#narcissistic fuckin dipshit

[a-s-levynn]

.

[lesbx]

every episode of kitchen nightmares:

Voiceover: This small town restaurant Shitstain Bistro is struggling to make ends meet. Owner and head chef Hubert Shitstain is a narcissistic, selfish, stubborn dipshit who can’t cook for shit.

*cut to Hubert talking head*

Hubert: I can’t wait for Gordon to walk into my lovely restaurant and be astounded by all our great and delicious offerings. We’re gonna knock his socks off !

*10 minutes after gordon ramsay arrives*

Ramsay: are you aware you have an actual, human corpse rotting in your fucking refrigerator?

Hubert: This is how we do it here!! WE’VE BEEN DOING IT THIS WAY IN OHIO FOR 800 YEARS!! SO IF YOU WANNA TELL ME HOW I SHOULD RUN MY FUCKIN BUSINESS YOU CAN GET OUT

Ramsay in talking head shot: I’ve been to millions of restaurants, and Hubert is definitely, positively, one of the most frustrating owners i’ve ever dealt with. I don’t know if he can be helped

*cut back to the kitchen staff*

Employee #4: Yeah Hubert is a terrible boss. Like he sucks so bad. He does nothing but scream at us and customers and everyone

Voiceover: Hubert’s crew made entirely of a rotation of 17-22 year old women and maybe one or two of the most random guys you’ve ever seen are never able to stand up to him.

Hubert, screaming from across a kitchen: My 17-22 year old female staff never complain about me to my face! i’m the best boss there ever was and maybe it’s gordon that needs to get his eyes checked

*10 minutes later*

Hubert, in a lighter toned shirt: Oh wow Mr. Ramsay, you’ve really helped me see the light, and you’ve helped my business grow and change. I’ll never forget this opportunity sir

*soft instrumental as gordon walks out of the restaurant and away down the street*

Voiceover: Literally the next day, Hubert reverted every change Gordon made to the restaurant and filed for bankruptcy less than a month later

[communist-cat-girl]

sup im back at it on my prager U rants

Ever High School Principal Should Say This

o boi

so the preamble is good, teachin the young is p much the best thing i could think of.

change 1 kinda sounds dumb right off the bat honestly; also if youre gonna so arbitrarily diss integral parts of people then why not also ignore sex or gender identity? also he mentions red people, native americans, but doesnt say north america in his “i dont care about your origins” part and also oceania isnt pictured which is mostly just weird? its not a problem i have i just think its a random choice.

i hate his part on individual identity because character, scholarship, and humanity are effected by ones race, sex, gender identity, sexual identity, so on and so forth. your character is influenced by your past, what you were taught, and different people are simply taught different things and learn different things through experience. scholarship is a dumb one as ive never seen it used in that context and apparently its not even correct?

ive looked around and everyone supports this collection of definitions soooo??? finally the humanity one is kindve just hypocritical; humans are unique due to their sentience and sentience creates these concepts such as race and gender and sure it hasnt done us very well but its still part of who we are. the national identity part is just silly. i dont really have to explain that, its just such a dumb patriotic thing to say that isnt the case for certain students.

“if you wish to be yourself sorry, you have to go to another school because we believe in different opinions than you.”

“or whatever else may become In Vogue in our society” what??? race, ethnicity, gender, sex, these arent new topics. these have ALWAYS been issues, esp with the youth. just cause you dont wanna look them in the face cause youre a coward doesnt mean they arent real. also how do these clubs cultivate narcissism? how is it narcissistic to learn other perspectives? even if you yourself are queer, goin to a gender club or a gender theories course is extremely important to understandin how others think because even we dont all feel the same way about gender and sexuality.

the purpose of education is a tad bit of a tricky topic so makin such a Line In The Sand definition for it kind ignores the beliefs of students and teachers alike.

he again calls ethnicity, race, and sexual identity a like narcissistic topic which again boggles the fuckin mind. imagine a cishet white guy goes into these classes or clubs, is he narcissistic? is it bad to go to an asian culture club? an african american history class? a lecture on gender theory??? like come on dude what the fuck are you even talkin bout at this point

change 2 is honestly smart but for the rong reasons. we dont feel united cause of a langauge you absolute mongoloid, not every american speaks english. thats just the facts. im sorry you refuse to see it. but learnin english is important to life in modern america so makin sure people are good at speakin it is doin your job as an educator for sure.  

“[on bein taught in a native langauge] this is not the right school for you” who asks for that? a deaf person doesnt walk up into a public high school and go “yo can yall do sign for me?” we both have schools for deaf people and personal interpreters ... so ... i dont really get this point.

change 3 is redundant, this is how schools already work.

change 4 is, again, redundant.

change 5 is ... what? the hells a self-esteem program? i want to a VERY liberal magnet high school and i have no idea what hes talkin bout. i kinda want them though, itd help nervous kids goin thru puberty feel better about the horrors of the adult world. i sure fuckin needed one i guess.

change 6 is, finally, the last. oh fuck its redundant AGAIN. AND HOW ARE RACISM, SEXISM, ISLAMOPHOBIA, HOMOPHOBIA, GLOBAL WARMING, TOBACCO, AND GENDER IDENTITY POLITICAL ISSUES??? tobacco is a HEALTH issue. gender identity is a HEALTH issue. global warmin is an ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUE. racism, sexism, islamophobia, and homophobia are social issues which sure id call political but how is it bad to teach about this??? you just said you didnt want propaganda then you immediately fill kids heads with pro-conservative propaganda??? that kinda sounds like a politically biased teachin system. 

SEXUAL RELATIONS ARE A HEALTH ISSUE OH MY FUCKING GODS!?!?!?!?

No one. Fucking No One wants to be a victim. We are not taught to be victims. We do not victimize ourselves. thats it. thats all there is. next topic please im goin to have a stroke.

the pledge of allegiance is a highly political topic and the textbook definition of propaganda you hypocritical dipshit.

man i wish i was a dane.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Taking The Shot: Part 7

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, typical Walking Dead stuff, attempted murder

Word Count: 5,244

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

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

“Is that everything?” Negan asked that night as you carried your record player into his bedroom. You shook your head as he shoved a tote box of baby clothes under his bed.

“Just have my box of albums I didn’t want to drop or break.” You looked around the room at the collection of stuff; your two bags of clothes and not much else, his things already in their proper place and the three other large tote boxes that hadn’t been stored away yet. “How do we have so much shit?” You asked with a laugh and Negan groaned as he stood up and glared at you.

“Why? Because SOMEONE fucking decided to clear out half of a fucking baby store of clothes into my Goddamn truck.” He chuckled as he grabbed your hips around the black travel turntable you had found. You feigned innocence and scoffed with a knowing smile.

“God, Negan why would you do something like that?” He swatted his hand on your ass and you squeaked and laughed.

“Pain in my fucking ass.” He grumbled as he kissed your forehead, shaking his head back and forth before taking the record player out of your hands. “Go fucking get your shit. I wanna go to fuckin’ bed baby girl.” With a nod you turned around and headed back to your room for the very last time with a small smile on your face.

As you strolled through the empty, poorly lit halls you bit your lip and giggled slightly as you thought about the way your life had turned out, coming from being alone to having a family in the course of three months. If someone had told you that this is what your life would look like when you dropped out of the tree that night, you would have shot them under the assumption that they were insane. As you walked past the wives room, you didn’t even notice that the door was closed but the sound of someone tapping on the door caught your attention. You walked over to it and listened for a moment.

“Sherry?” you called out slightly, wondering if she had decided to make the poor choice of trying to go back to Dwight. When she didn’t respond, you pulled the door open. You expected to find one of the wives but instead you came face to face with reanimated, glassy eyed Amber. “Fuck!” You shouted as you tried to slam the door closed but before the latch found its home, she managed to lunge for you, wedging part of her body against the door frame. You spun out of her grasp and slammed your back against the door, trying to stay out of her reach and use your body weight to keep her in the room unsuccessfully.

“Negan!” You screamed as you fought the opposing force, compelling yourself to remain calm. You felt an unexpected bang against the door behind your back, causing you to slide on the floor a bit and you grunted at the impact. “Fucking fuck… NEGAN! FUCKING SOMEONE!” You could feel your boots sliding slowly across the floor as the sound of Amber’s guttural hiss filled your mind, fear began to choke the life from you. Panic flooded your body and your stomach turned. You couldn’t help but think of your child as tears began rolling down your cheeks. “NEGAN!” You were just about to give up and run when the sound of boots rounded the corner. “There’s at least two! I can’t…” You told Negan, Simon and another two crew members as your boots slid another half an inch on the tile floor, allowing Amber’s corpse out a little bit more.

“Count of three, run to your fucking room.” Negan said as he closed the distance between you and the corner he just came around. “1… 2… 3!” He raised Lucille above his head and you bolted away from the door. You heard the crack of the bat connecting with Amber’s skull as you ripped open the door and ran into your old room. You slammed the door behind you and had just enough time to grab the small trash can by your dresser before you hurled. You collapsed on the floor and your body trembled as the thought that that could have been how you died; how your child could have died flashed through your mind causing you to be sick once more. After a few minutes, the door flew open, causing you to yelp as Negan stormed in.

“Hey, it’s just me. Fuck, you’re ok, sweetheart.” He said as he crossed the room in a couple long strides before falling to his knees in front of you. You threw yourself into him as sobs wracked your body. He pulled your legs around his waist, wrapped his arms around your hips and with a slight grunt, stood up. 

“Keep your face in my shoulder.” He said protectively as he hiked you up on his hips a bit more and headed for his room, closing your door behind him. You squeezed your eyes closed and tucked your face into his neck not wanting to see what happened to the wives.

“Take them the fuck outside and fucking burn ‘em.” He said to someone as he carried you down the hall grabbing Lucille from Simon as he went. Other than your sobs, the two of you remained quiet the rest of the way to the room. When he finally kicked the door closed behind him, he laid you on the bed, giving you the once over as he took off your boots and jeans.

“I heard tapping….” You said as you pulled off your bra and scooted across the bed, shaking your head in an attempt to get Amber’s eyes out of your head. “I thought…”

“Baby, it’s over. It’s all fucking over.” As he was about to get into bed, there was a knock at the door. “Not now.” He called out, lifting the covers so the two of you could get under them.

“Boss, you’ll want to see this.” With an aggravated groan, he walked over to the door, not caring that he was in just his boxers and pulled it open. Simon handed him a folded piece of paper and nodded, then turned on his heel and left without another word. Negan closed the door and came back over to the bed, got under the covers with you and unfolded the paper. You laid your head on his chest to see what the paper was.

With her moving in, we didn’t want to face Lucille. God forgive us.

“Fuck.” He grumbled and you turned into his chest as guilt washed over you.

“This is all my fault.” You cried as he dropped the note on the floor and pulled you into his side.

“Listen to me, baby girl. This is not your fucking fault. Those fucking dipshits did this to their Goddamn selves because their fucking feelings got hurt because I don’t fucking love them the way I fucking love you. Boo-fucking-hoo. If they honestly fucking thought that I would fucking kill them because I fucking love you then that’s their fucking problem. They would have been just fucking fine but THEY made the fucking choice to drink the fucking Kool-Aid. None of this fucking shit is on you.”

“Baby they were your wives!” you said as you looked up at him and he shrugged.

“Fucking and? They were fucking warm bodies until I fucking found you. The only fucking woman… fuck the only two Goddamn people that mean fucking anything to me in the fucking world are in this fucking bed with me. I fucking fight for this fucking place now for you and for our fucking kid. I fucking do this for our crazy, fucking insane, definitely narcissistic, slightly fucking sociopathic family that I wouldn’t trade the fucking world for. Everybody else can suck my fucking dick.”

“I am not a narcissist or a sociopath.” You grumbled as you wiped the tears off your face. “I’m a Goddamn angel.”

“The fuck you are!” He chuckled as he flipped off the light and scooted down onto his pillow more. “If you’re a fucking angel then I’m Goddamn fucking Mother Teresa.”

“You know what I just realized? We are like the real life versions of fucking Harley Quinn and the Joker.” Negan laughed as he wrapped his limbs around you and pulled you close.

“Yea, I can fuckin’ see it. You’d look fucking hot as fuck in those fucking shorts, too.” You laughed as he kissed your forehead and you buried your face in his chest.

“It would make it a lot fucking easier for you to kiss my fucking ass, too.”

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

After the incident with the wives mass suicide, it took almost a month before the community got over the loss of the 5 women. The truth behind their death was made known the day after and though it took some time, the community stopped pointing fingers at you and Negan behind your backs and realized it was just the wives making a rash decision in the heat of the moment.

Life at the Sanctuary slid into a normal routine for you. Mornings were spent, for the most part, on runs and collecting supplies from Alexandria, the Hilltop and the self-proclaimed Kingdom. Afternoons found you in the gun range with Arat, giving her every ounce of knowledge you knew about long distance shooting. She was a natural as you had been, understanding the mathematics of it easily. By the time you hit your fifth month of pregnancy, (and Negan’s limit of taking you on runs) she was as good as you were.

Evenings were spent with Negan; the two of you spending time together away from the rest of the community as he had when the other wives had been present. Only with there only being one wife and said wife being pregnant, you both could feel the slight shift in the community and their feelings on it. They were still afraid of him; following the rules to the letter, kneeling when both of you walked into the room and cowering in fear when they saw Lucille but there was a new higher level of respect at seeing the more ‘human’ side of him; a side they hadn’t seen before you and the baby came around. Before you knew it, you were only weeks away from meeting your bundle of joy.

“Would you ever… fuckin’ like… want to fucking leave here?” Negan asked hesitantly one evening just after curfew while you lay between his legs in bed watching a movie. You looked over your shoulder at him as his finger’s danced across your bump. His eyes were trained on your stomach, and his brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his wheels spun.

“Well… fuck I don’t know. Why?” He sighed as he laid his hands flat on your round stomach and your child rotated in the tiny space towards his touch. He shrugged slightly as he dragged his eyes up to you and you saw a slight fear in his eyes.

“I think the fucking prick is planning on fucking staging a fucking coup.” You turned as best as you could and your heart skipped a beat.

“How do you know that?”

“I fucking felt it when I fucking went out there today; his fucking defiance. I can fucking shut it down but then I fucking wondered if getting you and the baby the fuck out of here would be the better fucking option.” Your eyes fell from his and your brows wrinkled at the bridge of your nose as you thought, weighing the options for only a moment before you looked back up at him.

“Do we have a couple weeks or is this a pack up and get the fuck out of dodge thing?” He sighed, shrugged and shook his head.

“Best bet? Get the fuck out of fucking dodge.” You nodded slowly.

“I want Simon and Arat to go, best of the best. Carson too just until the baby is born.” Before Negan answered there was a knock at the door.

“Yea?” Negan said without moving to get up; knowing how difficult it was to get you up quickly. Simon walked in holding a walkie out in front of him as he stepped into the room.

“Boss, fucker from Gavin’s community wants to fucking talk to (Y/N).” You looked up at Negan as he reached out and grabbed the antenna of the walkie-talkie.

“Shut the fucking door but fucking stay in here.” Negan said as he tossed the box higher in his hand, pausing for a moment as Simon shut the door before he responded. “Fuck do you want?” he demanded angrily. You heard the radio crackle slightly before the man answered.

“I wish to extend an offer of asylum for your wife until the child is born. Guarantee the child’s safety in such a cruel world.” You and Negan looked at each other for a moment.

“Time to get out of dodge.” You took the radio from Negan’s hand and cleared your throat. “Can you give me a day to decide? Leaving my husband is something I would never do without taking a little time to decide.”

“I will give you one day.” The man responded immediately and you pushed yourself off Negan’s legs with his help. “I will need an answer by sundown tomorrow however the offer will be removed from the table at that time.”

“Thank you for your generous offer. I will be in touch.” You turned off the walkie-talkie as you swung your legs over the bed while Negan got up and started pulling the four totes of baby stuff from under the bed.

“Simon, we are fucking leaving tonight. Prick is fucking planning a fucking ambush and I want my fucking family safe. I want the fucking pick-up gassed, packed with fucking guns, ammo and every extra gas can we have in the bed and fucking parked out back now… fucking quietly. Pack your fucking shit, you’re fucking coming too and we are leaving within fucking 20 minutes.” Simon nodded and ran out the door.

“I got our stuff.” You said as you got up. Negan tossed you a large army green duffle and nodded.

“I got fuckin’ Arat and she can fucking grab water and food. I’ll fucking help Carson with emptying the fucking infirmary.” He walked forward, put his hand around the back of your neck and kissed your forehead. “You stay in this fucking room until I fucking come back, do you fucking understand me?” You nodded and leaned up to give him a chaste kiss.

“Be quick baby. They could be out there waiting for us now.”

“I fucking expect it.” He said as he turned and headed toward the door; grabbing Lucille and your hand gun on the way. “I love you.” He said when he got to the door, pausing for a moment to look back at you.

“I love you too, baby. Be careful.” He nodded and ducked out the door. You spun in place and started ripping open dresser drawers, shoving every article of clothing the two of you owned into the large duffle bag. You focused on your breathing to keep calm, not wanting to forget something that could be essential down the road as you stripped the room of hidden weapons, bathroom products, and the four cat statues and your two cat stuffed animals that you and Negan had collected on runs; essentially removing most of the evidence that either of you existed other than your record player, albums and the small DVD collection you had built in the past year.

“You ready, baby girl? Negan asked 15 minutes later as you were pulling the strings of the bag tight and you nodded at him and Simon.

“I just need help with my boots.” Negan nodded as he pointed Simon to the boxes on the bed.

“Those are fucking essential.” He growled as he grabbed your boots off the floor and tossed the strap of the duffle over his shoulder. “Send Arat up to grab one and I’ll fucking get the other two. Keep your fucking eyes on Carson. I don’t fucking trust him as far as I can throw him but we fucking need him until the baby is born.” Simon nodded as you sat down on the bed and Negan quickly tugged your socks and boots on over your jeans.

“Babe, we are gunna be fine.” You reassured as Arat came in and grabbed a tote, her own rifle slung over her shoulder. The two of you nodded at each other in appreciation.

“I’m fucking allowed to be fucking worried, princess.” He grumbled as he finished tying your boot. He stood up and took your hands, pulling you off the bed and into his arms. “You’re my fucking wife and this is our fucking child.” You pulled back away from him and smiled with a slight tilt of your head.

“And you are doing what needs to be done to protect us. We have a slight upper hand right now, the two best snipers in the world, a doctor, our best fighter and a fucking crazy protective daddy with his mistress, Lucille.” He chuckled slightly before he pulled away and grabbed the last two boxes. You grabbed your rifle and tossed it over your shoulder, taking one last look around the room before grabbing two pillows, and the blanket. With one final glance, you turned off the lights; leaving your home behind with a few tears shed. 

The two of you walked the short distance to the back door silently, doing your best to not alert the community to your abandonment. When you got outside, you went straight to the passenger door of the dual cab pick-up and climbed in while Negan, Simon and Arat finished packing the truck bed, covering it securely with a tarp before wordlessly getting in the truck with Dr. Carson. 

“Be fucking ready for fucking anything.” Negan said as he handed you your hand gun, laying one across his own lap before starting the truck. “You stay the fuck down.” He demanded as he glanced at you and put the truck into gear. With a quick nod, you lay down sideways awkwardly on the front seat, your body shaking with your nervousness.

The gun shots began nearly immediately as Negan headed for the back fence. You squeezed your eyes closed and covered your stomach as he gunned it. You could hear the engine roar as metal pings and gun shots rang out followed by the crash of the metal fence. Negan whipped down the road, dodging walkers and people alike as he fought to keep his family safe. Time seemed to slow as you curled into yourself and waited for the commotion to stop. 

You heard Simon yelp from the back seat in pain but you couldn’t turn to look at him out of fear as a few loud bangs against the front of the truck startled you. What seemed like hours later but was only realistically a few minutes, the gun fire died away but Negan continued to race away, heading east away from the communities toward the highway. You jumped slightly when he put his hand on your head and you looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

“It’s over.” He said softly with a nod. You nodded back and forced your shaky body up right. “Everyone good?” He asked with a glance in the rearview mirror to the three people in the back seat.

“Simon has a shoulder wound but it isn’t serious. I’m fine.” Carson responded.

“Arm got grazed pretty good but I’m alright.” Arat said as she ripped off the sleeve of her shirt to tie it around the lower part of her arm. You nodded at Negan when he looked over at you and you leaned forward to look him over.

“You alright baby?” He nodded as a smile crossed his face and he reached across the seat and took your hand with a sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how the fuck we just pulled that fucking shit off without much damage but we fucking did it. I fucking thought that fucking wall of them would be an issue.” You squeezed his hand in response.

“Well I don’t know about you two but fucking thank you guys for gettin’ me the hell out of there too.” Arat said and Carson and Simon stated their gratitude as well as the interstate came into view.

“So where are we going?” You asked as Negan traversed the car littered on-ramp. He shook his head and sighed.

“No fucking idea. Southwest into the fucking mountains for sure; find a fucking house or maybe a fucking hotel or a fucking ski lodge somewhere. We’ll fucking figure it out as we fucking go.” The three people in the back mumbled their approval and you grabbed Negan’s pillow off the floor, propping it against the window and laying your head down.

“Just wake me when we get there.” You yawned. Negan chuckled and squeezed your hand.

“You ass will be up in like an hour to fucking pee so shut the fuck up.” You let go of his hand and whacked his arm as Simon laughed from the back seat.

“You shut the fuck up. Simon don’t fucking encourage him.” You looked over at your husband and he smiled at you. “Shut up.” You said, returning his smile before childishly sticking your tongue out at him. He took your hand once more, his fingers lacing with yours and you lay back against the pillow, falling asleep almost immediately.

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

None of you realized how difficult it would be to leave in the middle of the night the way you did with no preparation at all but with only a little bickering and some hormonal tears you found the perfect house that was at one point a bed and breakfast in the mountains. It was surrounded by a 7 foot tall thick wood fence and it had a fancy iron gate somewhere outside of a town called Boone, North Carolina.

It was the perfect place- two stories with five bedrooms, running water and solar panels on the roof. Off the master bedroom on the second floor, there was a little balcony that made the perfect perch for a sniper. It also had a gorgeous wrap around porch, an untaken care of garden, and a storm cellar that had quite a few jars of canned fruits and vegetables in mason jars left behind from owners that had long since abandoned their property. It had taken three days to find but it couldn’t have come at a better time.

The five of you had stopped at every single grocery store, Walmart, pharmacy, baby and gun store you could find between the Sanctuary and the new house; collecting enough supplies to last your little group at least a year so you would be covered for a long time so you could get completely settled in turning this new house into the best functioning home it could possibly be.

A week after you arrived, you went into labor and after a day of hell, you gave Negan the little girl he always wanted. He held her for the first two days straight; refusing to give her up for anything other than to be fed. You were amazed at how he had taken to parenthood and it suited him. On day three, you had to nearly pry her from his hands to let her honorary aunt and uncle and the doc hold her but he hovered by and watched like a hawk. It warmed your heart that there could be something so precious and good in the world that seemed so bleak most of the time.

“I told you it was a fucking girl.” He beamed as he sat next to you on your bed holding his precious two week old little princess in his arms. “Are you abso-fucking-lutely sure you like Hope?” He asked for the hundredth time about the name he chose as he looked up at you and you giggled.

“Yea, baby. I’m ‘abso-fucking-lutely’ sure I like Hope. It’s fitting.” He nodded and looked back down at his sleeping daughter.

“Fuck, I don’t want to have to fucking leave her to fucking reinforce this Goddamn fence.” He complained.

“Love, you have to. I can’t help just yet other than being on the damn roof and we need it done so we have one less thing we have to fucking worry about.” With a groan he forced himself off the bed and laid Hope down in the bassinet you had picked up on your way here. Once he was completely satisfied that she was ok in the middle of the bed on her back, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head before kneeling on the bed to do the same with you. He rested his forehead against yours and sighed with a smile on his face.

“God, you’re fucking amazing, mama. I love you so fucking much.” You rested your hand on his cheek for a moment with a hummed laugh.

“I love you, too, baby.” You gave him a chaste kiss before he pushed himself off the bed to head out and get to work. When you had first moved in, Negan and Simon agreed that the wood fence wouldn’t stand a chance if a herd of any size came through and with a newborn, simply paying attention to your sound level wasn’t much of an option to prevent that from happening.

There was a company roughly 20 minutes away that made steel storm shutters for hurricanes and the first day you had moved in, the two men and Arat had gone and cleared the place out of every sheet, screw and power tool they had while you and Carson cleaned the house. With a sigh, you got up off the bed, closed the windows and your bedroom door, grabbed your rifle and the baby monitor and headed out onto the porch to watch the group work while Hope slept. You shivered slightly against the cool autumn air and exchanged the baby monitor for one of Negan’s cigarettes on the balcony rail.

With you keeping watch and four people working, it only took four hours to wrap both sides of the wood in the large sheet metal and with a whole lot of ‘fucks,’ and growls of aggravation, the iron gate that was at the front of the driveway was wrapped with the same material. Pleased with himself, Negan stood in the front yard long after the other three had gone inside and surveyed his work. With a small chuckle, you headed down with your happily fed and changed daughter to bring him some water.

“Looks good, daddy.” You called out to him and he turned and looked at you with a shrug.

“I think I may take a fucking page out of Alexandria’s book and put up those fucking wood beams. There’s a fucking lumber yard in town so I’ll fucking go check that shit out tomorrow. Thanks baby girl.” He said as he plopped down next to you on one of the other rocking chairs and took the water from your hand. The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at the improved fence.

“You’re doing good, baby.” You looked over at him and smiled. He chuckled and nodded.

“Had you fucking asked me a fucking year ago if I fucking thought this shit is where we would fucking end up I’d’ve fucking punched you.”

“Well aren’t you fucking glad we have it now?” You asked as you rocked and he hummed.

“Yea baby. You fucking make me one fucking happy, lucky man.” Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you turned to look to see what it was. Your stomach dropped as a man walked up your driveway with a crossbow.

“Negan…” Your hand flew out and grabbed his arm and when his eyes found what you were looking at he lurched from the chair and grabbed Lucille from where she was leaning by the door.

“Hey, neighbors.” The younger man called out cheerily as you slowly got up from the chair, covering your daughter as best as you could with your arm while you headed for the front door. Negan stormed down the porch steps.

“Stop right fucking there!” He called out as he pointed the bat at the man while you nervously called into the house for Simon. “The fuck do you want?” You watched the man freeze, put one hand in the air, and lower the crossbow down.

“Whoa! Look man, I don’t want any trouble, OK? I just heard the drills all morning and decided to check it out. I’m the only one who has lived in a 30 mile radius since this started.” Simon came out with his gun drawn and took a quick look at the situation before he side stepped in front of you and Hope. “How fucking many of you fucks are there?” Negan asked and the man took a hesitant step back from your very intimidating husband.

“Just me and my girl; that’s all.”

“Alright, you stay the fuck away from my girls. If you need fucking help with the dead pricks, we’ll fucking help out. Other than that, for right fucking now I don’t fucking know you therefore I don’t fucking trust you.” You looked at the man, who was absolutely petrified, shook your head and concocted a plan almost instantly.

“Go fucking tell his ass to be nice and to remember how the fuck we got in this situation in the first fucking place with his fucking attitude.” You hissed at Simon. He nodded, ran down the porch over to Negan and passed your message on. You could almost hear your husband’s eyes roll as he looked over his shoulder at you and you pointed at your daughter. He narrowed his eyes before turning back to the man.

“My wife would fucking like you to know that she fucking intends on being civil.” He said as he turned to glare at you once more. You nodded in approval and looked at the stranger who bobbed his head towards you quickly as he began to walk backwards.

“Yea, you got it. Shit, if you need me, I’m down the road half a mile. Mailbox says Cane.” Without another word, he spun on his heel and took off. The men turned around to walk back to the house and you shook your head.

“You’re an asshole.” You told Negan who simply shrugged.

“Don’t fucking want him near my fucking girls.” He rested Lucille by the door once more, took Hope from your arms and sat down casually on the rocker.

“Yea, you may not but you have no fucking idea if he just lied to you on how many people are with him nor do you know how many weapons he has. He’s obviously from around here so he could be useful to us.” Negan huffed and shrugged.

“Still don’t fucking want him near my girls.”

Part 8

[natalienomad]

What an absolute dipshit ass take from @nothingbegetsnothing

My blood family wants me to come home for the holidays, yeah they aren't bigotted at all, they didn't nearly beat me to death when I came out to them. Or stalked me and my wife for most of our marriage. Yeah they totttttally love me and will be there for me when I need them. Yeah.

And if you think familial love starts and stops at blood you're a fuckin moron. What about adoptive families? What about the kindly old neighbor down the street that takes you in after seeing what your parents do to you? Are these people Not Good Enough for you? What about In laws? Mine love me, and have specifically stated I'm welcome even if my wife leaves me. Cause I'm a fucking Joy. Do Yours hate you? Probably, with that shit ass attitude.

I spent 20 God damned years Surviving my time with them. One was a narcissist that didn't give a shit whether I lived or died, Just whether I Embarrassed them or not. The other was a veteran with PTSD issues that would hit me or throw things at me and use his time at war as an excuse. My blood brother? A self admitted Nazi, I spent 20 years trying to convince the fucker that black people deserved to live. Yeah I should Totally go "home" to that. They want me back for the SOLE purpose of abusing me back into silence and obedience, and Nothing More.

It's Christmas for cucks sake, right? I spent time with my in laws. I spent time with the people that actually love me. Not the ones that birthed me. And if I'm truly alone at the end of all that? Homeless? Dead In a ditch? That's still better being FREE, than spending another Minute wasting my breath on people that truly don't care for anyone but Themselves.

You talk a lot of shit about cult recruitment tactics, you know who uses those the most? People who want to isolate you back to your family. The people you're trying to shove back there? Are actively seeking out Others to gain a wider life experience of love. That's the opposite of that isolationist cult tactic. But we're the problem, right? Maybe get off your high horse and suck your dad's dick a little more.

To the trans people who are forced to be back home with bigoted families these holidays: please know that you are loved. The real you, not what you do to survive through time with your family. One day you will be free o.e day you won't have to hide who you are, and one day you can cut these people out of your life if you want. Just hold on, I promise you that you'll get through this. I love you. Stay strong.

[ninja8tyu]

And oh yeah, I won’t be going to school tomorrow because my brother’s being fucking picked up.

First Reason: I’d have to stay at my goddamn college for hours upon hours until around 3 fucking PM because parents have work and shit

Second Reason: Can’t exactly ask my mom to pick both my brother and I up because she might not make it to work on time.

Third Reason: “Stop being worthless and selfish and FUCKING WAIT YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!” -brother, likely, after having to wait a while if I’m the only one who gets picked up

Because here’s the thing: he’s the dipshit who does the same thing to me: prioritize himself over others even if it inconveniences others because he’s the 50 and still increasing award-winning multiple trophy owner president of multiple student organizations and so on until his narcissistic piece of shit ass is satisfied is more valuable than anyone else’s life, especially my anime-watching shut-in jobless degenerate life, and thus I don’t matter, or rather I’d be better off dead because I’m leeching off of my parents and returning nothing.

So yeah.

People wonder why the fuck I absolutely despise that piece of shit.

And people wonder why I despise the piece of shit parents that think this is okay and normal despite my pleads and cries.

And no, the visit to the fucking hospital turned out to be a temporary cure to the issues I had at home. After a few days, that was the end of the caring and empathy.

And no, even if the FBI came again, or more times after that, it’s gonna become like the time I cut myself.

“lol he cuttin’ himself again, fuckin’ emo”

“lol the fbi’s comin’ again, fuckin’ psycho”

God fucking damnit. God FUCKING damnit.

Why the FUCK do I have to experience this shit?

I’m pretty sure the government views people like me as nuisances because honestly I doubt I’m ever going to become a normal productive and happy person with this goddamn childhood and adolescence development, and probably want me fuckin’ dead the moment I turn bloody 18, so really, I have to ask why the fuck should I goddamn bother at this point?

His existence is the one fucking thing I cannot tolerate. Along with SJW’s.

I have done everything, from playing Gandhi to fighting fire with fire, and nothing has ever fucking worked.

Getting parent’s help? NOPE. HE’S JUST TRYNA HELP YOU.

Getting third party help? NOPE. CAN’T DO SHIT ‘CUZ LAW AND PROOF.

Murder? Oh gee, I wonder how many years have I’ve been lamenting about that decision, only for the “SURRENDER OR YEET YOURSELF TO JAIL” conclusion to be reached.

God fucking damnit. GOD FUCKING DAMNIT.

People always fucking wonder why I express feelings and thoughts of hopelessness and powerlessness, and then I want to fucking torture them the same way my brother has to me and see if they still think it’s JUST FUCKING ME.

[tweefunk]

Fuckin’ things man.

IDK, my BFF Jill? I want to write nice things I really. I don’t like being a negative Nancy.

The Orwells-Terrible Human Beings

4/10

Eh. Dangerous sexuality only works as an aesthetic when it's tragically hip and elegantly disheveled. See all hyped indie-rock from 2001-2005.

When a bunch of gangly-ass white eggheads from the suburbs consciously re-create it a decade late(r) as a marketing ploy it's just nauseating.

Unfortunately, this isn't that entertainingly awful. It's worse. Boring.

Suicide Silence-S/T

3/10

Suicide Silence attempts what other metalcore acts have done more successfully; transition to an accessible mainstream rock sound and audience. It worked for BMTH and ADTR, but here it just further accentuates that Suicide Silence is a one-trick pony.

The terrible lead single “Doris” set the bar low and became an instant meme, but unfortunately, it’s one of the comparatively bright spots on this underwhelming record. 

Suicide Silence’s attempts at a radio-rock crossover sound come across like a garage band stumbling through bad Deftones covers at their first practice. The sheer ineptitude, combined with the fact that a label was even willing to release this, is astounding.

This mediocrity (to put it mildly) casts the remnants of Suicide Silence’s old deathcore sound in an unfairly favorable light. The brief forays into competence provide welcome relief.

I expect a severe course correction on their next release.

Dirty Projectors-S/T

2/10

Let’s just get this out of the way early. Dave Longstreth is exceptionally talented. He possesses an Ivy League music degree, and it shows. His understanding of melody, harmony, and tonality is nearly unparalleled in pop music, and I’m just some jackass with a tumblr page.

I guess now is as good a time as any to admit (if you couldn’t figure it out for yourself) that I don’t review music in an objective, structural sense. I review music in a subjective, what-does-it-all-mean, how-does-this-relate-to-the-culture-at-large, how-does-this advance-the-medium/genre kinda way. I don’t get into the nuts and bolts of production, or cadences, or harmonic structures unless it’s distracting from the overall message of the product. 

Take punk for example. No one would ever mistake the Ramones for virtuosos, but you would be an idiot to write them off since pretty much all mainstream rock since the late 70′s owes at least a foundational aesthetic to them.

Speaking of punk, (SEGUE!) the first Dirty Projectors album anyone cared about was 2007′s Rise Above the post-modern circle jerk in which the group re-imagined (read: drained of all life, and ignored the cultural context behind...) Black Flag’s 1981 opus. The ironic, self-satisfied condescension of a bunch of literal art-school rejects layering dense fussed-over harmonies onto songs that were imagined as blinding, cathartic rage against both internal emotional and external structural oppression is still nauseating a decade later.

Some dipshit tried to fight me in college for saying that once. 

While Dirty Projectors are once again a solo act, the same sense of narcissistic genre-superiority is still alive and kicking. Except now there is nice dollop of nice-guy woe-is-me misogyny AND a desperate attempt to fit in with the kids and their hippity-hop. In “Up in Hudson,” Longstreth whines “Now I'm listening to Kanye on the Taconic Parkway/riding fast/And you're out in Echo Park/blasting 2Pac/drinking a fifth for my ass.” As you might know, this record is about the breakup of Longstreth and his lover/bandmate Amber Coffman. The above lyric might not be so gross if it weren’t for the fact that opening lines of the record are “I don't know why you abandoned me/You were my soul and my partner.” Well, I’m sure your whiny victim mentality didn’t have anything to do with it.

This tack continues as Longstreth continues to make not-so-subtle jabs at the moral and artistic credibility of his ex. Returning to the opening track, Longstreth delivers this particularly pissy kiss-off: “What I want from art is truth/What you want is fame/Now we'll keep 'em separate/And you keep your name”

Taking this line in context of his east-west dichotomy (LA a symbol of fake plasticity and NY is gritty realism) and the long standing truism that women in the performing arts are often viewed as superficial entertainers providing fun escapism whilst the men get on with such lofty things like “Real” Art, Objectivity, Reason, and Truth.

And in a roundabout way this bring me to my major gripe with the cult of Dirty Projectors and hipsterdom in general. It’s no secret that I grew up as disciple of the early 2000′s pop-punk and emo scene, which has rightly been critiqued as cesspool of vengeful, beta-male “nice-guy” revenge-misogyny. Say Anything’s “Every Man Has A Molly” is perfect example of this with lines like “Molly Connolly ruined my life/I thought the world should know.” 

However, I would argue that Say Anything’s treatment of the subject is more palatable since Max Bemis seems to be capable of self-reflection and critique. In contrast, every time Dave Longstreth comes to close to admitting a fault, it comes caked in backhanded sarcasm since he knows he has to pay lip service to being magnanimous.

And now I turn on the critics: Why the fuck is it ok for an effeté ninny (oh the beautiful irony) to spew this venom, but when a bunch of skate rats in a garage whine about girls ignoring them, it’s an affront to music and good taste? At least the latter group can have a sense of humor about themselves and their genre. But go ahead and lionize the 30-something Yale grad pandering to modern production trends in a desperate bid for self-aggrandizing relevance.

However, as my rating shows, this record isn’t all bad. The mid-album ballad “Little Bubble” is actually quite beautiful and one of the few moments where Longstreth allows his mask to slip and recognizes that this is maybe, partially, his fault.

And lastly, can we laugh at that album art? It’s a fucking broken Nutter Butter.

Thundercat-Drunk

7/10

If you’re into jazz or funk, this essential listening. Thundercat is an incredible musician and his songwriting manages to be hilarious and personal at the same time.

Seriously, one of singles is about Goku. Unfortunately, it gets a little noodly at times, but if you’ve enjoyed his work with Flying Lotus and Kendrick Lamar, definitely check this out.

Also, the guest appearances from Kenny Loggins and Michael McDonald may be final confirmation that the yacht-rock aesthetic is being revived. 

Sun Kil Moon-Common as Light and Love are Red Valleys of Blood

9/10

Anyone who follows my writing knows that one of my biggest complaints about records is that they’re too long, so with a running time of over two hours, I should probably hate this.

Not so.

Mark Kozelek does not make songs, or by extension records, in any traditional sense. Since 2012′s Among the Leaves, he has slowly transitioned away from folky songs about mundane happenings in his life, to creating backing tracks to accompany dramatic readings of his diary.

Ok, that’s an oversimplification, but on many tracks here he drops al pretense to lyricism and recites letters, or just recounts what he was doing on a particular. Right down to giving us the exact date and the entreé he ate for dinner.

On a sonic level, the record moves away from the classical guitar stylings of the last few albums, and bases the sound around hypnotic bass lines and synth textures.

I’m really not doing a good job of selling this, but there’s something disarming about a man who has long ago achieved his place in the music world giving absolutely no thought whatsoever into sales, critical appeasement, or fan expectations.

With the exception of critics, none of this seems to be motivated by angst or spite, but rather from an intense desire to document all that he feels and thinks.

It’s almost Chekovian in a way. The droll observations on daily occurrences, and in some cases, dubious urban legends, allow for the profundity of the human condition to be put on full display.

CALALARVOB works because it takes the listener on a journey of discovery, not only of the world around them, but their own soul as well. If you’re willing to follow Kozelek down the (long, twisting) rabbit holes he regularly detours down, you’ll be in for a treat. 

The only sections that fall flat are Kozelek’s anti-technology rants. He spends so much time mocking smartphone users, that his very valid criticisms of the political climate or music industry circle-jerks at SXSW can get buried under his admittedly self-aware curmudgeonliness. 

This record will drain you with blunt depictions of the world’s horror, and build you up with a steadfast commitment to love and joy wherever you can find it.

Strap in, it’s gonna be a hell of a ride.