#the glands

[analogdandruff]

11 January 2025

11/354

let's go outside squashed / straight down like that dead dog dirt / some one feels the root

[arcticfoxfacts]

GIANT DAY - “Psychedelic pop duo of Derek Almstead (The Olivia Tremor Control, Elf Power, The Glands, of Montreal) and Emily Growden (Faster Circuits, Marshmallow Coast)”

New Elephant 6 release, being the first in years to release on the E6 label!

[tuuneoftheday]

The Glands - livin' was easy

[mywifeleftme]

119: The Glands // The Glands

The Glands The Glands 2000, Capricorn

A few months ago, I wrote about how, despite its quiet, whenever I put on Kath Bloom and Loren Connors’ Moonlight as background music it draws attention. The Glands’ self-titled is the opposite in that no matter how often I sneak it on while hanging out with someone I think would love it, it eludes notice. To be fair, I don’t know if I’d’ve given the Glands the time to sink in either if the table hadn’t been perfectly set for me by the ripple of retrospectives that followed bandleader Ross Shapiro’s death in 2016, and I suppose this is me trying to set that table for you.

Obscure and obscurantist (?) alt rock band with skewed pop sensibility from Athens, Georgia (a thriving vertical in this series); “one sun-dappled aw-shucks anthem after another, strung together with yarn and masking tape” said Pitchfork; “bounces, rolls, grooves, lulls and sways—sometimes simultaneously” (Aquarium Drunkard); “ebullient hooks, hot, hazy guitars and diagonal epiphanies” (Rolling Stone); “Whenever I talk, it makes me realize what a dick I am” (Ross Shapiro).

Shapiro had a voice pitched somewhere between those of fellow southerners Alex Chilton and Tom Petty, and as with his friend Ira Kaplan’s band Yo La Tengo, wrote songs that at first seem affably slack but with further listens reveal themselves to be the work of a gifted tinkerer. Even the most direct numbers have their perfectly weighted flourishes, like the way curtains of reverb briefly descend over rocker “Straight Down” to give the album’s sole killer guitar solo something textured to slash a path through. Calling their ramshackle debut Double Thriller was a great joke, but across 19 tracks (on the vinyl edition) their second and last album The Glands is its own kind of production triumph, something like the magnum opus of a group of guys who’ve dedicated their lives to understanding what makes an album sound great but not slick. The sounds of the wider world are in here, be it the baggy ‘90s dance-inflected “I Can See My House From Here” or the electronica-lite “Breathe Out,” but they’ve been rejiggered into something wobbly-but-working that feels native to the homespun weirdness Athens is known for.

Shapiro loved using old-timey stock phrases in his lyrics (“lay down the law”; “laughing all the way to the bank”; “when the man says jump / Johnny says how high?”), not so much to subvert them (though his slightly effete drawl does do that) as to acknowledge they’ve grown heavy with memory like old woolen quilts. They’re the words that murmur in your ears as you drowse with a black-and-white movie on, the way people talked when things seemed simpler, the things they said to keep them that way. Like the best allusive lyricists, you’re not going to pull anything coherent from the words, but there’s room to feel at home in the gaps they suggest.

Like I’ve said, I’ve been trying to make “Lovetown” happen with my friends for a while, and “Fortress,” and “Livin’ Was Easy.” Take a listen when you have time to sit with them, and help me out, will ya?

119/365

[omegalerc]

back to discuss our 171619th proof of omegalerc for the day: the way his pheromones have people acting in public

[nestinqomega]

i see everyone talk about scruffing, purring, nesting, scenting, all the things ! but i never see anyone talk about lovingly holding in your mouth. cmere and let me gently bite your arm for a second because i love you <3

[jadewritesficshere]

Just thinking about s4 but when Alpha!Eddie grabs Steve to shove the bottle against his neck, he doesn't realize Steve is an omega and accidentally scruffs him. And Steve is just boneless, kinda goes down. And Eddie isn't expecting deadweight and almost falls ontop of Steve but realizes what's happening (let's just say he's fought off a few bullies who scruffed members of his pack). He immediately drops the bottle and holds onto Steve, who tries to scent Eddie. Just shoves his face into Eddie's neck and nuzzles it, lets out a purr unintentionally.

[cannibalpussyy]

tis almost the 3 year anniversary of the tweet that changed ao3 tags 4ever LOL

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 10

Danny groaned, blearily raising his head from the nest of blankets and pillows he had made in his apartment. He had smelled something strange.

Something strong enough to wake him from his sleep. Danny got up and stumbled to the front door, cursing his luck for getting a fever so soon into his interdimentional road trip.

Peering out of his open doorway he saw a little kid shivering in the cold, badly hidden behind two trash cans in the mouth of an alley. Danny didn't think twice. In fact he didn't think at all. It wasn't uncommon for an Omega to smell a child who didn't have the scent of another Omega on them and immediately claim that child as thier own, and seeing as his home dimension had exclusively Omegas...let's just say there's a lot of drama in family court and a lot of laws pertaining to this.

So of course the next thing Danny knows is that the kid was bundled up inside his very soft and comfy makeshift nest before Danny passed out.

For the next week Danny had this mysterious fever and he acted like a parent on autopilot, barely conscious as he instinctually cared for the little boy. He made them food and cut them up into tiny bits to feed his baby and if it was handfoods like pizza rolls or sandwich triangles, Danny would hold him in his arms and rock his back and forth, humming softly as his child ate.

Eventually his heat ended (note that omegas from his world don't have heats, they don't have alphas and so they don't even know what a heat is) and Danny was very surprised he has a child in his house. But he and the baby are very emotionally attached to one another. When Danny asked what the little kids name was (and man this kid was little) the kid stared at him in the way little kids do before muttering the world "Clone" followed by what sounded suspiciously like a serial number.

Danny decided, nah. His kid now. Sucks to be the bioparent cause Danny doesn't wanna share.

Somewhere in the city, the bats were freaking out. They had raided a lab and discovered not only had one of them been cloned, but the clone had escaped and no one knew where it was. Cue panicked parental frenzy.

[justvisitingthisplanet]

Got my hands on a new piece I am very excited to welcome to my collection

A complete reeves’s muntjac buck skull!

Muntjac are native to southern and southeastern Asia, but this little fella came from the UK where they are an invasive species. They are few and far between here in the states, I am so lucky I came across him.

The most obvious feature on these guys are their tusks. The forests are very thick where they are native to, where big long antlers would be too much of a hassle to move through the dense brush. Instead of big antlers to spar other males with, muntjac evolved tusks. Mature bucks can be seen with scared faces and tattered ears from these face-offs. The tusks are also semi-retractable!

[serpentface]

There are three hyaenids found within the Imperial Wardi region- the hisippate, the highland hyena (kyniche na chennandi), and the scrub hyena (kyniche). (None are actually related to the king hyena).

The hisippate (name is close in meaning to 'stinking one', sometimes instead called '(wild) ant-dog' ('kulichin-wannaukoma')) is very distantly related to the other two. They are small, mostly solitary animals that sleep in burrows during the day and emerge to hunt at night. They are almost exclusively insectivorous, and their diet consists primarily of termites and ants that are lapped up with a long, strong tongue. The hisippate has a wide range, with their populations being highest in grassland and savanna regions with a high density of termites.

They are named for their foul smelling anal gland secretions, which are used to mark their territory and can be sprayed short distances to repel predators. Their highly visible black and white coat (which is erected in threat display) indicates them as not worth the trouble of eating. This is partly an honest advertisement of its chemical defenses, but may function as mimicry of a substantially more threatening native badger that can spray with great accuracy at distances of up to 10 feet (while the spray of the hitsippate is untargeted and only potent within a meter of the body).

The highland and scrub hyenas are the most numerous and successful predators within the region, with their populations having exploded in the past several centuries with the decline of the Wardi lion. Both live in matriarchal clan structures with strict dominance hierarchies, maintained not by individual size and strength but by highly complex networks of coalitions. All members of a clan can reproduce, and young inherit rank positions just beneath that of their mothers. Most males eventually disperse, entering into new clans at the very bottom of their hierarchy. They exhibit no obvious sexual dimorphism, and females often can only be differentiated from males by the shape of their pseudopenis.

The scrub hyena is most widely distributed and can be found throughout most of the region in a variety of lowland habitats, faring best in savannah and open grassland with high populations of grazing ungulates. This species is distinguished by well-defined spots and stripes and a sparse mane, though their coloration varies by individual and population, ranging from reddish to pale white-brown. Their clans can number upwards of a hundred individuals in the most prey-dense territories, though most are smaller.

The highland hyena is unique to the northwest of the region. As the name suggests, they have specialized into surviving in higher altitude climes, but can also be found in the remaining pockets of surrounding forest (and once had a much larger range across the former northern forests). Their spotting is often less visible than their lowland relatives, though their base coloration is similarly variable. Their clan sizes are substantially smaller than the scrub hyena, as they inhabit regions with much lower prey densities.

Both are closely related (whether they are subspecies or separate species would be subject of debate by taxonomists) and can produce viable young. Heavily hybridized populations are common where their ranges overlap. Scrub hyenas appear to breed more readily with dispersing male highland hyenas than the reverse.

Hyenas occupy an overall minor space in most of the Wardi cultural sphere. They are noted negatively as man/corpse eaters, but are generally regarded as intelligent and powerful predators and avoid the stigma attached to man-eating scavengers. In most cases they are not ascribed much significance in comparison to the venerated lion or the massive and intimidating king-hyena, mostly being relegated to a threat to livestock and potential danger to lone travelers.

Many urban areas in the province of Godsmouth (including the outer unwalled portions of the eponymous city) have unique practices of not only tolerating but actively inviting scrub hyenas into urban spaces. These urban hyena populations have been genetically semi-isolated from their wilder counterparts for several centuries. Rather than hunting large prey, they fill similar roles to feral dogs in the urban landscape as cleaners of refuse and killers of pests, and benefit from their species being culturally regarded as powerful predators rather than lowly scavengers. They notably predate on the considerably more reviled feral dogs, and keep their populations much lower than other parts of the region. Their role is regarded as both a physically and spiritually cleansing force, with their presence neutralizing polluting elements (while not being sacred in of itself).

The Godsmouth hyenas show little fear of humans compared to their wild relatives, though their activity peaks at nighttime hours to avoid close contact. They are sometimes raised from cubs to be fully tamed (though are not truly domesticated) and used as guards or to assist in hunting (Godsmouth's designated dog hunters notably have traditions of keeping hyenas). This practice is essentially exclusive to the province of Godsmouth- hyenas rarely establish semi-urban populations in other parts of the region, and those who do have considerably greater fear of humans, usually sneaking in under the cover of night to feed on scraps and fleeing from encounters.

The status of hyenas varies in the other groups native to the region. For example:

Hyenas have a generally favorable status to the Cholemdinae, who have traditionally reckoned them as highest among predators, noting their stamina and intelligence. Body parts of hyenas are ascribed the ability to increase the wearer's stamina, and amulets carved from hyena bones are often worn while persistence hunting. Children born while hyenas are heard crying are considered to be strong and very likely to survive infancy (and will often be given names referencing the animals). The apparent androgyny of hyenas is allegorically attributed to the creation story- the first beings were dual-sexed, and split into male and female halves as part of their punishment for the theft of fire from the sun. The hyena escaped this punishment by digging into the underworld to hide and getting only its once long, luxurious tail chopped off (which was sticking out from the hole).

((TANGENT: The South Wardi have more recent common cultural ancestry to the Cholemdinae than to most of the other groups assimilated into the collective Wardi nationality. The notion of hyenas once having long, flowing tails that got chopped off in some mishap still appears in South Wardi animal folktales))

They have a largely disfavorable reputation to the Hill Tribes, and are generally regarded as gluttonous and brutish in nature. The Highlands have a naturally lower density of wild ungulates, made far lower by most grazing pasture being occupied by livestock. This causes hyenas (and other large predators) to more frequently predate on domestic animals, and thus places them directly in conflict with herders (and also makes them common rabies vectors). They are readily culled when found in proximity to villages. Hyena pelts are generally considered worthless, and culled hyenas will often be fed whole to livestock guardian dogs and their pups in hopes of teaching them to be fearless towards the predators. Were-hyenas appear in folklore- among the southwestern Hill Tribes they are most commonly the accursed spirits of cannibals, while in the northeast they are malicious witches who learned secret arts of transformation and take on these forms to wreak havoc upon their enemies.

[reality-detective]

The Pineal Gland - Barbara O'Neill 🤔

[senipsenipsenip]

Stan shook his head, chuckling as he hung up the phone. Geez, if he hadn't put a stop to that he was pretty sure his nephew was going to overheat and explode like one of Ford's old computers. Speaking of, he should probably make sure the fire extinguisher down in the lab wasn't expired if Ford and Dipper were gonna be messing around down there the rest of the summer.

Eh, that was a tomorrow problem. Dipper was still up in the attic with Mabel unpacking for another summer in Gravity Falls. Hopefully that meant Stan had at least twenty-four hours until the nerds started blowing stuff up. Mabel and Dipper's parents had seemed surprised the twins wanted another summer with their Grunkle Stan. After all, they were teenagers now, Stan couldn't blame their parents for expecting the two of them to want to spend a summer with kids their own age in California rather than an old fart in the middle of the woods. Well, two old farts, but their parents didn't know about the second one. Besides, Ford would probably object to being called a fart. He'd probably complain that's not the proper term Stanley, if anything I'm an old flatulence.

Stan shuddered. Man, he musta been on that boat with his brother for too long.

"GRUNKLE STAAAAAAAAAN!"

Speaking of the kids. Stan grunted as he hefted himself out of his armchair and made his way up the stairs toward the attic. There hadn't been any sound of breaking glass before Mabel's call, so he figured he could take his time getting up there. He heard a loud thump, a groan from Dipper, and a loud giggle from Mabel. Okay, maybe he should walk a little faster.

"There you are!" Mabel called. Stan stood in the doorway, staring at both of his niblings sprawled out on the floor, a half-rolled poster laying between them and a hammer still clutched in Mabel's hands.

"Dipper's trying to hang up this poster, but he's still not tall enough. I tried climbing on his back, but I guess he still hasn't gotten his puberty muscles yet." Mabel scrambled up and ran to Stan, holding out the hammer in front of her. "Can you do it?"

"I do too have muscles," Dipper grumbled, sitting up. "But no one can expect to hold up the forty pounds of sequins on your sweater and your giant head!"

Mabel stuck her tongue out at her brother. Stan laughed and took the hammer from her, ruffling her hair.

"No sweat, Pumpkin. Let a real man take over." He couldn't ignore the way Mabel's smile grew wider at the nickname. It had been almost a year since Stan got his memories back, but it seemed any little reminder that he was recovering still made his family happy. It was weird, in a good way, to see people care about him so much. And if he made sure to call Mabel by her nicknames even more than her real name, well sue him.

"You could just get me a stepladder," Dipper grumbled, shuffling to his feet.

"Ugh, then I gotta walk all the way back downstairs," Stan picked up a bent nail off the floor. "I'll just get it over with now. Besides, then Mabel can whip us up some lemonade while I work."

"Ooooo can I make Mabel-ade?"

Stan shrugged. "Sure, knock yourself out."

The words were barely out of his mouth before Mabel was squealing and running down the stairs. In the silence, Stan shifted on his feet, giving Dipper an awkward sideways glance.

"I haven't...had Mabel-ade before, have I?" he whispered.

Dipper smiled. "Nah, don't worry. That's a whole new horror you get to experience first hand."

Stan chuckled. "Right." He made his way to the wall, squinting at the wooden beams to try and figure out where he could safely sink a nail in. It's not like the place was structurally unsound, but he also hadn't had any sort of building inspection in uh...ever.

"So," Dipper started. "Why'd you want Mabel out of the room?"

Stan smiled. "Perceptive. Good job, kid." He lined up the nail on the beam that had the least amount of termite holes. "You're not in trouble, just wanted to warn ya. Speaking of 'puberty muscles', your Pops called. Apparently he thinks you still haven't had The Talk yet. He told me to keep an eye on ya and that he'd explain everything when you get home."

Stan slipped the edge of the poster under the nail, resting his elbow against the poster to hold it in place while he started hammering.

"Had himself all worked up over it. 'Oh Uncle Stanford, Dipper's a teenager now, he might start to get ideas'," Stan laughed as he finished hammering. "So just, ya know, when you see him pretend I didn't tell ya about the birds and the bees already or anything. Some dads get weird about that. Apparently, he wants to be the one to tell you himself." Stan put his hands on his hips and admired his handy-work. A little crooked, but what wasn't in this place? He nodded and turned to Dipper, who was looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together.

"But...Grunkle Stan, you didn't have that talk with me," he murmured.

"Ha! There ya go," Stan grinned, punching Dipper on the shoulder. "You're gettin' better at lyin' kid."

"But I'm not lying."

"Wow, I almost believed you that time!"

"No, Grunkle Stan," Dipper grabbed Stan's hand before he could leave the room. Stan looked down at Dipper and realized the boy's face had turned from confusion to distress. "You really didn't."

Stan frowned. "Whaddya mean I didn't? Don't tell me you forgot. I still remember having that talk with my old man." He shuddered. "Not the sorta thing you forget."

Dipper gripped his arm tighter. "How well do you remember having that conversation with me?

"Kid, you were making a face like I was about to pull your teeth out the whole time and you screamed, like, a lot. You couldn't even look at the diagrams in my Why Am I Sweaty? book."

"Grunkle Stan...none of that happened."

Stan froze. "But I remember it."

Dipper gently pulled the hammer out of Stan's hand and set it on the ground before grasping his other hand. "Have you...has this happened before?"

"Has what?" Stan could feel his heart rate picking up.

"Remembering things that aren't real."

"Alright kid, whatever joke this is, it isn't funny." Stan ripped his hands from Dipper's hold, rubbing them against his pants as his eyes darted around the room. An old habit. Looking for an exit.

Dipper held up his hands as if approaching a wild animal. "Stay calm. I can get Ford, maybe he can help figure this out. Maybe the memory gun just...um..."

"Just what?" Stan could feel his voice going shrill. "That gun was supposed to take stuff out of my head, not put stuff in!"

Dipper was beginning to look as panicked as Stan felt.

"Oh God," Stan muttered. "What else did it put in there. Dipper? What else isn't real?"

"This is the first time!" Dipper began to pace. "Unless...has Great Uncle Ford said anything? On the boat, did anything like this happen? This conversation?"

Stan shook his head, his breathing starting to feel funny. "No. But apparently asking me to remember stuff isn't exactly trustworthy - "

"He would have told me," Dipper said with certainty. "Great Uncle Ford would have told me if something happened. So it didn't. So this is the first time and, and, and, we can fix it! Right?"

Stan just stared at Dipper. They shared the same frightened eyes. For Dipper's sake, Stan nodded.

"MABEL-ADE IS READY! YOU WERE OUT OF CHERRIES, SO I USED MARBLES!"

Dipper and Stan glanced towards the stairs.

"Let's get you something to drink first," Dipper muttered, walking slowly towards Stan to take his hand again. "Then we can figure everything out."

"Sure, kid," Stan whispered. He didn't let go of Dipper's hand until they reached the kitchen.

***

They decided it was best not to tell Mabel. After all, it didn't seem like the sort of problem that the scrapbook could solve, and it wasn't worth causing her distress until they knew what they were dealing with. Instead, Dipper had been tasked with distracting Mabel while Ford and Stan commiserated in the kitchen. Stan really wasn't sure how good of a job they were doing of fooling Mabel. She had given him a weird look when he gave the kids money to go get ice cream in town. He couldn't blame her. He'd even thrown in a couple quarters so she could get sprinkles.

"Didn't Dipper mention some sort of brain scanner?" Stan offered. "I don't really like the idea of you poking around in there, but would it help?"

Ford shook his head. He was pacing the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. "No. Project Mentem is broken. And even if I were to fix it, all I could do with it is see and or encrypt your memories. There would be no way for me to discern what's true and what's false since your mind interprets all of them as true." He stopped his pacing to take another swig of his Mabel-ade. Stan liked to give Ford grief about his coffee intake, but at this rate he'd be willing to let Ford have a couple cups of Joe if it meant he'd stop ingesting whatever sour, spicy, glittery drink Mabel was trying to pass off as lemonade. He was pretty sure Ford's eyes were starting to shake.

"So, you had no memory of this talk with Dipper until your phone call with his father?"

"Right."

"And when the memory returned, did it feel like the rest of them? Think hard, was there any difference in sensation?"

Stan shook his head. "Nope. The same sort of itch I always get."

Ford hummed. "Fiddleford told me once that some of his returning memories would get scrambled. Two puzzle pieces fitting together that shouldn't. For example, he swore there was a Christmas that I spent with him and Emma Mae, but it turned out he was combining his memories of Christmas with her with our own holiday celebration in the lab. Can you think of any other conversation with Dipper you could be mixing up? Anyone else you would have been having that conversation with other than Dipper? Perhaps your mind replaced your real conversation partner with Dipper?"

Stan frowned. "You think I just go talkin' about the birds and the bees with everybody?"

"Stan, just think."

He shrugged. "The only people I talk to who would even be young enough for that would be Soos or Wendy. There's no way I woulda given that talk to a girl, and I'm pretty sure Soos's abuelita woulda ripped me a new one if I had done anything to take away Soos's 'innocence'. I have enough self-preservation not to do that."

Ford nodded. "Alright. I feel comfortable with that reasoning." He took another swig of Mabel-ade. "However, then we're dealing with the more uncomfortable reality of the memory being completely fabricated."

"If you keep drinking that stuff, you're gonna start hallucinating too."

Ford's glass slammed down onto the table. "You've been having hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, not that I know of at least. Have I been?"

"Not that I've seen."

"Alright, then no."

Ford sighed and sat down in the chair across from Stan. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table and hands clasped together.

"I don't like hearing you do that," Ford murmured.

"Doing what?"

"Doubting your mind." Ford looked up to Stan, his eyes that horrible mix of calculating and pitiful that tended to appear these days.

Stan shrugged. "Why shouldn't I? We know I'm just making stuff up now. Heck, if Mabel didn't have pictures of all the crazy stuff we got up to last summer I'd probably think that was made up too."

Ford's eyes narrowed. "Hm. That might work."

"The scrapbook?"

"No, physical stimulus." Ford stood from the table again. "You said that when you had this conversation with Dipper you used a book to show him diagrams and such, correct?"

"Yeah. Why Am I Sweaty?"

Ford blinked. "You still have that thing?"

"Ma mailed it up back when she was cleaning out the house. She said she had a whole bunch of 'old science books' she thought her 'little scientist' might want before she donated 'em. I said I'd take 'em 'cause I was hoping some of them would be able to help with the portal. Turns out it was just a bunch of textbooks I stole from the high school and that thing. Came in handy though." Stan shrugged. "Maybe."

"Where is it?"

"If it wasn't destroyed it's probably still in my office. Why?"

Ford left the room without a word, coat billowing behind him. Stan took the opportunity to dump the rest of Ford's drink down the sink. He had a hunch he was about to have the full attention of a scientist on him for awhile and he'd prefer if that scientist wasn't vibrating like a beehive.

"Here we are!" Ford announced as he entered the room. "As I was saying, a physical stimulus might -" he stopped, staring at his glass. "My drink."

Stan shrugged. "I got thirsty."

Ford squinted at him. "Hm. Try looking through the pages of this. Maybe it will help ground you."

"But, won't that just make the fake memory more real?" Stan asked, flipping through the pages. The Pituitary Gland.

"That!" Stan shouted, pointing at the diagram. "Dipper screamed at that!"

Ford frowned. "That seems unlike him."

Stan groaned, dropping the book and putting his head in his hands. "I know but...I swear I can see it Ford. It feels so real."

Stan could hear the sound of Ford getting out of his chair, and there was suddenly a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out, Stanley," he said softly.

"I just don't get why my brain would choose that memory to make," Stan mumbled through his hands. "Not that I want a buncha fake memories, but I could have at least come up with something cooler. Like winning a prize fight or kissing a mermaid or something."

Ford chuckled. "Well, I - " he was interrupted by the sound of the Shack door slamming open, frantic footsteps racing toward the kitchen. Stan lifted his head from his hands, leaning back to adopt a more nonchalant position in his chair. Ford gave his shoulder a squeeze.

"Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!" Mabel burst into the kitchen, two small paper cups in her hands. "The ice cream lady said I could have two free samples, so I got two old people flavors! They're melted, but you can drink them. Who wants Butter Pecan and who wants Rum Raisin?"

Dipper shuffled in behind her, Mabel's enthusiasm waning as she took in the tense atmosphere of the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked hesitantly. "Do you guys not like those flavors?"

Stan turned to look at Ford, who had that pinched look around his eyes again.

"Mabel," Ford said gently. "Maybe you should sit down. We have something to -"

He was interrupted by a scream. Mabel had dropped the ice cream cups on the floor, leaving two splats that Waddles wasted no time in beginning to lick up. Stan sat up quickly in his chair.

"Sweetie, what - " before he could complete his sentence, Mabel had grabbed Why Am I Sweaty? and hurled it through the open kitchen window.

"Die childhood killer, die!" she shrieked. She stood huffing for a few more moments, eyes slightly crazed, before straightening up and looking towards the floor.

"Awwww piggy cream!" she cooed, squatting down to pat Waddles' head.

Dipper was the first to break the silence. "Mabel...what was that?"

She glared at Stan from the floor. "An evil book. Is that why you wanted us out of the house? So you could trap us with that horrible book when we got back?"

"You know that book?" Ford asked.

Mabel shuddered. "Ugh, unfortunately. Why do you even wanna read that thing again? It's not like it's hard to forget. Unless..." she frowned. "Were you...showing it to Grunkle Ford? Grunkle Ford, do you not know where babies come from?"

"No, I am well acquainted with a variety of human and alien reproductive systems." This time it was Stan's turn to shudder.

Ford reddened. "Not like that!"

"Wait, Mabel, you read Why Am I Sweaty?" Dipper asked. He looked to Stan, who was beginning to look green around the gills.

"You're the one I read that to?" Stan asked hoarsely. "But that's...that's not for you! I thought I read that to Dipper, you're telling me that I read that to...What?!"

Mabel slowed her petting of Waddles, beginning to look sheepish. "Well...you didn't know it was me. You thought I was Dipper."

Stan's mouth hung open. "Are you telling me my brain was swiss cheese before the memory gun?"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," Dipper groaned, slapping his hand against his head. "That was during the whole carpet thing wasn't it."

Mabel nodded.

"Carpet thing?" Ford asked.

"Yeah," Mabel began to scritch under Waddles' chin. "That carpet from your secret room. It made everybody switch bodies. I was Dipper for awhile and he was me. Soos was Waddles and Waddles was Soos!" Mabel grinned, holding up Waddles to stand on two legs. "Just look at this adorable little former handyman!"

"I was also Waddles," Dipper admitted. "A lot of people were a lot of people. McGucket tried to eat Soos."

Ford frowned. "Soos as Waddles?"

Dipper and Mabel shared a look.

"Never mind all that," Mabel offered, smiling tightly. "Let's talk about why Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford were talking about puberty. Do old people do it twice or something?"

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. "We weren't talking about puberty, we were talking about a memory Stanley had of discussing puberty with Dipper. Which Dipper thought wasn't real. Now we know why."

Stan raised his hand. "I would now like to pivot the discussion to Ford not leaving his experiments lying around where small children can find them."

"Wait!" Mabel gasped. "Does this mean that Dipper hasn't had the talk yet?" She leapt to her feet. "Because Mom gave me the girl one when we got home last summer! Does this mean I know the girl one and the boy one and Dipper knows none of them?"

Dipper sighed. "Mabel, I've seen nature documentaries."

Mabel whooped. "I know more about something than Dipper! Like, an actual science thing!"

"Mabel, I still know about - "

"Oh yeah?" Mabel reached into her skirt pocket. "Then what's this then?" With a wicked grin she slapped a bright pink wrapper covered in stars onto the kitchen table. Stan slapped his hands over his eyes. Ford's face went slack. Dipper grimaced.

"Mabel...I share a bathroom with you, I know what a pad is."

Ford cleared his throat. "They certainly," he coughed. "They certainly have changed a lot in the past thirty years."

Mabel frowned. "Were the old ones in black and white?"

Stan groaned. "Can we skip ahead to the part where Sixer burns that carpet and we all celebrate that I'm not actually losing my mind?"

Mabel wrapped her arms around Stan, pulling him into a big hug. "Of course! I'll go grab the lighter fluid!" And with that she fled from the room, snatching the pad off the table as she went. Stan lifted his head from his hands and the three Pines men stared at each other awkwardly.

"Well," Ford clapped his hand back on Stan's shoulder. "Another mystery solved."

Dipper nodded. "Sorry to freak you guys out like that. I don't know how I didn't think about the whole 'body swap' thing earlier."

Stan hefted himself up from the table. "No sweat, kid. Er." The three of them turned to the window where Gompers could be seen chomping away at the pages of Why Am I Sweaty?

They turned to each other. A silent agreement was made. Stan grabbed the popsicles out of the freezer and they began to file out of the kitchen, ready to meet Mabel at the fire pit to send that carpet back to Hell where it belonged. If there was anything they'd learned from last summer, it was that some knowledge was best left hidden.

AN: Sequel to this and this! I may or may not manage to get another one done by the end of Stanuary tomorrow (probably not), but either way, thanks for joining me!

[glittergummy]

How exactly do cybertronians cool off when they’re overheating?