#hippie ken

[undergroundrockpress]

Napping with Dogs - 1970.

Photo : Ken Heyman.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

(photo: Ken Kesey, New York City, November 1985, by Allen Ginsberg)

* * *

The late great Merry Prankster Ken Kesey was born on this day 1935 in La Junta Colorado. Probably best known for is novel “One Flew over The Cuckoo’s Nest,” it was his legendary Acid Test parties down the SF peninsula in La Honda with the house band The Warlocks which he and fellow pranksters hosted after their return from the cross country trip on their dayglo painted school bus called “Furthur” (popularized in Tom Wolfe’s Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test), that solidly launched the psychedelic 60s. The Warlocks in short order would change their name to the Grateful Dead...

Ken Kesey on Allen Ginsberg:

“Back in (19)66 or (19)67, we took the bus up to Berkeley for Vietnam Day. The day before the big rally, the Hell’s Angels said they were going to protest Vietnam Day by pounding the shit out of the protestors, and they were serious. Since we kind of knew the Angels, we went over to Oakland, to Sonny Barger‘s house. Ginsberg went with us, right into the lion’s mouth with his little cymbals. Ching, ching ching. And he just kept talking and being his usual absorbing self. Finally they said, “OK, OK, We’re not going to beat up the protesters’. When he left, one of the Angels, Terry the Tramp, says, “That queer little kike ought to ride a bike. From then on, he had a pass around the Angels. They had let all the other Angels know. “He’s a dude worth helping out”. They were absolutely impressed by him and his courage.”

[otomakaws]

“Sometimes you gotta pop out and show niggaz”

[tilbageidanmark]

The inside of Ken Kesey's "Furthur" school bus

[disneyweirdness]

[transmissionsfromthebattlefield]

They Might Call In The National Guard On Your Ass

I watched Punishment Park a few days ago. A cinema vérité pseudodocumentary from 1971(!), it takes place in an alternate United States where hippies, Commie sympathizers, and anti-war protestors who don't want fifteen to twenty years in prison are shipped off to Punishment Park, where they have three days to run fifty three miles through the desert to an American flag. If they reach it in time, they get to walk free, or so they are told.

It's a gritty, chilling, masterfully put together work of alternative history and it's also kind of a misery fest. The absurdity of the concept leaves room for some degree of reaction to the extremity of it, and maybe in a different context I would be able to crack a smile at lanky seventies youths running towards nothing with awful posture through a desert in record-breaking heat. But you have to understand that I have been put through the ringer of having regurgitated radical politik parroted at me over and over and over. It gives certain people a thrill to wallow in that misery. But it just doesn't thrill me to have people try to insert a microchip in my head repeating slogans of Everything is Awful and Will Never Get Better.

You would think I would relate to one of the girls who gets interrogated at the Punishment Park, who is blonde, 19, and writes (kind of awful) songs about the Pigs and Tricky Dick and all that. She talks about how she dropped out of college because after the Kent State massacre, she realized that it wouldn't matter if she wore a stars-and-stripes cheerleader uniform and rah-rahed America all day; even if she was just a spectator, the National Guard would just shoot her anyway. She didn't feel safe being out in the open.

This allure of the "underground" was in full swing during that era of the Weathermen and is even more common today where we long for a time when the revolution wasn't televised. It seems people love this movie because of these tendencies. When your face is in the light, it's scary. You retreat to the womb, or in this case the commune, and you feel safer but you also isolate yourself. You surround yourself with hardcore ideals that present plain fact but with no room for changing those facts substantially. You preach upheaval but get so caught up in the concept of it that you mentally can't go about ever making it happen, because doing so would make you like the world better, and you can't have that when you live off of the world being against you. It's addicting. We need the truth, especially now, but we're all individuals with our own individual lived experiences. The real world isn't a colorless, lifeless desert plateau. There's color and water and food and little creatures crawling in the ground.

Different strokes for different folks, but why did Ken Russell have to die before he could direct a hilarious and extremely Ken Russell remake or take of this? These are the thoughts that go through my bored, weird, college girl head.

[wolfs-milk]

Okay this motherfucker is goofy as hell (derogatory)

But! I really don’t understand why so many people are so afraid of aging and death. It’s inevitable, and yeah it can suck in some ways, but it can also be a beautiful process. You get to see the accumulation of years and experiences in a person and how it shaped them, and I think that’s really cool. Also, you’re gonna die eventually, it doesn’t have to be scary, the unknown can be exciting! So enjoy the exciting unknown while you’re alive, and carry that mindset with you.

scrunching my face real hard rn

[randomrichards]

GOD RESPECTS US WHEN WE WORK BUT LOVES US WHEN WE DANCE:

Flower power love

Expressed at Jam Band concert

Not a word needed

[samantabrzozowska]

"I bought a perfect Ken for myself."

~ Sam

[undergroundrockpress]

Ken Larson, 1973.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - They're starting to think maybe this omega isn't so sweet.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader, injuries, masterbation

Masterlist

Patreon, Ko-fi and Throne

Now you were back in your little cabin in the woods. You had even lit a fire and dragged your mattress with its nesting contents into the small living room to get properly cozy. You sighed as you buried your face into the nest and relaxed further into the arrangement of blankets, pillows and dirty laundry.

Despite yourself, your omega whined and paced. She wanted their scent here too. You hadn't smelt them when they were up close because of the cotton up your nose but just that whiff on the wind had begun the beginning of the end.

You whined into the sheets and buried further into them. The idea of one of them surviving the traps sounded better with each passing moment. A feral alpha that was strong enough to withstand your defenses and persistent enough to find you. The thought made your chest warm and small purrs leave you.

"She has us running in fuckin' circles Cap," Gaz said to Price before he even noticed that he was upside down. "Trap get you?" He asked as if it wasn't obvious.

"Gettin' cheeky are you?" Price shot back and Gaz grinned as he grabbed the knife off the forest floor and walked towards his Captain.

"Nah, just takin' the piss Cap'n," He walked to the rope keeping him upside down and cut it. Price was fine, he was only a few feet off the ground. 

"Do you know where Soap and Ghost are?" Price asked as he put his beanie back on and took the combat knife back from Gaz.

"I found Ghost, he's stuck in a pit. And I don't know- oh speak of the devil and he shall come!" 

Soap emerged from the bushes, his hair singed at the ends and soot on his face. "Damn omega nearly blew me up!" He cursed and Gaz snorted which got him a dirty look. "Awa an bile yer head," Soap huffed and Price chuckled. "Where's LT?"

"In a pit." Price and Gaz responded at the same time. Soap let out an amused huff.

"So how are we gonnae get 'im out?" Asked the Scot and Gaz nodded to the rope.

"Reduce, reuse, recycle right?"

"Always ken ye were some kind o' hippie."

Ghost looked up into the snowing sky when he heard the rustle of bushes. A deer? A bunny? Maybe it was the omega coming to put a bullet through his head. "Oi, don't fall in too you idiot!" Gaz barked and Ghost laughed silently.

"You still alive in there Ghost?" Gaz asked as he peered his head into the hole.

"Unfortunately," Ghost replied and Gaz rolled his eyes.

"He's fine. Tie the rope to that tree."

After a few minutes the rope was tossed down and Ghost climbed up with a grunt. "My ankle is throbbin'," he grumbled to himself. It wasn't going to stop him or really slow him down significantly but it was a pride thing really. "Let's go get that 'mega."

Words spoken so easily are not actions done with ease.

They should've expected that it wouldn't be easy but some part of them hoped that you hadn't set up more traps. Gaz cursed as he fell into a pit and screamed, "Fuck!"

Price rushed over and his eyes darkened at the sight before him. This pit was not like Ghosts, instead it had sharpened sticks waiting for whoever was unlucky enough to fall in. Ghost pulled Gaz out, "You broken?" Price asked immediately even as he fussed over the puncture wound in Gaz's thigh.

"Negative," Gaz grunted. Ghost looked down at the two of them, a storm brewing in his dark brown eyes. "I'll be fine, just need to patch it up."

Price couldn't help the growl that left him when Gaz tried to stand. "No, you're gonna sit back down and we're gonna make camp."

You peaked outside as night fell and took in a deep breath then recoiled when you smelt them on the wind. They're closer warned your omega even as heat built up in your abdomen. 

You close the door quickly and wiped away the cold sweat. The near beckoned to you and you went back in, a dull throb from your clit making it harder to relax this time. 

You hissed defiantly and tried to ignore it until it became near painful. You growled to yourself and shoved your hand down your pants, no preamble or work up. Your body wanted an orgasm? You could give it an orgasm.

You were completely soaked, your slick coated your thighs and panties as you circled your puffy clit and bit down on your lower lip at the shocks of pleasure. Your mind wandered to territory where it shouldn't. That pretty one with his slender fingers toying with your clit while the one with a beard lapped at your gushing pussy like it was the fountain of youth.

You hissed out a breath and gyrated your hips against your own hand as you dipped two fingers down and sunk them in with embarrassing ease and a squelch. Your palm applied pressure to your clit as you pumped your fingers in and out. Petting that spot you could hardly reach and your legs tensed up as the pleasure built.

Your hips bucked and small moans left your mouth as you came on your fingers, slick gushed out around them and coated your thighs and soaked your panties. 

It was embarrassing just how quick you came from just those images, the other two weren't even in it but you refused to think about it. Your body hummed, the small waves of pleasure bringing you down into a cozy sleep.

[dannystheone]

Sacrificing Mysterion (Lee Mysterion/ Ler Goth Kids)

Guys this idea took over my brain all of a sudden so now you have to deal with it

I was watching the Cthulu episode with the Goth kids in the alley with Mysterion and I was like how have I not had this idea before-

but anyway :))

I hope you guys enjoy! Take this as kind of a Halloween fic as well while I get a real Halloween fic prepared

WARNINGS: Cursing, smoking, talks of death, talks of torture, talks of sacrifice/acts of sacrifice, chanting, pinning

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE

The Goth Kids are on a mission to sacrifice Mysterion to Cthulu, as they are now Cthulu's minions. But they can't kill him, so what else can they do?

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

A lit cigarette was the only illumination in the darkly themed bedroom, smoke unfurling from its smoldering tip. Micheal brought the cigarette to his lips and took a hit, sighing afterward and shaking his curls in irritation. After the failed assassination attempt on Mysterion in the alleyway with the other cultists, the Goth Kids were in a creative rut on how to serve their new master.

They agreed collectively that the only reason why the world still sucked even when Cthulu was on a rampage killing all the hippies and conformists was because Mysterion didn't stay dead as their sacrifice. Now, back in Henrietta's bedroom, the group racked their brains on sacrificing him once more and ensuring it worked this time.

"Maybe he's too much of a brainwashed wannabe to be a proper sacrifice. I mean his brains gotta be mush from all the trashy pop they listen to on the radio. A proper sacrifice has to have some sort of brain, right? It would make sense." Micheal thought out loud as he brought his cigarette away from his lips. Pete shook his head, his hair swaying away from his face.

"Nah, even if you're a carbon copy straight out of Mattel with all the other Barbie's and Ken's in the world, you should stay dead when you're stabbed in the chest. Maybe he got lucky and the cultist missed his heart or something. Unless the conformists really are just made up of plastics and Botox now. Maybe there wasn't a heart to stab." Pete suggested. Henrietta pulled her cigarette away from her lips, sighing out the smoke in her chest as she flipped through the Necronomicon.

"God, there's nothing in here about a proper human sacrifice. This book is fucking useless." Henrietta shut the book with a thump and pushed it to the side with her foot, her hair especially wild with being so frazzled. She was excited about a new dark beginning this world being served by Cthulu could bring, but everything was still frustratingly the same.

"Nothing on Reddit or Wikipedia? That's where you usually go." Firkle asked. He was also looking forward to a new beginning, wondering how things would be where no one would make fun of him for anything anymore.

Henrietta shook her head. "No, there's nothing. I'm starting to think Cthulu doesn't even want a sacrifice. You would think if he did he'd give us some fucking instructions."

"It feels like whatever God you wanna listen to, they're always vague and non-committal. Maybe it's something we're too mortal to not understand." Pete said aloud. The others were inclined to agree.

"If I weren't so pissed off right now, I'd say that's goth as fuck, Pete." Henrietta commented, trying to make some sense of her hair with one hand.

"Maybe if we tire Mysterion out first and then try to kill him? I don't know, maybe he has regenerative powers." Firkle suggested. Micheal rubbed his eyebrow as a headache was starting to form in that spot.

"Firkle, he's not an actual superhero. He's just a stupid backwoods poser wearing a costume with his boxers on the outside of his pants. I'm surprised it's a clean pair and it doesn't have a skidmark on it-"

"How do I fight him."

A deep voice spoke from behind the group. The Goth Kids turned around in sync to see Mysterion knelt in Henrietta's open bedroom window. It was a rainy night tonight, lightning cracking and illuminating the room for a brief moment.

Micheal raised an eyebrow at Mysterion despite his cool entrance.

"Oh joy, it's underwear boy again. Get out of here poser, you ruined our chances at finally getting true darkness and true pain in this world. Instead we're still living in this gay conformist fantasyland." Micheal waved Mysterion away as the anti-hero landed in Henrietta's bedroom and tossed his cape to the side.

"Tell me how to defeat him. Now. That God of yours stole my friends away. They're in real danger because of you. Tell me, now. There's no time to waste." Mysterion demanded. The Goth Kids all exchanged glances with one another, silently considering it. Slowly, small grins of agreeance bloomed on their faces as they understood a silent plan.

Henrietta stood up from her spot on the floor, tapping her cigarette in the ashtray. She walked up to Mysterion and put a hand on her hip.

"Alright dork, listen. We'll tell you how to defeat Cthulu. And you can believe us because we have this-" Henrietta walked over to the Necronomicon and kicked the book onto its front so the cover showed its title. Mysterion's eyes followed and understood. "All you have to do is be a sacrifice for us to Cthulu. And you can defeat him afterward." Henrietta explained. Mysterion's eyes narrowed behind his mask at that.

"How can you want me to be a sacrifice to someone I'm trying to take down? Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose? And I can't die, that's why I'm alive from the alleyway when you assholes stuck that knife in my chest. Doesn't seem like worthy sacrifice material to me." Mysterion said gruffly. Firkle smiled confidently at that. Micheal stood up now next to Henrietta, the rest of the Goth Kids following suit.

"Cthulu is the source of all subconscious anxiety for all of mankind. You don't necessarily have to die, we just need your feelings of anxiety to be sacrificed in the name of the Old One. Besides, if this sacrifice doesn't work again by the time you're going and trying to save your friends, then we'll know it's a crock. Either way, we both get what we want. We get confirmation, and possibly the result we want, and you get an answer." Micheal explained. Henrietta looked at Micheal inquisitively.

"How did you know all of that?" She asked. Micheal shrugged.

"I did some reading too. Apparently Wikipedia did have what we were looking for." He replied.

Mysterion's fists locked tightly. Every second ticked closer and closer to his friends possibly meeting a horrible fate down in the city of R'lyeh where he had last left them. He had no time to waste, and if he weren't so outnumbered he would have just stolen the book for the answers. He had to comply this time. Mysterion closed his eyes and took a breath, centering himself.

"Okay, I'll do it. Tell me what I have to do."

--------

After some deliberating about how to extract Mysterion's feelings of anxiety without getting blood on the carpet and making Henrietta's parents upset, the Goth Kids had Mysterion set up on Henrietta's sacrificial carpet. A five-pointed star was imprinted on the material. Candles were lit and music with ominous tones set the mood.

Mysterion was laid out with each Goth Kid sitting on a respective limb, Pete and Firkle taking his legs and Micheal and Henrietta taking his arms. It didn't look very ceremonial with them sitting on him like this, but Mysterion's heart was already beating in this setup despite the fact. He tried to keep a level head.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." Pete chanted the sacred text from the Necronomicon. Mysterion looked from side to side, getting more and more tense about this.

"What does that mean? What you're saying." Mysterion craned his neck up and asked when Pete was done. Pete flipped his hair out of his eyes and set the book down.

"'In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.' It basically means that even though he's trapped in R'lyeh, he will eventually return. Which he has. Let's just hope this sacrifice works so we can make his return worth it." Pete said with an annoyed tone.

"Can you just make it quick? My friends are waiting for me in another dimension with only me to save them." Mysterion said heroically. The Goth Kids collectively rolled their eyes at that.

"Yeah sure Captain Mysteri-Suck, we'll speed this up for you." Pete groaned as he settled into position on Mysterion's leg and prepped his fingers.

Mysterion tugged each limb, not liking how secure he was in this position. But he supposed that was the entire point. To be anxious and uncomfortable. He had some give with the limb Firkle was sitting on because of how light he was, but that was made up for by the rest of the group on him. He just hoped his hands and feet wouldn't be numb by the end of this.

"So, what will you do? Stab me again? Carve sigils into me?" Mysterion asked. Micheal blew out the smoke in his chest with a huff.

"Pfft- No, genius. What do you think we're fucking sadists? We're just gonna do this-" Henrietta and Micheal put down their cigarettes and immediately dove right in. Fingers started scribbling and wiggling into Mysterion's open ribs and armpits, their fingers sliding over his costume easily.

Mysterion being taken by surprise by this tactic was an understatement. His eyes widened, surprised laughter escaping his chest at his regular pitched voice before it took everything in him to pitch his laughter down to Mysterion's tone of voice.

"Hahahaha! Wh-whahat thehe fuhuhuck?! St-Stohohop!" The anti-hero's eyes squinted behind his mask in his laughter as Henrietta winced at the sound. Her black acrylics scratched and raked against Mysterion's ribs, a method that seemed to already be driving him up the wall.

"Euch- I think I would have rather carved sigils into myself than hear your childlike laughter barf into my ears. It's like I'm in a live studio audience for the Disney Channel. Spare me." Henrietta rolled her eyes at Mysterion's laughter and kept up her unenthused tickling.

Mysterion pulled at his limbs as a reflex, his arms and legs jerking and tensing in an attempt to free himself. Micheal's long artist fingers spidered down to Mysterion's side and started squishing there, causing the anti-hero to jump and belt out his laughter.

"G-Gehehet ohohohoff! Gehehet ohohohoff nohohohoo!! Dohohohon't dohohoho thihihis!!" Mysterion was finding it extremely challenging to keep his voice pitched to Mysterion's deep tone of voice, especially since his laughter was very much forced and spontaneous.

"Oh wow, should we listen to the sacrifice and actually stop you guys? What do you think? Do you want to help your friends or not, buttmunch?" Micheal groaned and used all five fingers in Mysterion's side to claw it, causing a squeal out of the tough hero that definitely was not Mysterion-pitched.

"I mean, it sounds like you did your friends a favor. They're down in R'lyeh, the Nightmare Corpse-City. They're so stupid lucky. I'd give anything to trade places with them." Pete said aloud. He decided it was his turn to get into the mix, but he hated that he had Mysterion's leg to work with. He decided to just start squishing around Mysterion's knee, which worked tremendously in his favor anyway. Mysterion already started kicking and pulling away from him.

"NOHO-hohoho!! I hahahave tohohoho sahahahave thehehem!! Buhuhuhut thihihihis fuhuhuhucking suhuhuhucks!!" Mysterion shouted, battling his own voice for control on pitching his tone back down to its deep register. He twisted and bucked his hips, trying to get free by any means, even for just a second.

"Well yeah, you didn't think subconscious anxiety was going to come easily, did you? I swear, brainwashed jocks never use their heads. It's why they're all braindead mindless sheep." Henrietta mused. Her fingers made their way into Mysterion's armpit, her acrylics sliding back and forth in the hollow which was killer.

"Stahahahap!! Dohohon't gohohohoho in thehehere!! Gehehet ahahaha-ohohout!" Mysterion pleaded with Henrietta, which was exactly why she kept her fingers exactly where they were and kept scratching in his armpit.

"You can't possibly believe that you're the victim here. We have to listen to your incessant boyish laughter that's making my eardrums puke blood while we put our hands on you with your underwear outside of your pants. If anything, we're the ones making the sacrifice." Micheal commented, his right hand staying at Mysterion's side scratching and his other hand reaching to his stomach and spidering all over it. Mysterion bucked his hips at this and threw his head back in laughter.

"Ahahahaha!! Plehehehease plehehehease!! Ahahahat leheheheast mahahake ihihihit eheheheasier!! Thihihihis ihihihihis ahahahahass!!" Mysterion begged, not liking to have to stoop so low as to plead with the people torturing him, but he had no other choice. Being killed hundreds of different times in hundreds of different ways, he's done that. But this was something else entirely.

"Your laughing makes me want to barf." Firkle said simply, his small fingers crawling underneath Mysterion's knee and scribbling in the hollow. Mysterion squealed and started pulling on that leg in particular.

"I don't get you dime-a-dozen conformist losers. You beg us for our help and then we give to you and then you ask us to stop? Typical Normies. Real life takes real sacrifice. Not your bleached blonde fake spray tan Hollywood prop fake fantasy world you live in." Henrietta used acrylic-covered nails to scribble and scratch over all the surface area she could reach on her side, from Mysterion's armpit to the middle of his stomach.

Mysterion started belting out laughter; his previous attempts at trying to pitch down his laughs were tossed out the window. His laugh came across high and clear like a bell chime, filling the room with its presence. Mysterion bucked his hips in an attempt to get the prying fingers off, in his armpits all the way down to his knees and everything in between. This had to be the strangest thing he's ever done for his friends. Hell, the strangest thing he's ever done period.

"Nohohoho nohoho I'm sahahaha-!! I'm sohohorry!! I-hehehehee!! I dihihihidn't mehehehean ihihihit lihihihihike thahahat!!" Mysterion's eyes were screwed shut as his laughter kept climbing to new octaves rather than the opposite that he desperately wanted.

"How long until you think the sacrifice is fulfilled? Should we make him laugh until he's dead? He said he can come back." Pete suggested, squishing his hands up and down Mysterion's thigh but avoiding getting too high up for obvious reasons. Mysterion shook his head vigorously at this idea.

"Dohohohohon't nohohohoho!! I'll dihihihihihie!!" Mysterion shouted, his lips stretched back to show little canines in his mouth. Micheal noticed this and was secretly jealous. He'd always wanted something like that. It made him press his fingers into Mysterion's tummy harder to tickle him more.

"Well no shit, genius. God... it's kinda the whole idea of a sacrifice." Pete deferred the decision to Micheal and Henrietta as he focused on squishing and squeezing Mysterion's thigh. The material that his costume was made out of made it easy to slide his fingers up and down.

"Buhuhuhuhut I mehehehean- I mehehehean I'll dihihihie lihihihike- Gohohohod stohohohohop!! Lihihihike I'll dihihihihie!!" Mysterion tried pleading his case in a not-very-convincing way. The Goth Kids all looked around at each other while their tickling continued to see if anyone could make sense of his words.

"He's starting to go crazy already. He's speaking gibberish." Firkle determined. Both of his small hands were under Mysterion's knee now, scratching over the synthetic material.

"Ohohoo cohohome ohohohohon!!" Mysterion whined. His chest and belly were already starting to hurt, as well as his joints from the pulling. He was starting to think that maybe getting killed was a good option here, but then he'd be leaving without the book, which he couldn't have.

"Sacrifices don't get a say in how they're sacrificed. The Mayans and Aztecs can tell you that. On the bright side, you've graduated from annoying trash conformist to useful sacrifice. Consider yourself lucky." Micheal shrugged and spidered some long fingers over Mysterion's belly button, to which Mysterion could say nothing to and just laughed. His cheeks were starting to ache from smiling.

"I-hehehehee!! I tahahahahap!! Gahahame ohohohover!! Uhuhuhuncle!! Whahahatever you wahahahant buhuhuhut plehehehease!! Mehehehercy!!" Mysterion squirmed and twisted underneath the Goth Kids, to which they decided maybe that was enough.

"He does look anxious, I guess. And I'm getting anxiety from all of your happy-go-lucky giggling." Henrietta groaned.

"Really? I'm getting heartburn. Yeah, I guess it worked." Micheal agreed. The Goth Kids all started getting off of Mysterion's limbs; Mysterion laying on the carpet and breathing in copious amounts of oxygen for a moment.

"Here's the Necronomicon, Wonder Boy. Just bring it back to school when you're done with it. And I swear to Satan if there's any tears or stains on it when you give it back to me- well, I think that'd make it look more Goth but don't make it look gross, I guess." Henrietta picked the book up and put it at Mysterion's side as he was getting up, clutching his side.

"I-huhh- I'm.." Mysterion took a second to bring his voice down to its deep register, but his voice was clearly strained. The Goth Kids all returned to their usual positions around Henrietta's room and looked at the anti-hero collect himself.

"Th-Thank you, for your help. I'm going to help my friends with this," Mysterion said, gesturing with the book.

"May we never cross paths again, 'cause this fucking sucked." Mysterion tucked the book away in a mysterious pocket and vanished out of Henrietta's window into the night.

"...So what should we do with the rest of our night?" Pete asked.

[2knightt]

↳THE OUTSIDERS MASTERLIST!₊˚✧

insider tip=all my fics are under the ‘2knightt’ hastag if u can’t find anything :3 …expect for my event.

the gang ;

fyi, all are separate unless specified.

||✰ gangs love languages !

||✰ doing the gangs makeup !

||✰ model gf!

||✰ crying!reader!

||✰ platonic, motherly!reader

||✰ sodapop’s daughter!reader!

||✰ the gang crushing on reader—separate!

||✰ the gang is the ken to the readers barbie!

||✰ platonic gang with mickey milkovich!reader!

||✰ the gang comforting crying!reader—separate!

||✰ gang dates a happy go-lucky!reader—separate!

||✰ the gang with someone who stims—separate!

||✰ the gang with an artist!reader—seperate!

||✰ the gang is you and you’re them!

||✰ you’re totally in love with them and make it known!

Johnny Cade ;

||✰ gang meets soc gf, they dont like her.

||✰ whipped johnny treats gf like a princess!

||✰ johnny and reader argue, the gang fixes it!

||✰ whimsigothic!gf! + D.W

||✰ johnny falls inlove with curtis sisters friend!

||✰ motherly!reader

||✰ random moments with your bf! + PB.C, D.W.

||✰ motherly!reader—platonic ver! +PB.C.

||✰ grease AU! + PB.C, SP.C, D.W

Dallas Winston ;

||✰ curtis!reader fails at keeping them dating a secret.

||✰ random moments with your bf! + J.C, PB.C.

||✰ whimsigothic!gf! + J.C.

||✰ dallas falls for the famous sweetheart soc.

||✰ grease AU! + J.C, PB.C, SP.C.

||✰ beauty and the beast AU! pt.1, pt.2

||✰ he’s a rockstar and your his gf!

||✰ dallas winston crushin’ on male!hippie!reader!

Ponyboy Curtis ;

||✰ ponyboy has a crush on reader, wingman dallas helps him!

||✰ random moments with your bf! + J.C, D.W

||✰ motherly!reader—platonic ver! +J.C.

||✰ grease AU! + J.C, D.W, SP.C.

Darry Curtis ;

||✰ darry dates a motherly reader. (true love.)

Sodapop Curtis ;

||✰ sodapop gets a crush on reader!

||✰ sodapop’s daughter!reader!

||✰ grease AU! + PB.C, J.C, D.W.

Steve Randle ;

N/A.

Two-bit Matthews ;

N/A.

[scarfacemarston]

Van der Linde Costumes Year 3!

Despite the editing sucking - Please, please, please, "like" and reblog. It would help me so much. You'd think it's just copying and pasting photos, but I did a lot of thinking, finding the right pic and editing. Arthur - Jim Hopper from Stranger Things:

John - Clint Eastwood's Cowboy:

Dutch - Jay Gatsby:

Molly - Daisy:

Hosea- Oppenheimer:

Abigail - Vampire: Very first year of trying something sexier.

Jack- Indiana Jones:

Charles - Hippie: He is ALWAYS comfortable. First year was comfty piraty. Then was comfty Jedi and now it's comfty hippie. Imagine he has a sunflower crown here!

Sadie - Gladiator:

Javier- Starlord because of the jacket and the music:

Lenny as Sam Wilson as Captain America:

Karen - Barbie: COME ON, YOU KNEW SOMEONE WAS GOING TO DO IT.

Sean - Ken: YOU KNOW SHE'D DRAG HIM INTO IT.

Mary-Beth - Wanted Barbie, but Karen beat her, so she's Daphne:

Kieran - Which means he's Shaggy:

Tilly - Shuri:

Josiah Trelawny- P.T. Barnum The Greatest Showman:

Susan Grimshaw - Old West Madam:

Micah Bell - Jason Vorhees:

Bill - Beer Can:

Reverend Swanson - Templar:

Uncle - Santa Clause:

Pearson - Toga Guy:

Bonuses: Marston Baby - Cat:

Rufus - Lion:

[thescoobyscholar]

The History of Zoinks (Essay)

Includes an etymological and cultural analysis of the usage of "jeepers," "jinkies," and "zoinks." Another post will include the follow-up study.

If you grew up watching Scooby-Doo, it may be easy to assume that groovy green tees, ascots, and vans painted with flowers were all standard 60s fare. However, recall that these teens were not written by teens; when the first episode aired, character designer Iwao Takamoto was 41, main writer Bill Lutz was 47, and creators Joe Ruby and Ken Spears were 36 and 31, respectively. Were they already out of touch? As put by Paul Dini, writer on Scooby-Doo! Abracadabra-Doo: “When you look at those characters, they are characters frozen in time. They’re not really what hippies or hipsters or cool kids were like. They’re what 50-year olds thought cool kids were like” (“Scooby Doo! The Whole World Loves You”).

The most iconic quantifiers of how close these characters were to the “cool kids” is their catchphrases: “jeepers,” “jinkies,” and “zoinks!” When we hear the cartoon’s catchphrases, which claim to characterize this era, we must ask: Did people really say these things? Even though these terms are almost exclusively associated with the franchise today, these words were not born for marketing. The writers were pulling from memories, trends, and histories which, if we trace backwards, may glean some evidence as to their cultural accuracy.

Daphne’s classic “jeepers” is said to have been first penned in 1928 by cartoonist Billy DeBeck, whose popular Barney Google strips coined similar terms as “heebie-jeebies” and “holy moly” (Chakraborty and Dosad 117). The true origin of the word is likely several decades earlier, as Google’s catchphrase “Horsefeathers!” was already coming out of fashion among the construction workers that used it when DeBeck revived it in his parody of Appalachian colloquialisms (Funk and Funk ix-x). At the time DeBeck picked up “jeepers,” it was used as a euphemism for “Jesus!” (Harper, “Etymology of jeepers”).

However, the Scooby-Doo writers were more likely to be familiar with Al Donahue’s song “Jeepers Creepers” (as in, “Jeepers creepers, where’d you get those peepers?”). The song jumped high enough in America’s popular music charts in 1939 that it was covered by Louis Armstrong, Larry Clinton, and later Frank Sinatra (Whitburn 533). As an alteration of “Jesus Christ,” the flexible phrase was perfect for bouncy love ballads (“Oh, those weepers, how they hypnotize!”) and as a horror movie motif in Jeepers Creepers. The fact that the film was released in 2001 speaks to the staying power of “jeepers.”

As for Velma’s catchphrase, “jinkies,” it may be a variation of a number of old Scots terms dating around the 18th-19th century, so you may as well pick your favorite: a synonym for “jauntily” (as “jink,” to dodge or flee; nowadays “to juke” may be applicable), a nonsense word in nursery rhymes (e.g., “Eetum, peetum, penny pie / Cock a lory, jinky jye”), or a child’s nightgown (Dictionary of the Scots Language); a type of knitted fingerless glove (see Kate Davies Designs); or yet, as a derivation of “high jinks,” a drinking game that dates back to at least the 17th century (Harper, “Etymology of jinkies”).

The term was first recorded as exclamation “By jinkies!” in the newspaper strip “Ella Cinders” in 1936. The first recorded use of the term by a human (assuming comic characters can’t mail in letters to the local paper) was in a 1938 edition of the Northern-Courier in the sports section. Ray writes: “By jinkies, on my next pass day I will surely stop and see that 178 foot wheelbase, fire truck. If I can’t make it in one day maybe I can get an extension. Some truck.” (How many feet is the Mystery Machine’s wheelbase, I wonder…?) Again, “jinkies” is preceded by “by,” which Velma, as we all know, would choose to omit. By Scooby’s birthday, the term was popular among college students and “overly earnest” speakers (Iseli), fitting for the youngest of the gang who is always piping up with a clue to prove her intellectual merit.

Unlike “jeepers” and “jinkies,” which have decent pedigrees preceding Scooby-Doo, neither “zoinks” nor “zoink” directly appear in any written work before 1969, although they have a number of distant cousins. The closest approximation comes from television: a famous bit in 1958’s “Robin Hood Daffy” where Daffy swings from tree to tree, calling, “Zoiks, and away!” with each jump, only to crash face-first into a tree every time. His iconic lisp makes it difficult to parse whether he’s saying “zoiks” or “yoiks.” The latter would seem more likely, as “yoiks” and its sister “hoiks” have a long history as hunting words. On a bright and early morning in 1843, Sir Godfrey calls for his friend to hurry and saddle up: “Hoik, 'squire! . . . hoik, hoik! High wind him! Drag on him, yoiks, tally-ho!" (Mills 125). On the tail of a fox chase in 1774, a hunter in pursuit exclaims, “Yoiks, hark forward!” (Kelly 6). Contextually, neither sound too far from the modernized “Zoinks, let’s scram, Scoob!” The first “zoiks” was penned around 1584, in a sonnet of all things: “With mightie maters mynd I not to mell, / As copping Courts, or Comonwelthis, or Kings / Quhais craig zoiks fastest, let tham sey thame sell; / My thoght culd nevir think vpon sik things” (Montgomery 1–4). I can’t claim a clue about what the rest means, but “zoiks fastest” leads me to think this is a “jink”/”juke” situation; in “zoiking”, the narrator is fleeing from the cowersome courts, commonwealths, and kings. Coincidentally, “mynd I not to mell” sounds almost adjacent to “meddle,” another word popularized by Scooby-Doo. All of the “zoinks” family are employed as interjections preceding movement.*

In sum, while “jinkies” appears to have had some relevance at the time of Scooby-Doo’s inception, “jeepers” is a bit dated in comparison, and “zoinks” has a vast etymological tree but no direct precursors. The advantage to having a cast of characters who are, in the words of Paul Dini, “frozen in time,” is that they are living time capsules. We can choose any point within 50 years and see unique perceptions of culture, politics, music, style, and our focus: vocabulary. But how well do these perceptions line up with reality?

*All, that is, except one. “Yoiks” may also be used to refer to egg yolks, as in a cookbook from 1762: “Take a large Fowl, or a Pound of Veal, as much grated Bread, half a Pound of Sewet . . . Mace, two Cloves, half a Nutmeg grated, about a large Tea Spoonful of Lemon-peel, and the Yoiks of two Eggs” (Glasse 38). Add an olive toothpick on top and you have a Shaggy sandwich!

References

Chakraborty, Pritesh, and Anuradha Dosad. “Comic Monthly 1922: Exploring Form and Themes.” Department of English, Vidyasagar University, vol. 15, 2022, pp. 112–125.

“Ella Cinders.” Montana Standard, 29 Sept. 1936, p. 11.

Funk, Charles Earle, and Charles Earle Funk. “Foreword.” Horsefeathers, and Other Curious Words, Harper & Row, New York, 1958, pp. Ix–x.

Glasse, Hannah. “Made-Dishes.” The New Art of Cookery, Made Plain and Easy, John Exshaw, 1762, pp. 38–39.

Harper, Douglas. “Etymology of jink.” Online Etymology Dictionary, 28 Sept. 2017, https://www.etymonline.com/word/jink.

Iseli, Marcel. “Jinkies! You’ll Never Believe What Velma’s Catchphrase Means.” Linguablog, Iseli International Commerce, 18 Sept. 2022, linguaholic.com/linguablog/jinkies-scooby-doo/.

"Jinkie." Dictionary of the Scots Language, Scottish Language Dictionaries Ltd, 2004, http://www.dsl.ac.uk/entry/snd/jinkie_adj

Kate Davies Designs. “Jinkies Pattern.” Ravelry, SARK, Nov. 2021, www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/jinkies.

Kelly, Hugh. “Epilogue.” The Romance of an Hour: A Comedy of Two Acts in Prose. G. Kearsley, 1774, line 6.

Mills, John. “A Meet of the Olden Time.” Ainsworth’s Magazine, edited by William Harrison Ainsworth, vol. 4, Chapman and Hall, London, 1843, p. 125.

Montgomery, Alexander. “To R. Hudsone (Sonnet 2).” The Poems of Alexander Montgomery, edited by David Irving, James Ballantyne and Company, 1821, pp. 76.

Szymborska, Wislawa. “Moment.” Monologue of a Dog. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2005, pp.11-13.

Ray. “Diamond Dust.” The Courier-Northerner, 29 July 1938, p. 8.

"Scooby Doo! The Whole World Loves You." Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! The Complete 1st and 2nd Seasons, produced by Hanna-Barbera and Warner Bros. Entertainment Inc, 2010. DVD.Whitburn, Joel. “The Songs.” Joel Whitburn’s Pop Memories 1890 - 1954: The History of American Popular Music, Record Research Inc, Menomonee Falls, WI, 1986, p. 533.

[pudding-parade]

OK, I'm sorry for posting about politics. Truly. I'll post something sims-related later to make up for it. But for me this is local politics, and Ken Buck -- a man with whom I vehemently disagree, politically, but whom I respect for his commitment to democracy and his stance on the 2020 election not being stolen and for his continuing denouncement of the January 6th insurrection despite things like death threats made against himself and his family by MAGA loonies -- has made my day today. I have literally (and I mean that in the true sense of the word) been spending my afternoon/evening periodically chortling from sheer schadenfreude, so I just have to memorialize this and hope that I don't have to eat my words in November.

For context, or for non-USians, or for just the (slightly) shorter version if you don't want to look at the article....

Lauren Boebert, a super-"MAGA" fascist, is, depressingly, my current representative in the US House of Representatives. She only barely won reelection in 2022 despite the fact that, while I live in a very blue, hippie spot of it, the district has historically leaned heavily conservative because most of the district is made up of very Christian rural ranchers, who are conservative, yes, but in their case, generally speaking, traditionally so. They're mostly not the weird, Trump-flag-waving, MAGA-cult breed of it. So, Bobo only won reelection in 2022 by a few hundred votes and, since then, Adam Frisch, the centrist (which, by non-US standards, is right-wing) Democrat who opposed her and is running again, has only gotten more popular, as the House has proceeded to get absolutely nothing done, despite having a majority, precisely because of the shenanigans of MAGA idiots like Bobo.

So, Bobo decides that for the 2024 election, she'll instead run for the district east of mine, which was Mr. Buck's and which is even more conservative. She announced this decision right after Mr. Buck announced that he was retiring and would not be running for reelection. It was obvious that Bobo figured that that district would be a much easier win than the traditionally conservative district she very nearly lost.

But just today, Mr. Buck announced that instead of staying in Congress until this coming January, he's out as of this coming Friday. Which forces a special election in his district to fill his seat until January. Our (Democrat) state governor announced that that election will on the 25th of June, which is by law the longest delay possible, thus leaving Mr. Buck's seat empty until then, thus eroding the Republicans' majority until then. And if Bobo wanted to enter that special election, she'd have to resign from her current seat immediately because you can't be a sitting congressperson for one district and run for and be elected in another. Bobo has announced that she's not going to give up her current seat. And, for various reasons, all of this means that her chances of winning Buck's district in the regular election in November are now worse. And, she can't change her mind and run for reelection in the regular election for her current district, even if she wanted to, because the deadline for entering that election has recently passed.

So basically it's (probably) bye-bye Bobo! (And probably hello, Mr. Frisch for me, and while I'd be happier with a progressive, I'll take a centrist over a MAGA idiot any day.) And also? Mr. Buck, who has publicly stated that his party no longer aligns with his values, has not only screwed Bobo with his well-timed decision to "spend more time with his family," but also Mike "Christian Nationalist Fascist" Johnson, the Speaker of the House -- who, as the icing on the cake, was not informed of Mr. Buck's decision in advance of the announcement of it -- as his parting gift to MAGA.

Why? Because the Republicans now have a majority of just four or five seats, and, from next Friday until July, when Mr. Buck's (most likely Republican but perhaps not MAGA) successor will be sworn in, they now have one less, with the next election only eight months away and at a time when the Repugs need all hands on deck, so to speak, if they have any hope of getting anything at all done and, therefore, of having anything "positive" (by the conservative definition of that word) that they can talk up and run on from now until November. I'm pretty sure this big "screw you" was Mr. Buck's intention before he announced even his original retirement plans, so...Well played, Mr. Buck. Well. Played.

The question is: Will other House Republicans with integrity (there are a few left) follow Mr. Buck's lead? Could we see the House change majority before the 2024 election? It's not likely, but it's possible! And either way, this one conservative man dealt a blow to the MAGAs today, and I, as an extreme leftie, am here for it.