is as controlled as he gets.”

Dark Shadow gets really close to Kosei, uncomfortably so.

“What is it…” Dark Shadow bumps into his face. “Why?”

“He needs enrichment.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll just pretend this is normal.”

While that goes on; Mashirao sits up, rubbing his head. But he feels something on his temples, and feels uncomfortable sitting.

“Oh hey, Ojiro. Good to see you’ve come-to.” Denki sat by him the entire time, not really doing much, but there isn’t really much he can do.

“What happened? Where’d the villain go?”

“Well, we don’t know where she went, but we do have a pretty good idea of what she did.”

“Which was…” Mashirao prompts Denki to finish the statement.

“She scrambled up our quirks.”

“Does that have anything to do with whatever it is on my forehead?”

“Yeah, probably. It’s weird to see you without a tail.”

“Oh.” So that’s why he’s so uncomfortable. “You seem pretty calm about this.”

“I was so confused and startled that I looped back around into a zen state.”

“You know, I think I’m going through that, too.”

“Nice.”

“Who’s quirk do you have?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t?”

“Haven’t really checked.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I’m nervous.”

“Oh.”

“It’s probably silly of me. It’s dumb, a lot worse could’ve happened. I can only imagine what it felt like for you.”

“I guess, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be nervous.”

“Huh.”

Something grabs Denki’s attention. He gets up and walks over to Hitoshi, with Mashirao following behind.

“I found your tail.” He says, pointing at the boy who’s still laying on the ground.

“Fuck, what happened?” Hitoshi props himself up on his elbows. Denki sits down and starts petting the tuft of hair at the end of his newly acquired tail. “The hell?”

“You should try this, it’s calming.” Denki says, not to either of them in particular. 

Mashirao sits next to him and looks Hitoshi in the eyes. After a second, Hitoshi gives a small nod, and he pets the tuft too.

“It’s soft.”

“Are you aware of the… horns?”

“I had some idea of them, yeah.”

After a few seconds, Hitoshi lays back down.

Meanwhile, Izuku mutters, as he is one to do. Looking up, he sees a bunch of mushrooms have sprouted around him.

Kinoko slowly walks up to him, inspecting the fungi around him.

“I guess that means I got your quirk, Komori.”

“Hmm.” Is all she says in response.

“It doesn’t seem like the swaps were one to one.”

“Yeah, looks like it.” She pokes at a cluster of thin, tall, and white mushrooms. “These are flammulina velutipes, also known as enoki mushrooms. These ones are specifically cultivated ones, that’re grown specifically for eating. They’re also referred to as the golden needle mushroom in Chinese.”

“Why are they called that?”

“Probably because the wild ones are more orange-yellow in color.”

“That’s cool!”

“Yeah.”

Yosetsu lays on the ground where he was thrown by his teacher. He’d been laying there for a while now, on his back and limbs splayed.

Itsuka reaches her hand down to help him up. “You doing alright, Awase?”

“I feel like my insides are trying to become my outsides.” He says as he takes her hand and stands up, with a bit of a slouch. Yosetsu mumbles curses under his breath.

“Hey I think I figured it out!” Denki yells and large amounts of ice jets out of his side, freezing up Yosetsu.

“Fuck. What th-the fu-fu…” He can hardly finish his sentence.

“Whoops, my bad.”

“Awase, are you alright?”

“No… I…” He passes out.

“Oh god I killed him!”

“No, he’s still breathing. Why’d that happen, though?”

Tsuyu walks over to him and pokes his face. “I think I know. Could you give me a hand here?” The three of them pull him out of the ice.

“Now what?” Denki adjusts his grip.

“If I’m right, he just needs to be warmed up and then he’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Itsuka isn’t sure how to go about it. On a normal day, she could just cup him in her hands, how people warm up hibernating hamsters. Actually, on a normal day, she wouldn't need to be warming him up at all, but this is not a normal day, no matter how hard she wants it to be.

Tsuyu looks around, and spots Shihai sitting on the ground. It’s obvious who’s quirk he has, with the six arms. “Hey, could you help with this?”

“What problem do you have that could possibly require my assistance?”

“Awase needs body heat.”

“And you think my cold dark soul will provide?”

“No, just hold him in your arms.” The three of them sit down with the strange brooding boy and try to warm up Yosetsu.

“If I’m correct, he has my quirk, so he just needs to be warmed up.”

“Wait, I have Todoroki’s quirk, so I could use his fire to warm him up!”

“No, you don’t have full control over it. Or any, it seems.” Tsuyu taps her finger to her chin.

“Oh…”

“It’s not surprising, this is new for all of us. We can’t expect to figure it out immediately.”

“Yeah… hey, who’s quirks do you guys have?”

“Uhm, I’m not quite sure. It seems pretty hard to test, since we don’t know what we’re testing for.”

“It seems we’ve become chickens with our heads cut off, running around blindly to die soon after.” Shihai says.

“Actually, chickens can survive over a year without their heads. About a year and a half, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“How do you know that, Kaminari?”

“I was looking up random facts as a way to procrastinate on my work.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a small “Kero...”

“I was right.”

Yosetsu starts squirming and slowly gets up, still looking kind of tired.

“What happened?”

“Your body temperature dropped and you went into hibernation.”

“... what?”

“You have my quirk, and my quirk is frog.”

“So what can you do with your quirk?”

“Well, you can shoot your tongue 20 meters, create three different types of mucous, climb walls, and spit out your stomach and clean it. Among other things.”

“What the hell…”

“I get that reaction a lot when I get to that point.”

“It is pretty unusual.” Itsuka says.

Ibara runs her fingers through her hair, which was once thick and thorny vines. Now it’s just… normal hair. It’s such a foreign feeling to her.

“Oh lord, what is it that I have done for you to forsake me so?” Her eyes are concentrated on the engines that have taken root in her calves.

“Oi Bible Thumper, you’re not the only one going through this shit.” Katsuki is growing increasingly tense. He’s always a little tense, but with the stress of everything that just happened and everyone freaking out, he’s getting really tense.

“What has brought you opinion of me so low that you see me as on the same level as this repulsive sinner?” She continues to prey.

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Hey guys, check this out!” Mina cuts in, grabbing Ibara by the arm and lifting her gently. When she lets go, Ibara hovers in the air. “Tada!”

“So you got Round Face’s quirk.”

“Yep yep!”

“Would you put me down please.”

“Oh, right.” She presses her fingers together. “Release!”

She lands back on the ground. “Thank you for the demonstration, but I’d appreciate it if you’d never do that again.”

Mina gives her a big goofy grin in response.

[satanourunholylord]

Any advice for a young college satanist wanting to get into the satanism community (please tag my side blog @atheistic-satiniam when you answer)

Welcome. It’s always nice to see new faces, @atheistic-sataniam.

Ok, my first bit of advice is to know your shit. Learn to love researching. I write it all down in a notebook for future reference and I’ve found that it’s helped a lot so far. A basic understanding of what you’re standing for is kinda baseline but so important, especially when you meet bible thumping Christians (and If your campus is anything like mine, they’re on every corner popping up like wack-a-moles). My go to response to “would you like to join us for bible study in the spiritual centre this afternoon?” is to whip out my Satanic Bible and say “Would you?”. Best to be prepared. Don’t know how “bible thumper-y your college is though.

I can recommend these three resources for a basic rundown.

- The Satanic Bible by Anton LaVey The Satanic Bible is not seen the same way as Christians see their bible. It’s not really a sacred text or anything. A lot of atheistic Satanists actually completely dismiss LaVey and his work so it’s really up to the individual on what they think about it. This book is specifically good for learning about LaVeyan Satanism. Laveyan Satanism is slightly different to atheistic satanism as the 11 Satanic Rules of the Earth state that followers must “acknowledge the power of magick”. There’s still a lot in here that a lot of atheistic satanists vibe with though. He shares many good points that line up with atheistic satanist ideology because he was actually an atheist that just believed in the power of magick. I can go into this more if you want.

- Visit The Satanic Temple Library The Satanic Temple shares many invaluable resources for learning about atheistic satanism.

- The Invention of Satanism by Asbjorn Dyrendal  This book has been recommended to me multiple times but i’ve only ever had time to skim through it in between study.

Another bit of advice specific to college satanism, build up a relationship with housemates before talking satanism or displaying any kind of satanic memorabilia/jewelry/artwork/clothing. You don’t have to worry so much about lecturers and classmates on campus so much because, lets be honest, we expect weird shit on campus anyway. Anything floats on a college campus. However, I don’t know what kind of housing setup you’ve got. I had a run in with a devout Christian housemate and her sister back in first year who reported me to campus security for “being a member of a satanic cult”. It eventually got dismissed because it obviously wasn’t true but FAR OUT it was an ordeal. Just be careful. Some people out there are misinformed and can take things way out of control.

If your college campus does rallies, atheistic satanists are very activism driven. Getting involved with charity groups, volunteer groups, protests/rallies for social justice etc. is a good way to uphold the second Satanic Tenet. Here’s a link for guidelines for an effective protest. This is obviously just an idea. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea.

You can also join a local TST Chapter depending on where you are in the world. Heres a link for the official Chapters, however sometimes there are unofficial TST chapters who have Facebook groups and still do cool meetups and activities and stuff. My local one does “Blood for Satan” blood donations, knitting for the homeless, pub nights, volunteering in soup kitchens and homeless shelters etc. I’d recommend finding out if you have a local satanism group in your area. Just Facebook search “Satanic Bikini Bottom” or wherever you live.

Don’t feel obligated to educate the haters. If someone on Tumblr (or in real life) is harassing you for being a satanist, remember where the block button is and get them out of your life ASAP. You’re more important than the haters. There’s no point letting bible thumpers and keyboard warriors ruin your day over their inability to accept others beliefs.

Don’t be afraid to ask questions and make Friends. We’re here to help with both specific and general questions you may have. If one person can’t help you, chances are they’ll know someone who can.

These are just a few things that I can think of. Hope I was able to help atleast a little bit. Good luck on your journey and don’t be afraid to message again if you ever want to ask more questions or have a chat.

[blackwoolncrown]

But isn’t it lonely? To disconnect in that sense (or I’m probably misunderstanding your words) but don’t we as humans want to be part of a group? Then again, you’re right. I’m not even out as bi yet I cling to it so strongly that it can feel crippling sometimes, because it’s the only identity of mine that I gave acceptance to on my own terms compared to my really conservative culture and religion in which I was raised and forced to practice by other people. Idk what my end goal is anymore tbh

“Last anon and honestly I most likely just didn’t fully understand your post but now I’m sitting here just questioning my existence lol it’s tiring to live for others constantly. I wish I can disconnect from everyone but that will never be an option for me and I’m trying to find the positive in that instead of feeling so depressed this late at night“

Okay just on a skim you’re totally missing my point. I never said this was about apathy.

We’re all already part of a group. That’s the point. The group is humanity. The group is ‘all beings on earth’. 

Every other ‘group’ is illusory or at the least inherently fractured. You wanna join a group based on the media you like? Fine but then you’ll also find issues of race, or religion, or politics because the group wasn’t based on being like-minded in those aspects. Wanna join a group based on  your sexuality or shared experience? Ha. Which shared experience? Because not all people in one part of the Venn Diagram are going to line up exactly where you do, and it is in those gaps and mismatches arguments occur.

The human tendency to form groups starts with tribalism, but from there on out struggles to maintain group identity. If I wanted to ally with all Black people based on Blackness, I run into bible thumpers, transphobes, classist white ppl wannabes. Because we are all multifaceted beings, every attempt to connect to humans via one specific facet will inevitably lead to disharmony. It might work with isolated or limited population sizes but in the world we are now living in, we see how antiquated the notion is. That’s what’s tiring.

We cannot expect to find any real meaning in these subjective, surface parts of our humanity when our being is quite bigger and deeper than any of them. We were born human, made of the universe. Everything we learned after that was subjective cultural data. Everything you learned about race, religion, sexuality. It can be validating and emboldening to find acceptance, and I’m not holding that against anyone, but it’s like a training wheel, and eventually you realize that clinging to the acceptance the group once gave you at some point hinders your growth.

Furthermore the thing is, back when this instinct to group had more to do with tribes and territory, that was a tangible and easily identifiable thing. But now we’re grouping (and fighting) over ideas. There’s no actual way to enforce these things! I could have told you once my people’s land was from here to the river in the East. We, sharing the reality of that, can at least both see exactly what I’m talking about- even if we disagree and you want to share or even fight over that territory.

But even race and nationality has shown itself to be more idea than reality. And this is driving people nuts, inciting Fascism and Nationalism because the ideas are fragile and breaking and people whose identities and notions of self are based on them are terrified of losing what they feel to be their identity. But race and nationality are nebulous concepts humans made up. So too for sexuality. In a world without persecution, what is there to be persecuted? Basically every identity we’re dealing with now originates in a  false and imposed binary of ‘right and wrong’. My blacknesss is created by whiteness. Both are myth. There are just differently melanated types of human beings. My gender only exists in a social lexicon that assumes ‘heterosexuality’ is meaningfully real, and the norm. But that’s a myth. My sexuality is absolutely average and unimportant for a human being as an organism, but within culture it is seen as a ‘thing’ secondary and abnormal– but that, too, is a myth. Myth as in an idea, a story, a concept of human making.And in order for me to find pride and validity in any of these identities, I must simultaneously validate, re-experience and identify with my suffering and the opinions of my oppressors. The ‘black struggle’ and LGBT oppression become my story. Now, the thing is I can’t opt out of the reality that I am indeed seen a certain way and treated a certain way. Unlike some people, it doesn’t actually matter whether I divulge my identity to the world, I can be persecuted on sight. But what do I do when that happens? I can accept that I’m being persecuted because I’m black or LGBT….or I can see that people are suffering in their identities and projecting that on me.

White people suffer in their identity, cis people suffer in their identity, religious people suffer in their identities, this happens because each identity is ultimately so much smaller than what a person is in sum that it restricts, and unless it’s cast off (i.e. unless that person no longer holds that identity as fundamental to their being) cognitive dissonance sets in and they seek to reinforce the identity by projecting outward violence upon those who are ‘other’ so that they can validate their selfhood.

So cis people attack trans people bc the trans identity showing that gender and identity are not what they were told makes them uncomfortable. White people attack nonwhite people because our existence and successes threaten the myth of white supremacy. So on and so forth with oppressors and the people they oppress.

My point is not that discourse and social progress is pointless, but that these issues are not fundamental and operating within them still operates within a cultural norm that is self-validating. In the end people who do not know who- or what- they TRULY are are pretty dangerous because they will fight to assert their identity to avoid what they feel is loss of self.

The grand joke is that there is no self.

Let me ask you this, anon.

If you were born in completely different conditions, you would still be you- you understand that there is still a ‘you’ in this picture I am about to paint. So think of this– without your name, because your name could have been different, without your race, because race is a myth, without your orientation/identity, bc those are based on heteronormativity (another subjective myth), without your nationality, religious affiliation, job description….

Who are you?

Find that out, and operate from there, because whatever you are? Everyone else is, also. This is not about apathy at all. It is about much greater compassion.

[blessedsinnersrp-blog]

Follow your fellow sheep down to the slaughter, Lennon.

You’ve been accepted as Colette Young with the FC Emmy Rossum. Saying wow five hundred times would not adequately describe how we felt about your audition. The depth you put into Colette was incomparable. she already had so many issues, and you were cruel enough to add to the pot. You are just such an incredibly talented writer, and we can’t wait to watch this town devour your characters.

Please send in your account within the next twenty-four hours.

desired character  →  colette wanda young

face claims  ⟨⟨ please list 2-3 options ⟩⟩ →  emmy rossum, phoebe tonkin

why do you want this character  →  Colette is a fascinating character to me; her skeleton suggests that there is a lot more than what meets the eye which I positively love. It’s not that she’s stronger than she seems, it’s that she is likely weaker. The first bullet point suggests someone who is fearless and blunt, but the fact that she allows these men to walk all over her suggest something else. She reminds me a lot of the women I grew up around- truly southern women. Not the bless your heart church goers, but the redneck wives that are tough as nails but ‘know their place.’ I have a love/hate relationship with that trope and I wanted to try to make it my own.

character quote  ⟨⟨ this can be dialogue that your character has said, a song lyric, etc. just something that catches the vibe of your person ⟩⟩ →  i have survived so many fires, i can no longer tell if i am alive or still burning

possible future plot ideas  ⟨⟨ this could be pertaining to a certain direction you wish to take your character as well as connections and potential plots with other characters  ⟩⟩ →

I’m still trying to feather out exactly where I think Colette would go but I do have a few basic connections with most of the groups already existing in bumfuck.

i. The MCs; Obviously, she works for them, she fears them in her own way, and she fucking despises them. I would love to see how her interactions differ between the older more racist members and the newer ones. She would be weary of all of them and I can’t see her being fond of Hunter at all- ‘yes ma’am. no, i don’t mean hunter- i mean ma’am. because like it or not having that name don’t make you better than me, ya’ fuckin’ bitch.’ Colette hates it when people talk down to her and I could see Hunter doing that a lot- doing woman’s work at all that. It would really rub her the wrong way because of everyone involved with the MCs, she would expect Hunter to get it. And the fact that she would treat her the same way as the testosterone fueled dumbasses, boils her blood. If anything, she might try to fuck Leo to secure her position in the bar, and to make sure one of his trigger happy minions won’t shoot her if she ever snaps at them.

ii. Church Goers; Depending on how long the members have been there, they might remember Colette and her siblings coming to church every Sunday. Or when they suddenly stopped because their momma was serving life in prison for shooting their daddy in the head. It wouldn’t be that shocking if one of them reached out to her family following the tragedy of their father’s death. Colette fucking hates the church and everything that has to do with religion but she likely sees a lot of them around town. She has probably butted heads more than once with Jeremiah and Juliet, which isn’t doing her any favors. As her skeleton stated, she’s likely served multiple church goers and she loves having something over the self proclaimed saints.

iii. The Law; She, like any self respecting redneck, does not much care for the police. She doesn’t trust them and even though it has been over ten years since she shot her father, she is still worried that someone is going to reopen the case of her father’s murder and find her guilty. No one, save for one of her younger sisters, knows that she was the one that killed her father. I would love to see that fear explored on a deeper level.

iv. Meth Ring; Her family- her father, her mother, her brothers and sisters- have all dabbled in the drugs and meth has always had a place in her family’s home. Her siblings have probably dealt for the ring before. I could see her father have worked for or with the ring before, but if that doesn’t comply with what you guys had in mind I totally understand. Either way, I think that she, or at least her family, would be well known to the ring. Remi is, of course, another connection that I think would be amazing because I can’t see how this relationship wouldn’t be toxic as hell. As much as Colette knows that she’s addicted- like really fucking addicted to the point that she’s turning into her dearest mother- she can’t stop. That’s the great thing about addiction, ya see. And she probably has a love/hate relationship with Remi, loves that he keeps giving her what she wants but hates him because she sees him as something of an enabler.

v. Other- Character Specific; Colette could have a very interesting relationship with Rhys, simply because he likely frequents the bar she works at and he’s associated with the criminal justice system so she already has a chip on her shoulder against him.

Other - General;

- Colette is very protective over her siblings, particularly her younger sisters. She’s acted as the ‘father with a shotgun’ for much of their lives so she probably could have threatened someone who was attempting to fuck one of her siblings.

- Colette is a sucker for a pretty face - well, not really, but she does get around a lot. I could see her having one or more fuck buddies.

- I can’t imagine Colette has a lot, or really any, friends, but I imagine that she has one or two from high school or childhood that remained in her life. After all, with how fuckin’ small bumfuck is, it would be impossible not to.

Ｈ Ｉ Ｓ Ｔ Ｏ Ｒ Ｙ

biography  ⟨⟨ minimum of 400 words ⟩⟩ →

tw: rape, sexual abuse, domestic abuse, abortion, murder

John Young, a cousin fuckin’ good ole boy, had nine children with Claudette Pickens; most of his kin were following in his footsteps of making a career out of being incarcerated. His fourth child and first daughter, Colette Wanda, was the apple of his eye. Of course, that meant instead of slapping her around like he did his boys, he saved her until she was old enough to take him to bed. The first eight years of her life were relatively happy; her house stunk of meth and cigarettes and desperation, but she thanked the Lord above that her daddy loved her enough not to put out his cigarettes on her arms. Her brothers got the brunt of her father’s anger, though on occasion he would strike Claudette with a beer bottle. But his daughters, his precious little girls, would remain untouched until a certain age.

She tries not to think about her childhood after her eighth birthday, the year John said she became a woman. The touch of older men is still enough to make her stomach turn and her hands twitch towards her knife. The years after that didn’t matter much to her. They were spent hiding bruises on herself and on her siblings, learning how to hold her liquor and when to switch daddy from bourbon to apple juice, how to throw a punch and how to take one. It cultivated a pistol in her mouth, one that caused her father to promote her from a bedwarmer, to a punching bag and a bedwarmer. Her momma was so proud.

Colette tries not to think about the years between eight and fourteen. She was fourteen when her father got her pregnant. She was fourteen when she had her first and last abortion. She was fourteen when she started sleeping with a knife under her pillow. She was fourteen when her father tried to sneak into her room and she stabbed him in the eye. He lived; Colette was in the hospital for two weeks- fell down the stairs, her mother said. When she came back, her father stopped coming into her room.

Colette was fifteen when she went to her first funeral. She was fifteen when her father was killed by a bullet that was lodged in his head. She was fifteen when her mother went to prison for life for his murder- one look at Claudette’s rotting teeth and arms covered in track marks and the jury couldn’t deliberate fast enough. She was fifteen when she had to keep the secret that still haunts her. She isn’t sorry that she took the shotgun off the wall and shot her father dead. She was sorry he was standing over her little sister when he fell over with a bullet blasted through his brain.

Two of her older brothers were over eighteen, but both of them were serving time when the rest of the children were left without any sort of parent to speak of. Colette and her siblings were ready to fight tooth and nail to force that state’s hand and let them all stay together. Fortunately for the Young siblings - or unfortunately depending on one’s view - child protective services in bumfuck were lack luster to say the least. No one wanted to waste the time or resources on children who would likely end up in prison and someone else’s problem sooner or later. Colette and her twin brother, Carl, were the ones to carry the family and take care of the younger siblings. Carl immediately dropped out of high school, but Colette attempted to stay for another year. Eventually she had to drop out to work full time. As far as her employers at Legs knew, Colette was well over eighteen, though most people knew that the eldest Young daughter was barely sixteen.

When she was offered a job at Snake ‘n’ Jake’s, she was more than willing to leave her job at Legs. The MC set her goddamn teeth on edge but working with limp dicked bible thumpers who got off on calling her a whore when they only lasted twelve seconds was making her go out of her goddamn mind. Colette never had the longest fuse when it came to… well, anything- she much preferred to come out fists swinging instead of taking shit endlessly. She figured that working with drunken patrons would be a slight step up from working at Legs. It takes every ounce of her self control not to crack a bottle of beer over the patrons’ heads but she’s managed so far. She hates how much the bar, or rather who owns it, feels so familiar to her. The guns, the drugs, the white supremacy- reminded her of daddy dearest and her brothers. As much as she hates her job, it’s not as though she can quit, or get fired- there’s not much employment options for a high school drop out without a GED or much anger management to speak of.

3-5 factoids  ⟨⟨ these can be as simple as a few of their favorite movies and colors, to something more complex that you feel fleshes out your character  ⟩⟩ →

i. She grew up with a father that was very handsy, to put it politely. People, especially men that are much larger than her, touching her sets her teeth on edge. Most of the time, she would unload her glock into their skull, but at work, she is unable to do so. That doesn’t stop the thought from entering her mind everytime an MC gets a bit to close. Her patience has never been that impressive, and it’s wearing thinner and thinner as time goes on.

ii. Colette wouldn’t say she has a vendetta against the church, but she sure as fuck doesn’t believe in their God. As a child, she and her mother would attend every Sunday service and she would pray every week to God above to save her from the awful monster that was inside her daddy. And she never felt any relief. As an adult, she is incredibly bitter about the church and any who place their faith in the old building- or the crook who preaches there. Colette is thankful that most of those high and mighty bible thumpers stay the fuck out of her bar. On the rare occasion that one of them stumble into a seat before her, she maintains composure enough to allow them to come to confession over cheap whiskey.

iii. Despite working for the MC, Colette is positively disgusted with the views the club has about… literally everything. Everything they spew is literal bullshit. She’s lived in bumfuck just as long as the rest of them, and she knows exactly how hateful this town is. She doesn’t agree with any of it, and she’s fairly certain that at least one of the member have caught her snickering at their dated ideals. She’s been able to brush it off, batting her eye lashes and flattering them with compliments until they dropped it. Colette knows she needs to get her mouth under control, for her own safety and stability. She might think all of them are fucking idiots that she doesn’t agree with but she happens to agree with living and having a stable income, thank you very much.

iv. She wouldn’t say that she is an avid defender of the second amendment but she is damn sure that she’s not going to get hurt because some cousin fuckin’ good ole boys come in and decide to test her. Because of this, Colette is always armed. Always. She always has her knife attached to her thigh and she keeps a gun underneath the bar at work. Every room in her house has at least one firearm, though all of them are hidden from the house’s other occupants.

v. Colette and those of her siblings that aren’t incarcerated live in their childhood home. Plenty of her siblings and cousins pass through the house when they’re out on bail, and are welcome to stay as long as they follow Colette’s rules namely - ‘you touch one of my kids and they will never find your body’ - but she is the oldest permanent occupant. As such, she currently resides in the old master bedroom, formerly owned by her parents. There are still bullet holes in the walls and there’s a stink of meth that a decade couldn’t waft out but she prefers it to the time that she had to share her bedroom with three or more people.

[buchananbarnes1991]

My Review for The Devil Of All Time

So let’s get the trigger warnings out of the way first because this isn’t a cute/light hearted movie. It’s rated R and for a bucketlist of reasons.

Tw list: in no specific order Gore, deaths, suicides, adultery, abuse, grooming, statutory rape, necrophilia photo ops, self harm, vomit, violence, animal death, brief animal gore, spiders, heavily religious scenes, murder, guns, cancer, genital mutilation, and blood. Lots of blood.

It’s a very twisted and heavy movie, but one that mystery and thriller based movie watchers may enjoy. 

~Stop reading now if you do not like spoilers.~

*basically it’s a shock factor depressing as fuck movie and you shouldn’t watch it if you can’t handle any of these things. Let’s get the darkest parts out of the way first!! The biggest gore scenes are of a soldier that is very bloodied/skinned and strung up crucifix style on a cross. He’s still alive in that moment. It’s during the war and happens practically at the start of the film. The other big gore scene is of Arvin’s dog strung up similarly on what Willard calls a ‘prayer log’, Willard tried to trade the family dog’s life for his wife to pull through having cancer but this does not work. There’s also a brief genital mutation scene of a young man during one of the sex/murder photo op scenes. Helen’s death scene is somewhat graphic, she gets a sharpened screw driver to the neck. Lenora’s suicide scene is less graphic but much more..heavy as it is a hanging scene. Not much struggle based death but, you do see her body drop and then the attempts of Arvin attempting to get her down.*

Okie, if you’re still with me at this point, let’s get into it. I hadn’t read the book, even though I know I had the time to. I wanted to go into this graphic movie blind because I was curious of what such a big named cast had gotten themselves into.

Willard Russel, portrayed by Bill Skarsgård is only present in the first 30 or so minutes of the film. He comes home from the war. His mother attempts to set him up in an arranged marriage but he has a small falling out and falls in love with charlotte instead. They have a boy together and he tries to each his shy son to stand up for himself. This begins when they first find out that the wife his sick, a small group of poachers are teasing Willard while him and his son are praying for the health of his wife. Later he brutally fights the men that mocked him for praying out in the forest. I get that they were trying to develop him before his suicide months after his wife [Charlotte] passes away from cancer, but his part in the film is somewhat of a slow burn. Which leaves his son, Arvin Russel an orphan, who is taken in by his grandmother. The woman [Helen] his mother wanted him to marry gets killed by a Bible thumper [Revered Roy Laferty] in a forest, he believed that he had the ability to bring people back to life. Her daughter [Lenora Laferty] also ends up orphaned and moves in with the grandmother.

Arvin Russel, portrayed by Tom Holland, a young man who started out with a rough childhood after losing both his parents and his dog. He becomes protective of his step sister, Lenora Laferty. After beating his sister’s bullies to a pulp, he learns to no longer put up with bullshit. The new found confidence he gains leads him down a road of killing four people. The first being the new priest, Preston Teagardin [Robert Pattinson] after he learns that his sister has been groomed, and impregnated post suicide. The next two are Carl and Sandy. A couple that have a sick hobby of taking the lives of young men after persuaded sex/ murder photo ops in a forest. The final killing he commits is none other than Lee Bodecker [Sebastian Stan], out of self defense in the same forest his childhood dog was used on a prayer log. I enjoyed his character as he goes from a scared child to the protective big brother. Though his life takes an obvious turn to where he knows he cannot go back home. His story leaves off on escaping the town and falling asleep in a hippie’s car on their way to Cincinnati. 

Preston Teagardin, portrayed by Robert Pattinson. He comes into town as the new priest/reverend *don’t hate me for not knowing the difference, I’m not a religious person*, at first he seems like he might be a glimmer of hope in a very depressing town but, he turns out to be a monster. After bashing Arvin’s grandmother’s cooking and then continuing on to groom young teenage girls. He acts sweet but he is indeed an asshole. He’s killed in the church after Arvin admits that he knows everything Preston has been doing to the young highschool girls, his own sister included. Shot down between the pews and left to die. Also he’s the only big actor in the movie that can do a convincing southern accent but it wasn’t a voice I expected to come out of Robert Pattinson.

Lee Bodecker, portrayed by Sebastian Stan, he’s introduced with a very surprising car masturbation scene. Sperm donation I suppose 🤣 as there is a “cup” that is mentioned. He is the sheriff of the town and he’s trying his hardest to keep his status while he is up for re-election. He’s the same cop that ended up taking care of the after math of Willard Russel’s Suicide and the relocation of Arvin. Lee seems like the character with the least amount of stress on his plate for the beginning half of his story. Though, the town knows that his sister [Sandy] is a slut. But he’s unaware of the twisted sex killings that her and her husband Carl commit until about a week or so before her death. He’ll stop at nothing to keep his reputation clean. Including shooting the two men that he’s in debt to. Having to handle the stress of several murders and deaths, but his breaking point is when he finds Sandy dead in her own car and her husband dead in the forest/lake area. He snaps and decides to hunt down Arvin to avenge his sister. Though before hunting down Arvin in an attempt to kill him, he covers up the evidence that his sister and brother-in-law left behind, as that would definitely mess up his reputation. The manhunt scene between Arvin and Lee is quite emotional. One man attempting to kill in pained revenge, the other man only defending himself. Lee Bodecker is shot in the stomach by Arvin and left to bleed out in the forest that Willard Russel considered as his own “private church.”

In summery, I did enjoy The Devil Of All Time as I love twisted murder stories and this one didn’t disappoint. I was relieved that the sexual assault scenes were brief/barely had any screen time at all. Though there was one fellatio scene I could have gone without seeing. Preston Teagardin gets head in a dimly lit room while his wife is asleep upstairs?? That part was never clear. But I understand why it was in the movie, as it’s a recount of Arvin stalking Preston and uncovering the awful habits that the Priest/Reverend had. 

If you can stomach heavy and twisted shock factor scenes. It is quite an interesting yet dark story. Definitely a non-jumpscare horror flick. It’s just shock factor mixed within the thin line of good and evil. 

---Domi

[daemonvols]

Chapter Six

Party Preparations

 Another five days passed without my noticing much of them. The news buddies returned to downtown shootings, tractor-trailer pile ups on 481 and more house fires. I burned every piece of meat I ate and contemplated going vegan.

One day, and I cannot even now remember which day it was, Charlie left a voice message. It wasn’t as irritating as Derek’s Post-it. However, if I were keeping such a score, Charlie lost romance points when he chose the middle of the night as well to avoid direct conversation. The message didn’t earn him any points to offset the loss, either:

“Yeah, well, I left the old stiff alone, but you probably know that. I have next Thursday night off, so I thought I’d come by again and see your ghosts and vampires and whatever else you got to show me. Nine-thirty’s good for me, so I’ll see you then.”

To be honest, I would have lost romance points, too. I had forgotten all about him since Helen and Nestor. I had forgotten a lot of things, now that I’d seen how fragile even the undead’s existence can be. I rose worked, ate and slept on automatic. It was the routine that saved me: office calls, bookkeeping, and not much more.

I still had regular visits from Missy and Mischa and the other ghosts who thought it now safe to come out and resume their haunting and whining. Missy started to say something about the ending of Helen and Nestor that I knew would be meant as comfort and therefore wholly inappropriate. I stopped her with a raised index finger and a sharp “Don’t!” I did not want them thinking about it anymore than I wanted to think about it.

Fortunately, their spectral minds were easy enough to re-direct. I had only to tell them that Charlie had called and that the party was on. I cannot recommend listening to a ghost squeal in delight, let alone two. It grays the hair. But it got them off the subject of the “ending.” Got me off the memory of it, too, for a while.  Though when the memory came roaring back to me just before I fell asleep I supposed that I could pack my belongings, empty my bank account and see what Canada had to offer a bookkeeper/cemetery caretaker.

Two nights, four novels and little sleep later, I drank the musty bitter cup of reality in the form of a cup of tea, the bag for which was months past its expiration, and set to planning.

Not that I hadn’t considered the matter at all since inviting Charlie that night in Section B.  In the blissful moments right before falling asleep that first-meeting night, I thought a lot about the little “party” being held on my porch. But I hadn’t thought, said or done anything more about it.

Well, all right, I had compiled a mental “guest list” from the residents. After Charlie RSVP’d to my invitation, I made decisions. The first was that I would not invite any more of the undead into my home. We would stay on the porch.

As for the specific invitees: Derek, no question and no choice. I’d let him pick one or two other vampires to bring along, provided they had all fed before they came into my yard. Missy and Mischa I could not keep out with a banishing spell (presuming I could learn and master one in that amount of time). That made four, six if you counted the living ones: Charlie and me. And I thought about a same-day invitation two younger ghosts, Lallie and Rin.

About two years ago, these two twenty somethings fell victim ago to a double dose of D and D. One dose was driving home at three a.m. from a late-night game of Dungeons and Dragons. The second dose was a drunk driver. The families made such a fuss as to how sweet a couple they had been in life that they insisted on burying them side by side, but with separate headstones for modesty’s sake. The plots they chose in Section H lay near trees (the last of Polehouse’s crab apple trees) and “running water” (the drainage ditch, which could be a third dose of D and D, if you think about it). I’ve often thought Rin would have moved on without a care, but Lallie in death as in life ruled the relationship and she wanted to stay a while longer.

As I said, it’s been about two years. She’s still sticking around and so is he. They would probably disturb Charlie less than an old horror like Benjamin Sharpe. And Rin and Lallie might balance Derek’s pomposity.

And you have another question: Yes, there are special considerations to this sort of affair. Ghosts have no real sense of days or time. They know daylight and nighttime, but couldn’t tell you what day of the week. Also, for them, every year is still the year in which their bodies died. Technological advances are tricks and deceptions. Mischa still thinks I have the poorest design in typewriters because I have to have a separate machine to print out my work. I would have to work out a signal for these four “guests.”

Vampires, on the other hand, are keenly aware of time. I suspect they secretly pride themselves on living so long off the blood of others. Kind of like career politicians in that respect.

And like all socials of a close knit family, there are those you invite and those you don’t invite because you invited the first ones and those two parties aren’t speaking. I asked Missy and Mischa to talk to the youngsters. They had other suggestions, but I had the answers ready.

“No, we can’t invite Emma Wascher or Susan Kegg because their headstones would loosen the dirt for the whole row and then we’d have to let Old Man Sharpe loose.”

“Don’t you remember, Missy that Fred Marsberg had a crush on Mischa and passed on to the Next Life because she wouldn’t look at him even after death?”

“It simply isn’t the caliber of event to expect a Plutarch to attend, even if he or she had the bad taste to linger here.”

“A small family gathering, then,” Missy sighed.

I looked at them and pictured the rest of my “family.” Then I reconsidered moving to Canada.

I had yet to see, let alone speak or invite Derek plus one.

However, my word had to be kept, if I was to get anywhere with Charlie. Which assumed I still wanted to get somewhere. I did. Let’s be honest: romance novels can only take you so far and pillows warm up only when you hold them for hours. They never “hold” back.

 I waited for Derek beside the south arch the night before the “party”. He’d gone casual into a leather jacket and jeans that didn’t quite fit him there as well as Charlie’s, and the death’s head on the front of the T-shirt had to have looked more appropriate on the biker Derek had taken it off of than it did on him. The whole ensemble brought to mind the picture of a mama’s boy trying to look tough, but I could not laugh at him.

“Going a nighttime stroll?” he sneered. “I thought your grandfather had beaten that out of you when you were five.”

“My grandfather never laid a hand on me, thank you,” I said. “And you’re going for a new look. It doesn’t suit you.”

A good way to get a vampire’s full attention: first, make (excuse the expression) dead certain he has no intentions of feeding on you or allowing anyone else to feed on you. Then insult him, especially about his clothes.

“What do you want, Jewess?” Now he was snarling and showing his long, spiky canine teeth.

“I want you to bring one of your crew after feeding to my porch two nights from now. That’s Thursday night. Before you ask,” I interrupted a guttural laugh that Derek saved for occasions like this or a victim’s plea for mercy, “I have a new gravedigger who does not believe that you, your kind or the ghosts exist.”

“Most of your kind do not believe that we exist, either,” he countered. “And by ‘your kind,’ I mean humans, although I am stretching the point in your case.” Derek considered himself quite the charmer, but on this night, he wasn’t even trying.

I ignored the comment. “Look, a digger who doesn’t believe at best disrespects the cemetery and the graves; at worst, he becomes a grave robber.”

“I would kill him, if he tried.”

“I know you would. Trouble is, he’s union, and if you killed him, the union would want answers. They’d likely go to the news media. That would raise the Board’s hackles and get me fired. And who knows they could just as easily fire me and hire a religious nut that’d spend his days staking the lot of you in the ground and burning out the mausoleums.” He snorted. “You heard Treasurer Meecham last winter when the city wouldn’t plow up to our entrances and we had to postpone the Jarvis funeral. He said he has that Bible-thumper Frankfort waiting in the proverbial wings. Besides, you owe me.”

“I what?” The Dangerous Voice. He once scared a young artist with that voice; scared the teenager so badly, the kid peed all over the graffiti he’d spray-painted on Derek’s headstone. For myself, I’d heard that voice enough to hear a sort of blood-sucking version of, “As if!” I shrugged.

I took in a deep breath before I played what Grandpa Dov would call my trump card: “Helen and Nestor.” He took my meaning: word could not spread to other “families” that a human had witnessed one vampire destroy another. That leads to territorial disputes and a possible bloodsucking war. And I’d seen Derek behead two of his own. He understood me, but argued on in true lawyer fashion.

“You were not invited.”

“And yet you dragged me to watch it anyway.”

“You have heard the term ‘extortion’?” He grabbed one rod of the iron and yanked a bend into it. I had won. I folded my arms and waited. “I will have to bring Ian. With Helen and Nestor gone, he’s my responsibility.”

I thought for a moment of how many parents I’d heard say as much with as much regret when they came to bury their children. It’s heartbreaking to them and more than likely devastating to their children’s spirits. The CPF has very few cheerful child ghosts. Most wail through the night for their loving parents.

Not that all parents love their children. That’s a simple fact, of which I’ve had some experience. My mother left us before I was two months old. I’ve neither seen nor heard from her since.

“He’ll be a little hard to explain,” I agreed. “But I think I may have an idea for him.”

Derek looked at me hard. I am no expert on vampire brains, but I suspected from his darting eyes that he was desperate to find a way out of it. He found none. “Then we shall attend your porch soiree.” He started to leave.

“After you feed,” I said.

I won’t repeat what he said to that.

 Two phone calls the next day to our garden center served two purposes: to replace the frosted rainbow gravel my Grandma Rose used in the flower beds and to signal the ghosts that it was Party Day.

Thursday morning, the red garden center truck dumped a mountain of colored stone on my front lawn. Missy and Mischa saw the signal. They roused the youngster ghosts in the early evening. Then the “ladies” floated through the house, making verbal lists of all the places I needed to clean. When they got to my bedroom, I cried foul.

“Do I go into your coffins and critique your housekeeping?” I said.

“We don’t hold parties in our coffins, dear,” Missy reminded me. She laid the shadow of her hand on my shoulder. I shivered from the cold.

“Nobody’s going into my bedroom tonight.”

Missy tutted. “That’s too bad, dear. You need somebody sometime, you know. Birds and the bees.”

“Well, if I do, there will not be dead things in my bedroom!”

They both sniffed and floated outside through the front windows with the Cat Move.

“Not much help are they?” Rin offered with an opaque shrug.

Rin must have been a sweet, if erratic young man when he was alive. It was a pity his family saw fit to send him through Eternity in a black suit, black shirt and tightly-tied black tie. His spirit looked about six foot-two inches and he wore his blonde, straight hair samurai-style: the front locks pulled back into a mini-ponytail that sat atop the shoulder-length hair on the sides and back. He had dark eyes, a sad smile, a soft voice, and a huge desire to help me.

He’d not been dead long enough to learn how to move physical objects with any accuracy, but still he tried. And failed. Six times he tried to move dishes to from the dining room sideboard to the kitchen. Six times, they rattled and refused to budge. In high frustration, he thrust energy at one of Grandma Rose’s china cups and sent it crashing to the floor.

I ceased cutting up celery and bell peppers when I heard it and came out of the kitchen to insist that he stop ‘helping’ and park his non-corporeal behind on one of the four three-legged stools I had around the kitchen island.

He obeyed, and sank down through the stool’s wooden seat up to his nose. I pretended not to notice and kept cutting celery ribs. It doesn’t do to mock a young ghost. It spoils any other interactions they might have with the living. And ghosts, for all their blissful ignorance of time, have a long memory. Rin withdrew from the stool, gauged it in distance and height, and in a moment was hovering in a seated position two inches above the seat.

This might have resulted in a reasonably tranquil scene. However, Lallie had discovered that she could pass through ceilings as well as walls. Even as a ghost, she was a sight: her family had dressed her in a red, drop-waist dress with a white silk rose the size of a soccer ball at her hip, and black-and-white striped stockings. She dangled from the rose down from the load-bearing beam in the kitchen ceiling and then used it as her own gymnastic bar to do forward and backward flips. She may have expected Rin to applaud her efforts, but her path swung her through his head over and over, despite his efforts to avoid her. Once she realized where they intersected, she started making kissy noises. Rin looked (excuse the expression) mortified. I cut more celery.

I probably cut too much celery. There would be two to feed that night, as long as Derek kept his word. He and Ian wouldn’t care for vegetables anyway. Still, I had the celery and peppers, some crackers and a dip my Grandma Rose swore would bring a husband into the house.

Well, what she had

said

was that it would bring marriage partner. She also told me she’d made it with crackers and celery the first time my father brought my mother to the house at the CPF. In hindsight, I may well have been (excuse the expression) dead wrong to make and serve it to Charlie Tischler.

[benchgenderstudies]

The Prophet from Shady Places

by Michael Bench

//A prose written to Cops and the Public by a Gender Anthropologist and Cannabis Pundit.  When certain bad guys behind badge get all wound up, cray- cray and need that time out.. something for them to de-escalate on//

--------------------------------------------------------- 

Ask a prophet from shady places about the world

they'll tell you the perils of thieving 

before the nonthief’s mind blooms a reason of positive reward.

*

I got a problem with cops to take up with other cops.

Its not NWA lyrics

Cops B is not Cops A. A does not equal B.

Cops B are down south: TX,CO,AZ,UT

Cops B been helping themselves to Quasimormon runaways

They on the roadside trying not to get raped the first time,

not get married a second time before their 15th birthday

These southern quasimormons have loyalty feuds under the bright bright sun

 *

It's really bright and sunny in those states

its so sunny and bright that if the god of jesus couldn't see

girls being raped while in bondage unprotected TIS OF THEE

That he'd not be perfect even for a son of a bitch.

*

There's low hanging fruit here, Cops.

Looky map wise like the pains of Samweis,

Worried Frodo is looking for a crib and not a ring.

To a middle east and middle south confederate region

Bible belts and bible whistles

and bible thumpers who've written every word in it

Jesus doesn't speak to them for they'd molest him too

Make him say silly things unbelievable if he has any room in his mouth

to get a word out. To sound in message like he used to.

 *

Two hostile regions getting lots of sun and no service.

There's two imaginative sources of prophets

yammering  about a visions of dehydration

no wonder you felt like it was the end of the world

Some more water, drown your spinning mind

Get some more water , lose the divinity.

 *

All these bad visions a collected page vice robbing a girl of her decency

A bunch of males each region trafficking girls, like they're the only humans in it.

To each other, to someone else. Elders of the quasimormon portapotty, compound size;

Suffer the gluttony, pride and lust so openly

No version of an assembly of Jesus's words even edited would protect them

*

The cops in texas and arizona , and utah, and perhaps other states..

They turn these girls back to the cult.

Some they turn around themselves first .

There is no religious fence against protecting the children

If in the name or mild margindoodle of Jesus ink selfie

associated to any religion, protect the children.

 *

Neither cops  of these states, sheriffs, parish leaders

nor anyone else in eased vision seems to be practicing that angle of the faith

The direct angle. Most so certain well lit angle

That if this universe had any association  

of a very creation story spun by the jews and christians..

A very hot hand would reach down from the sky  from the hot sun

pinning this world flat on a the rack of justice

And strip the identity of this mormon or lesser mans face right off their skull

Along with associated pains long past due.

*

*Ashen piles.have you sympathy for them, Cop A?Cob B?

Dirt among the white race is being ignored by white cops.

Some bad news that can be made good.

I personally would like each of these

gated community rapist mormons branded with a Swastika

to assure their head is in the game.

2 ft x 2ft, on their back. Every "elder". taking wives instead of meeting wives.

*

Protect and Serve doesn't necessarily sound like protect the children.

Its like Ragu, its in there. and if I were to believe a

father , son and holy spook have a place in the clouds,

that still isn't the commandments of Jesus that said

'love those as I loved you" and " protect the children , you stupid mothfekkers".

In fact.. Jesus has a much better record teaching humanity than the sky god managed,

 *

If all that literary fraud were set aside,

I'd rather quote myself " protect the children, stupid mothfekkers",( to the cult)

address it to the states of the south where the bible belt is allegedly tightest.

And the deep south Middle east where religion ,child abuse, teen rape is a traffic pattern

Its really bright out in the sun. Don't discount,

An overheated brain is a damaged brain.. leaving the more animalian more leash ..

to make a stupid man sound worse and then spermaspaz  a bundle of kids

with pregnancies he can't raise on the alotments of hours per day.

 *

Not even in the risen Jesus's own jewy backyard does he save the youth.

but its really bright outside and should a god hear all these people's worship

not doing a thing to protect his children.Often its in his name

 *

So if two or three people are gathered in his name

is he god taking part in the gang rape of the kids too?

Cop Group A , there's a racial thing going on about drugs,

If you check the records, these hurt and traumatized girls

white girls, get on the drugs and strip afterwards. If they escape

Traumatized and wanting freedom in their own terms

 *

Cop Group A , getting heavy on the politician's non relatives

Your supervisor is too much a bitch to have your back,

it’s a new job task environment

When the governors son gets caught banging a 16 year old

A Cop supervisor needs insulation

when musts of prosecution

prosecute ranks of the city council families.

Keep it in the paper, See who you are, whitey.

Its not tidy. among your own extremists,

in the south, in the bright bright sun

they do such tormenting deeds of power over their young girls

its like they think they were the god..

or what they'd do from the power of the throne either way.

 *

So how many wives does the god of jesus have?

Abraham, Adam .. At most two.

These antisocial desert creatures are holed up in their own lies

Nurturing the children is no verb of mormons; the hardliners are labeled.

made to fear the apocalyptic outside world.

It’s a blaspheme to expect the apocalypse, did you know this?

Doubting Thomas is a taken gig. Observe the creation and be thankful. Nothing else.

When the end is called for , the doubted faith is admitted, when worshippers want more.

Even the type of more that calls to protect the children from mormon cult rapists.

 The book of Jesus; new testament doesn't cover the polygamists.

Unlimited wives is not the spectre of  rightful unlimited hardship

Protecting and being friendly to the little children isn't going on.

Members trying to escape a faith, a marketing failure

The likes of Warren Jeffs due a lesson he won't forget.

Since they don't follow Jesus's word before..

they must follow him in no uncertain terms later

Up the cross three days , Crucifixion can skate the 8th amendment

for this one certain cause.

 *

Quasi mormons and the remainder of the child rape cults

by Jesus's name must learn to follow.

Normally the Romans just leave the body up on the post.

Traditional values also must win out for displaying faith.

The gluttony for sex by herding , not pickup lines or practiced suave

a lazy old man not earning his dick parking.

Lower than the van drivers Putting effort into a convincing abduction lure.

The quasimormon reads his reasoning from a book. 

 *

The religious heatstroke garble is too popular.

A heatstroke a lonely man shares to his friends, to a crowd

For an excuse to feel important again.

He wandered town to town

Named himself a prophet when the last place booted his ass.

From the desert , needing water , he says he had a vision

So his last occupation of ____crime whatever___

doesn't have to get much inquiry.

 *

Everybody loves a hermit.. even the liars that are robbers.

Until the shroud comes off, Touring the neighborhoods

giving the leaders and townsfolk unease

Too tired to rebel and too annoyed to be a cog.

Too fearful to be a disobediant child of men

His god wouldn't protect from the

ill leadership of other men

hoarding a good life for themselves

Without faith at all.

 *

Without faith , Only social morality One group of cops

will take down the allies of child trafficking cults

Theres only two groups.

The majority and the minority.

If the minority is the responsible party to

bust the quasimormon compounds;

I hope its not because the majority are too dick humbled by

their own parking in the prostitutes of the process less visible.

 *

The children can't be blamed when staking them into the ground like outdoor dogs

Expect "god made the grass green and the ground brown" will last 18 years for appeal?,

It Will not last; So not to expect grounds for beating.

 *

Beatings, rapes, throat slashing, molesting and armed guards

Cemeteries have better public relations.

But the living dead walk anyway, birthed into fear for living away from the cult

Translated: parents who train their children to live in their basement.

The secular world doesn't see how obvious a zombie

conversion from human quasimormon polygamy has attempted.

 Mind that Weed produced a better man than mormons did

Mind that Cannabis users are calling on cops right now ,

to pick up the attention toward family values.

A better society than jesus would herd.

A better tangible benefit than praying.

And a more successful relationship with truth than the American Government relating to the risks of tobacco, grounds of foreign war, and monogamy modeled by exemptions with power. There are no forecasts remaining for the will of the individual is the specific determination if human kind puts the next generation before its own libido.

* 

Its about what the book says a religion is, not a man's translation

there's a lot more translation than praying going on

As if anyone worthy to hear a plea of their parish exists

or  responsible enough to prevent its own worshippers from hurting each other.

 *

A god so lazy he won't even say

" listen shit for brains, if you allow the elders to impregnate-rape your 10yr  daughter in the name of jesus, she's not going to be a willing christian. Her body and mind is not ready for a nurturing task"

I says”

Where's the work schedule, god? 

You've been absent and fired a long time ago.

Now it’s a deed of enslavement to the White Race officially.”

I didn't make it up. Its been going on.. now admit

Freedom of religion is not freedom to rewrite a religion..

Lets get that solid.

 #It_Takes_An_AmericanStoner_To_Set_A_Nation_Aright