#i am chronic dipshit

[nerdynanny]

The way I go from chill to VIOLENT the moment some dipshit who can’t even speak with their CHEST tells someone ON ANON how to run their blog will never stop. I am fueled by rage and you can call me as TOXIC as you want.

Run your damn blog however you want— as long as you’re not hurting others or yourself DO WHATEVER. Some of you fetid bricks of distended rectum need to stop being chronically online. If you won’t say it off anon, keep your opinions to yourself.

[staroaming]

Silent Running

Vash x Reader - Suffering from a chronic illness, you are found passed out in the dunes by Vash and Wolfwood. 

The desert heat beats down on your shoulders, heavy as iron weights, thick as a blanket. You huff and wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, wondering for the umpteenth time if you should have just stayed and waited everything out. But the thought of wasting time didn’t bode well and now...you’re here. You frown and glance up at the sky, squinting at just how bright it is.  Your knees are weak and wobbly, your stomach twisting with the need for some sort of sustenance, your head pounding and pounding- You curse and sit in the sand with a grunt, bringing your hand to your temple. You rub at it, urging it to stop; now simply isn’t the damn time. You reach blindly in the bag hanging from your shoulder, digging until you feel the small container that usually houses the pills you need to ward off an attack. Alas, you come up empty. You shut the case and toss it violently, wishing you didn’t need them at all. But with a fresh wave of nausea and sharp pain behind your eyes, you know that it’s impossible to live without them.  Wavering, you glance around, wishing someone would happen to be walking the same way.  With your luck, you’ll sooner be swallowed by a damn worm.  Gulping against your dry throat, you try to stand. But the moment you manage to get to your knees the pain erupts: it’s a wildfire, a surge of electricity, a dagger. Bile rises but you clamp your hands over your mouth until you can manage to curl in upon yourself, the motion practically habitual at this point. Like usual, when you don’t have your pills, you only have yourself. You fall to your side and wrap your arms around your abdomen, fingers digging into either side of your back. You press deeply, welcoming the slight distraction.  It doesn’t last, of course. The pain in your head overgrows, consumes, until your body does what it does best.  You pass out. 

                                               ______________

“-how am I supposed to know?”  “We can’t just...dangerous-” You groan at the sound of echoing voices, doing your best to open your eyes. All you see are two figures shrouded and shadowed by the setting sun, your lashes thick and damp when you blink.  “Oh!” Someone practically shouts, a brush of wind flowing when they squat in front of you. “Are you okay?” Someone tsks, “Do they look okay, you dipshit?” “I-” You can’t even choke out the words. Your head throbs and you force yourself to bring your hands up, pushing against each temple. You groan as the world undulates, the figures turning to something akin to murky water.  There is movement. Distant voices. When a hand wraps around your arm, intent on helping you stand, you jolt.  “Don’t!” You squeeze your eyes shut.  “I’m sorry.” The person lets go immediately, “How can we help you? What should we do? Are you sick? Do you need water?” “I just need...to let it pass.” The other person kicks at the sand and when you manage to peek, they are staring at the setting sun. Contemplating, it seems.  “I’ll start a fire.” They say. “I’m tired as hell, anyway. ‘Bout time we stopped.” You let out a slow breath, glad that the one still squatting in front you isn’t going to try to do anything rash. You’d feared that they’d drag you somewhere, which would only make you feel closer to combustion.  Instead, the incoming night chill is interrupted by the flames, a new, comfortable warmth gathering at your back. There is the clanging of metal, the sound of something pouring, the rising smell of food. Your stomach grumbles loudly. Embarrassingly loud. “Ah,” The stranger has drawn close again, “You’re hungry, huh?” You open your eyes, small tidbits of relief starting to ease your body out of the tense curl you’ve been stuck in. You glance up, surprised to see them squatting again, a metal hand raised as if they were going to reach out for you. They catch your gaze and drop the hand, instead bringing it up to rub at the back of their neck.  “Yeah.” You finally respond, clearing your throat and beginning to shift. Your body aches something furious, muscles cramped. “It’s soup.” The stranger says, “Would you like my help? Can you stand?” “I got it.” You blink away the fuzz of your vision, working yourself to get to your hands and knees. You dip your head, breathing shallowly, before trying.  The stranger surges forward and catches you before you can face-plant. You grab hold of him on instinct, the throb in your head spiking before fading away again. He holds you lightly, hands fluttering as if he wasn’t sure where to place them.  “Sorry.” You go to push away but he places his hands solidly on your upper arms, brows furrowed as his face finally comes into a clearer view. The first thing you think, which you’ll surely later blame on the delirium of your illness, is that he is beautiful. You flit your eyes over his face, over the small mole beneath his eye, on his eyes themselves. How are they so damn blue? “I’ll help you.” He is saying, “That’s all. Once you’re sitting by the fire, I’ll make sure not to touch you again if you don’t want me to.” You can’t help but nod. Unfortunately, you know you won’t be able to support your own weight. So, very slowly, he rises and brings you with him. He takes small steps, his metal hand pressed firmly but gently on your hip, his other holding yours near his chest. It’s a balance, a distribution of weight so that he carries the most.  Once the fire is close he lowers you but your head still swims. If you could, you think you’d like to slam it into a fucking rock. That would at least make you focus on a new kind of shitty pain. The world tilts dangerously when he lets you go. Your face is warm with humiliation, your heart thrumming when you realize he is settling behind you once more to keep you from falling. The other person stomps out their cigarette before filling a banged up old metal bowl with soup from the small pot hanging over the fire. He practically pushes it against your chest, muttering something about it being really hot before returning to his spot across from you.  “Here.” The man behind you takes the bowl and holds it in front of you, his chin dangerously close to resting on your shoulder.  You thank him quietly before picking up the spoon, glad that at least your hand isn’t shaking quite as bad as you expected it would. The soup is a bit drab but you don’t mind. All you care about is filling your empty stomach.  “So, what’s wrong with you?” Your eyes shoot up.  “Wolfwood!” The man behind you practically gasps.  “What? I’m not bein’ rude. Just wanna know if it’s contagious.” You breathe a small laugh, “It’s not.” You can’t tell where he’s looking with the sunglasses on his face, which is a bit strange considering the sun isn’t even out. Though, you have a feeling he’s watching you closely. Suspiciously.  “What is it, then?” He asks, flicking open his lighter to start on another cigarette.  “I just get these headaches.” You pat the man’s hand and he lowers the bowl to place beside you. You do your best not to lean into his chest too much, mindful of how awkward this most likely is. “They get rough and if I don’t have my medicine, they can debilitate me.” “So, why didn’t you take your meds?” You shrug a shoulder, “I’m out. That’s why I’m headin’ to the next town. I usually get ‘em from a trader but they never showed up. I got desperate.” Smoke trails from his cigarette but finally, he looks away. He seems content enough with your answer and even if he wasn’t, you aren’t sure that you’d really care. Your stomach is full and your head is starting to return to itself, the dull throb occurring less and less. In a few hours, you think you might even be able to endure the walk again.  Behind you, the man shifts and you jump upright, not having noticed how deeply you’d pressed back into him.  “Sorry, sorry.” You gulp and scoot forward a bit, “I think I’m good now. You don’t have to sit behind me.” “Are you sure?” “Nope.” You laugh nervously, “But it’s just sand. If I fall, it’ll be nice and soft.” Wolfwood smirks around his cigarette, “Vash doesn’t mind. Do ya’, buddy?” The man, Vash, picks up your spoon and tosses it at him. It smacks him square in the chest.   But to you, he says, “I don’t mind.” You hesitate, wondering if you’d look absolutely ridiculous if you were to crawl away miserably on your knees. Your cheeks flush at the thought and so you relent, carefully leaning back, glad when it eases the tension in your neck. Which, in turn, continues to ease the tension in your head.  The two of them talk long into the night but you hardly keep up with what they say. Your eyes flutter with the need to sleep, which many would think impossible considering you’d been passed out for so long. But it’s different when it’s willing, when you don’t have to hold yourself to ward off the pain. The last thing you remember before slipping away is the twinkling stars and, distantly, the vibration of Vash laughing against you.

                                          _________________

Waking to a new day, you loathe the return of the light. You moan and bring a hand to your face, running it down the length, steeling yourself for continued solitude and miles upon miles of rolling dunes. It gets lonely and it brings a deep ache, a soul-born thing that sometimes makes you wanna sob like a kid. However, when a voice starts, you practically jump out of your skin.  “You’re up!”  Your eyes flash open and you sit up quickly, glancing around to find that the two men haven’t left. Now that they aren’t shrouded in the dark and dancing golden flames, you see them more clearly and you gulp. They’re desert-worn, rough around the edges just like everyone else on this godforsaken planet. But unlike what the grand majority would do, they haven’t left.  Wolfwood is leaning against a huge crucifix, smoke still rising from the cigarette hanging from his mouth. His ankles are crossed to match his arms, his head turned to you.  “What-” You blink at the hand extended in front of your face. You grab hold of it, finally looking at Vash when you’re on your feet in front of him. “What are you two still doing here?” Vash blinks, and blinks, and laughs.  “What?” You frown, looking to Wolfwood for an answer. “What’d I say? What’s so funny?” He waves a hand, “He’s just like that. You’ll get used to it.” Vash wipes at his eye as the laughter slowly subsides, looking down at you with a surprisingly gentle expression.  “We couldn’t just leave you behind.” He leans down and picks up his large bag, surprising you by hoisting your own over his shoulder too. “C’mon, now! We gotta get moving.” You stare at his back as he turns and starts walking toward the rising sun. It’s all red and pink and purple, wrapping Vash up in such wondrous colors. Wolfwood sighs and motions for you to follow, tilting his head, cigarette burning low as he hoists his huge cross against his back. Vash glances over his shoulder, a grin starting on his lips.  And so, with a bemused huff and the kicking up of sand as you rush to catch up to them, you follow. 

                                       ___________________

// if you like this, let me know if you’d like for it to continue in more parts! (with eventual nsfw) //

[sword-and-lance]

so I DID say I was gonna make my own post and here goes, rambling stream-of-consciousness nonsense below

for real though so many people just never grow out of being a hateful dipshit and it shows and ffs I am so Very Tired Of It

like us furries are just off doing our own shit for funsies but noooooo that's Not Acceptable ya know, because it's weird because Well I Don't Get It And That's The Only Metric That Matters Right, and you don't want to be WEIRD do you

never mind that this is exactly the line of thinking that got wielded against my autistic ass on the regular to the point I still have multiple neuroses on it thank you VERY fucking much but 'oh no I don't actively hate autistic people so I can't possibly be bigoted right'

never mind that this is exactly the like of thinking that STILL GETS wielded against my aromantic ass on the regular to the point I have very much had to become viciously defensive of it at the drop of a hat almost more than I'm actually allowed to love being it

hell it gets wielded against my bisexual ass too for that matter lmao that's just not as large a chunk of my identity as the aro stuff

like y'all KNOW this "they are Weird and therefore Bad and Wrong" impulse is exactly where bigot shit of all stripes comes from right

RIGHT?

y'all have got to let go of the "I don't understand it therefore it is Wrong and Laughingstock and No One Should Do It" impulse you gotta or you're gonna fall down a hole that's real goddamn hard to climb back out of

speaking from experience as someone who has had to and tbh probably still is climbing out of many fucking holes

and yes that above paragraph for absolute certainty isn't just covering furry shit! it also includes stuff like kink including whatever one(s) YOU don't like, people get crankin' to the weirdest shit and forks are found in the kitchen come ON NOW if everyone involved is a consenting adult then get the fuck over yourself and just don't look and go looking for shit you don't like

you don't have to "get" something to at least give it and the people involved in it some fucking basic respect

it ain't none of your business

so fucking mind your own

"but Dae you're one of The Good Furries who works in STEM and tech and--" and I will still fucking bite you for going after the Weird ""Degenerate"" (eurgh) Ones because you're being a bigot-ass to them and no one should have to EARN the right to not be bigot-ed at you asshole

and I ain't even gonna get into how y'all treat otherkin and therians and etc or I'm gonna start biting

and I am especially ain't even gonna get into how y'all treat disabled and chronically-ill people or I'm gonna start spraying blood like the world's angriest hornytoad lizard I know a terrifying number of people actually want me and like 70% of my social circle dead, I get to see this shit every single day, thanks!

[ao3feed-jonmartin]

I Just Can't

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/UuRLI6P by Enby_Axolotl_7 Ch. 1 - Oh No Tim realizes he has a crush on Sasha. Awkward shenanigans ensue. Words: 6278, Chapters: 10/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Sasha James, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Angst, References to Depression, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cigarettes, Past Child Abuse, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Dates, Tim Stoker Has ADHD (The Magnus Archives), Pansexual Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Demiromantic Sasha James (The Magnus Archives), no beta we kayak like Tim Stoker, except I actually did have a beta i just really like this tag, Awkward Crush, Tim Stoker has a crush on Sasha James, Sasha James has a crush on Tim Stoker, Honestly they're so dysfunctional i love it, if this goes against canon, fuck off, im not gonna do research, Chronic depression as a result of childhood trauma from undiagnosed ADHD, Tim Stoker Needs a Hug (The Magnus Archives), I'm sorry i dont know how alcohol works okay im a minor, i also misspell it as alchohol every fucking time, it is 1 am, i wake up at 5 am, god help me, Tim Stoker and Sasha James planning murder on Martin Blackwood for being an arse, Im not british why am i like this, tim stoker has facebook (oh dear god save us all), tim stoker gets upset, ive given up on punctuation at this point, ill just stop i can add more tags later, Abusive Parents, tim stokers parents are dipshits read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/UuRLI6P

[weezeryuri]

i am at the point where if people underestimate/invalidate me over my chronic pain i’m just giving them IBS. like fine you. fuckin deal with it then. tell me how easy it is to live with. i dare you to tell me i’m not trying dipshit. FALL.

[minerscanarybyvanessacarlton]

I care very deeply about the migrants who died off the coast of Greece. This is why I'm using them to guilt people who tell me I perhaps need to chill about how much I'm jerking off to the dipshits on that submarine dying. I am a good person and I'm not chronically internet poisoned.

[emeraldcreeper]

Today in ohhhh, I was doing that huh….. I have stupid useless nonfunctional guilt and I was projecting my icky emotions upon one man who my therapist called “your grumpy man” (new nickname for my emotional support wet cat of a old man) I just figured out the projecting part it’s no wonder I can write the pining shit better than the hes doin okay shit, IM dealing with the thought I caused the chronic pain/migraine bullshit I’m dealing with, which I HAVENT, it’s stupid to consider I have, because why would I want chronic migraines, I don’t, if it was a me issue I’d just not have them anymore, and it isn’t working that way, I need to be patient with myself and understand my limits currently and that I cannot compare myself with a cringefail cousin who is privileged as fuck and 18 and going to college for the first time

I add: I graduated from fucking college with daily migraines and Swiss cheese brain, also went months after my father died, then later still went after my grandpa died years later, despite the mmm everything happening, I’m allowed a fucking rest period after all that, even if I hadn’t, I still deserve rest because I am currently dealing with a chronic condition I cannot control or properly treat, because if I could do either of those things, it’d be happening, but I can’t, so obviously it’s not happening

Aaand thirdly: I do not control the shitty economy or housing market, nor do I control the state of good remote jobs I can do with the autism and general yknow aforementioned *gestures broadly* that cause… issues in getting a job/apartment god forbid I live in one again it sucked, I hate landlords/whatever fucking else, I just don’t, if I did it’d be less godawful, so get this: ERGO, DIPSHIT, NOT MY GODDAMN FAULT

[beaniebaneenie]

Since this post ABSOLUTELY reads like a fucking psyop, and we had enough of those in the lead up to the 2016 and the 2020 election, have some sources beyond a couple of deliberately misleading and incendiary tweets:

"Funding for the COPS program has increased in the last seven fiscal years, from $208 million for FY2015 to $663 million for FY2023."

Source: Congressional Research Service, 2-17-2023

Obama increased their funding. Trump increased their funding. Yes, Biden is too... But it's not solely a "Biden Thing", this has been happening every fucking year for a while now.

"From 1995-1999, the annual appropriation for the COPS program averaged nearly $1.4 billion."

(same source)

So, it used to be 3x what it is now.

People have (extremely correctly, IMHO) been pointing out that cops are fucking racist, and the entire institution is corrupt as hell. And that support needs to go to poverty, homelessness, lack of mental healthcare, etc.

And that's exactly what Biden is fucking doing.

Read that last sentence again:

"As a condition of the grant, hiring of police officers must mirror the racial diversity of the community they serve."

They don't get the damn money if they aren't working with and mirroring their community.

Look at what the funding is for:

De-escalation training

Response to mental health calls

Anti-bias training

Diversity training

Gaining accreditation

And because these are GRANTS, in order to get the money? They have to APPLY. It isn't just handed to them. They have to put together applications, documentation, why the money is needed, what it will be used for, proof the money was used THAT WAY or they have to give it back.

Oh, and also? Tribal law enforcement is eligible for these grants too. To get government money to support mental health and community programs where some of it is desperately needed, because crimes against Native Americans (particularly Native women) are incredibly high.

___

Look, do I hate cops?

Fuck yes.

All Cops Are Bastards, yes even your fucking uncle or mom or whoever.

Do I think we need to defund the entire institution and start over with community organization and the rule of civil society? Absolutely.

But wanting a utopia does not mean that I can ignore the world we actually live in.

And I am FED UP TO THE BACK TEETH with you fuckers going, "omfg Biden is just as bad!" and "vote blue, they said, ugh look at this everything is still terrible!"

The other guy was a fucking NAZI, you dipshits.

And in 18 months, whoever runs on the red ticket will ALSO be a fucking Nazi.

When the choice is trudge home through a two-foot deep mud puddle in a thunderstorm, or drive yourself and a bus full of people off a cliff?

You grit your teeth and put one foot in front of the other, and you trudge through the god damn mud until you get to the other side.

Y'all better start getting your raincoats and mud boots out of the closet NOW, because we've got one hell of a mud puddle to trudge through come November, and if we end up with a Republican president, or if we lose control of Congress?

There will not be any set of brakes to stop the bus from careening over that cliff.

And most of the ones who would want to say, "I told you so"? The women, the BIPOC folks, the LGBTQ+ siblings, the chronically ill and disabled, the Jewish and Muslim and anyone-who-wasn't-the-right-flavor-of-Christians, the trans folks, the working poor?

Most of us will either have already fled or tried to flee... or worse, we will have died in the crash.

So get over your "but they're the same" fuckery NOW, because they sure as shit aren't the same at all.

[fagnationhatesyou]

I hardly ever post here because the only things that go here are things I’m not willing to put on my main and as a person who is chronically out of pocket it’s hard to find things I’m not willing to outright say but this one is a little. Let’s just talk about it

I know since I was a kid I would try to like categorize whatever it was I was experiencing into some kind of box be it magical powers, mental illness, or prodigal angst so I’m hesitant to take this like. Idea that I’ve had recently too seriously but I would like to explore it particularly in a public form because I’m hoping either I can get an uproar of “that’s totally normal dipshit” Or “there’s definitely something wrong with you see a doctor” cause uh. I don’t know let’s just.

I mean I know kinning is a thing like I’ve been vaguely aware of that since I first started going on the internet but even before that I had that kind of desire I guess when I saw fictional characters where I’d occasionally just feel a really strong connection and it wasn’t like. I mean I know people corroborate about like “that feeling when you leave a movie with a new personality” and I get that and I think that part of it is normal it’s just maybe the degree to which I sink into it.

Which could just be like really extreme daydreaming I guess but it’s. It feels a little bit like these characters some of which are made up entirely but for the most part are made up of several pieces of information involving like, media I’ve seen/read and stories I’ve heard, things my friends have said etc. It seems like constantly in picki up little tiny pieces of things from which I’m making a like. A little weird clay person in my brain. And I’ve been doing this so intensely since I was so young that it feels like rather than having a whole brain that is just me, my brain is split up into like 6 or 7 different pieces all of which contain a separate ‘person’ I don’t know if it’s tmi to get into who those people are or not but distinctly there is a child and a parent/guardian, and then the rest are a little more vague or conceptual,

That said I don’t think I’m experiencing like disassociation episodes at least regarding like the interrelationship between these characters it’s not like. There is not an overt “switch” like you see from people with DID I think. I most definitely disassociate especially in the face of stress but I have definitely been in situations where I’ve had to sort of muster up one of the different ‘people’ to the front of my brain and that process does not require me to fully disassociate or experience any memory loss. I’m pretty sure. I mean the thing is obviously if I disassociate in the face of any stressor than it’s hard to tell if I’m experiencing memory loss because I’m actively switching between parts of my brain or if I’m just experiencing memory loss because I’m disassociating in a normal way. You know?

I think whatever it is that makes this happen in me it’s more of a coping mechanism than something as serious as DID like I wouldn’t necessarily classify this as a disorder it’s more just like: the way my brain has decided to organize the way I go through life. Rather than making these parts of my identity succinct to one individual for whatever reason it has split them into distinct pieces

But I don’t think I can say that it’s DID or whatever because though the way my brain has seemingly fractured I know I’m not experiencing symptoms that are as severe as they’re supposed to be on account of the lack of memory loss and I am also like. I wouldn’t necessarily call it communication between “alters” because that’s pretty silly but also my whole life there’s very clearly been at least two lines of thought happening in my mind at once. This I would not call like ‘voices’ or auditory hallucinations but it’sike. There’s a forefront part of my mind that thinks what I actively am controlling it to and a separate background part of my mind that thinks in response to what it is I am thinking. So like. If I’m sitting there and I’m thinking

“I’m really hungry”

Then the quieter train of thought will say you know like

“You need to eat go do this”

Like the forefront part of my mind is kind of whiny toddler like I can’t really solve anything for myself so a second individual has to swoop in and give me an answer, though of course it’s not always like kind to me like there’s definitely occasions especially if I’m having a really bad time where like. Like here’s an example let’s say I’ve done something bad in some capacity I broke a glass the front part of me says

“I’m so bad that was so bad.”

Then the second one would say like

“You were very bad you need to pay for it” which usually means it’s either telling me to starve myself or hurt myself

So it’s not always a like “parent” in a gentle or kind way it can also be punishing and mean, even degrading at times but still I don’t know what that means. Maybe I’m just describing like intrusive thoughts? I’ve just always conceptualized those things as a separate identity, but I guess thinking something doesn’t make it so like maybe me constructing a second identity or other character is just a coping mechanism for the intrusive thoughts, rather than it actually being a fractured piece of my mind manifesting as a separate identity. I don’t know. It’s all very confusing and I don’t want say I have one thing or another it’s just an idea I’ve been toying with because consistently for my life I’ve struggled with this and I do believe that maybe if I can get a clearer idea of what it actually is I’d get a lot closer to being able to handle it. Which probably just means that regardless of what I personally try to declare it as I should just go to a doctor but I don’t know. I have a thing about that I mean

It just seems like some pretty fucking heavy personal information to hand off to a stranger and have written in a file. Like. If someone knows my name and can use a computer effectively they can definitely see my medical records, so if I go to a doctor to figure this shit out and they diagnose me with some crazy shit that’s just always going to pop up next to my name from that point on which seems troubling. And it’s like what if they want me to take medication or something that’s so scary I mean I feel like that shit can make you really sick sometimes and it often takes a while to actually get the right balance of meds so what if trying to treat it only makes me worse off. Then not only did I have to tell all of this corny bullshit to a stranger but I didn’t even get a good deal out of it. I don’t know I mean I know culturally it’s kind of take as a personal responsibility to take action regarding your mental shit because being fucking insane puts everyone else in trouble I guess, but u don’t know I think that’s actually kind of a lot to expect of someone. You really have no idea what you’re gonna get and it’s a huge scary daunting task. It’s certainly not a journey I’m wanting to go through all for it to turn out I’m just some angsty fuck and I’m really not that special. God. I can’t imagine explaining all of that to a doctor and having them just like. Fucking . Tell me I’ve literally just explained the normal process of thinking to them or something like fuck that’s so embarrassing. I don’t know. I’m just confused. I feel undercooked but also at the same time maybe considering where I am that’s developmentally normal. I mean I know I’m an adult but also my brain still hasn’t stopped growing so maybe I just need to let myself cook a little longer bfore I try to analyze my way of thinking too hard. Like. Maybe as my frontal lobe snaps into place I’ll just stop being so into all this daydreamy role play nonsense and I’ll actually start engaging with reality.

[cookie-waffle]

For the record, although I think both sides are evil for killing innocents, I am not at all gonna act like Isreal isn’t the worse side by a long shot. Their actions are much more motivated by hatred and cruelty than Hamas is. They are much more eager to murder entire families without remorse. Their government is evil. No ifs ands or buts about it.

I just… don’t think this is a straight forward “good vs evil” situation like some of you chronically online dipshits seem to think it is. I don’t think Hamas targeting innocent civilians who have no control over their government “for the greater good” is justifiable at all, and that shouldn’t be considered an inherently immoral opinion to have. You can recognize one side as much worse without defending the murders that the “good” side has committed.

[troglobite]

i was helping to pack everything up in the house bc we basically have to move out this weekend so a bunch of fucking dipshits can bumble around in the house and HOPEFULLY actually do their fucking jobs correctly (i am not being elitist, i had complete faith in these people at the beginning, and now too many fucking Incidents have lowered my faith to the point that i'm like "you need to check that they actually have the CORRECT FLOORING like on the FIRST DAY you have to check, okay?")

anyway so i was helping to pack

and less than an hour in i have pulled the entire back of my right leg so now walking is difficult/painful and i can't bend over 🙃

"shut up and let me help, i can do more than you and crawl on the floor"

[bends down one too many times]

"oh wow look at that i AM actually still disabled and chronically ill. wild."

[flannelepicurean]

See, I absolutely love this take, and I am all the way here for it.

HOWEVER. 😂

Gambit will be like, "I'm de king of thieves!!! 🤠" and LITERALLY ANYONE ELSE will be like, "...From inside that jail cell, homie? From the spot directly in front of the person you just stole that shit from? From the BROAD DAYLIGHT CAPER you are LITERALLY IN THE MIDDLE OF, DOWN MAIN STREET???"

And he will just be like, "Somebody always come knockin' for Gambit, 😏😎😜," right before Rogue, or Storm, or like... LITERALLY ANYBODY ELSE comes and smashes through the wall, or picks his ass up and flies away yelling at him, or takes off a bra (coin flip as to whose) and gives him the business, and he's like, "SEE? KING OF THIEVES!!! 🤠"

If Gambit had a gun, he would be THEEEEEEE most Rhinestone Cowboy Deputy Dipshit about it, because he has a chronic severe case of being Extra AF. That thing would be TACKY. And he'd be doing all kinds of moves with that shit, whipping the trench coat off his hip to do a quick draw with a couple backflips thrown in there because "De style points matter, mon ami!" but there are ZERO people holding up number cards when he sticks the landing. He would have so many trick shots, he would probably hold it sideways to shoot while Scott and Logan and LITERALLY EVERYONE ELSE are like, "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS," but it WOULD work, somehow, because it Looks Cool.

And he'd be insufferable about it. INSUFFERABLE. Solving problems with shooting like he solves crime rates with thieving. The only place to start is the edge of your seat, and the only way to go is UP, folks.

Gambit with a gun, babes. Imagine it with me. 😂🤣🤠🤸🏽‍♂️🙃

[gaykarstaagforever]

People thought I was a mean curmudgeon years and years ago when I bitched about the explosion of podcasting and how many mediocre dipshits were now bothering the rest of us with their confusion instead of working productive jobs.

And yes, I was.

But look around NOW and tell me we have in any way benefited from millions of people listening every day to otherwise mid standups being chronic dipshits and constantly platforming conspiracy theorists and whiny billionaires and goddamn fucking Roseanne Barr, Theo Von, you wad of Dane Cook's pubic hair that somehow gained sentience back in 2000.

Tell me we wouldn't all be better off if this living embodiment of DreamWorks Face had to get a job managing a shoe store in Arkansas instead of dragging down the Internet like a wire clothes hanger snagged in a bedsheet.

My point is, you may not know it until 5 years later, but I AM ALWAYS RIGHT.

[pluralgang-practitioners]

queue is gonna run dry tomorrow and i would apologize but also i shouldn't because like. why am i trying to apologize about a fun hobby. fuck that.

anyways, i'll try to leave some nice things for the dipshits (/affectionate) that run this thing but idk depends on the tags and how much i feel like banging pots and pans for them. (hey also what are the tags we should be checking for this shit??? i'm so lost i love tumblr but we are still new to this community)

anyways uh: send us your spoons and well-wishes, because the mods for this got TKOed by chronic pain and so i, the scrunkly bitchass host, am sitting in front with a fucked up leg desperate for us to already be talking with a doctor about this problem.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

-questy

[i-gently-open-the-door]

very happy birthday to my favorite kazooist himbo Robert Trujilio or however the fuck you spell it 

[seeyouguyslater]