#this only exists because I wanted an excuse to draw something using an ungodly amount of pink

[auggiedrawsturts]

Currently cooking up an elaborate scheme to steal their genders, I'll let you know how it goes.

[malpractive]

imma just pop in here and say this cuz it decided to bother my head, again. (kinda a vent? Not sure if its considered a vent but incase u dont want to hear me complaining then heres ya warning.)

sorry for any writing errors, not my 1st language and i just needed to get these thoughts out quickly

Im a minor who wants to earn from being an artist in the future, and im leaning towards commissioned artwork and/or character design (it may not be my best but i will learn). But with all the AI stuff these days, im terrified that in the future i may not even be able to get a job, let alone use anything ive learned for anything because people might just start relying on "art" generators.Im concerned about my art being used, without consent, for AI because I dont want to support AI art. Im against it, both for myself and the entire community of artists (as in from musicians to dancers to artists and etc.) and supporters.

I would not mind seeing AI being used to make essential goods more accessible, or support people in what they are doing. But this isnt supporting artists, so i cannot stand by this.

Its also so weird that out of all things, Art is the one thing people chose to automate? Why are we not trying to make life easier to make space for creativity? I dont want to live a life where basic needs are scarce and i have to work for ungodly hours (and be paid little at the cost of sleep, time etc) and sacrifice my leisure time, i want to live a life where i can happily have my job as something i want to do and not have to lose sleep because the important stuff is actually done for me. Also, these machines wont properly generate stuff if we didnt exists, so we should atleast have a choice.

Theres also people saying stuff like "We are using ai art so we can have our own art and not be gatekeep from having it" (might not be word for word but something along the lines of it) but the thing is, its a luxury (as in something not important but give pleasure). And someone spending time to give you that luxury should be worthy to be given basic respect. (And i promise you, you will not die from having no art.)

Also, the excuse that adding prompts is effort is bs. Like, dude, thats called thinking of an idea, which is a whole different thing from actually drawing it. And many people can think of an idea. You are not an artist because you had an idea.

Because of the usage of art for AI without consent, automating luxury instead of necessity, and the amount of people thinking they are artists for having the ability to make ideas, i feel like the people that fully support AI "art" just lack some respect for effort. Or maybe don't understand (or care) how it feels.

Though seeing the amount of support there is from people who do not fw ai art, i think ill be able to have a job in atleast freelance commissioning. I've also gotten the thought that maybe human-made art will actually be more valuable in the future (only have heard from searching peoples opinions about ai art once, though it does make sense. There's also sometimes this one person who makes hand made leather bags that appear in yt). But it gets smaller the more I see ai being used. I just hope it never turns zero.

I hope human creation wont be completely replaced in the future. I hope there will still be a space where human-made art is respected.

[worldsandcenturiesfunposting]

Trump’s Bad Day : ( A Political Fanfiction for Intellectuals

It was another day in the White House and President Trump was not happy. As per usual, he woke up before the sun even rose to take his routine shit and Twitter time. Unlike those loser Presidents from the past, Trump knew the best method of proclaiming his word to the masses was at 140 characters at a time. If that’s how much he’s able to read, certainly it must be how much the rest of the country is capable of as well.

He looked around the historic building, clenching his butt cheeks in hopes of making it to the restroom on time. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find his phone! He looked under his high chair but couldn’t find it nor did he find it on his desk underneath the multitude of crayon’d in pages of the 2016 election results. It wasn’t even in that special spot in Ivanka’s room that coincidentally gave whatever’s placed there a perfect view of where she changes. 

The excruciating exercise he went through searching for it was draining his limited life force. His hands sweated greatly, unable to even grasp the big boy little spoons he uses to eat his delicious two scoops. The dye in his hair was starting to run down his face, making him look like an orange/lemon blend. 

At last, he couldn’t take it anymore. He slumped over on the floor and had to finally release himself. It was the same feeling he got when he passed legislations.

When the sun rose and the rest of the staff attended to their duties, Mike Pence found both Trump and Bannon sleeping on top of one another. At some point while it was still dark, the head of Brietbart drunkenly stumbled in, tripped on his boss, and fell asleep as well. When trying to remove the ungodly mix of alcohol and adipose tissue of of the President, Pence once again smelled a horrid odor that was all too familiar with him after these 100-something days of Trump’s presidency. 

“Donald, again?” He sighed. 

Even in sleep, Trump giggled.

It wasn’t until an hour later that Trump was dragged back to his room, cleaned, changed, and given a set of new clothes. Pence insisted he wear a normal tie that day but Trump refused to abide.

“I want the long one!”

“You can’t wear the long one, Donald. It’s too long. You’ll trip over it!”

“I WANT THE BIG BOY TIE!”

A familiar site to the electroshock therapy enthusiast, Trump started jumping up and down in a fit of rage. At times, he’d run over to the wall and start pounding on it, making such little noise, it was as if a fly had slammed into it. 

“BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE BIG TIE-”

He droned on and on, and tears started to stream down his face. finally Pence threw his hands in the air and said “Alright! Fuck it! You can have the big boy tie!”

Like a flick of a switch, Trump stopped his tantrum and beamed a huge grin in Pence’s direction. “I’m a bigly good deal maker, Pence. You should know this.” He pointed at his VP and snatched the tie from his hands. 

“If only you could negotiate a law to kill the faggots, Trump.”

“I’ll make that deal when the dems stop obst-obstric-ob-ob...blocking me!”

“The dems are the minority in everything, Trump. They have no real control over congress or the senate or anything!”

“Killery’s emails say that the deep state is actually controlling them. Don’t you read Bread-bart?”

--

When they walked out, they found Bannon in the same spot on the floor. Somehow in his sleep, the man managed to gather dozens of bottles of gin seemingly out of thin air. Groggily, he started to get up.

“Uh bu ughuhu...are the fuckin’ kikes dead yet?”

“No, Bannon.” Pence replied dryly. 

“Thosuh fugg fuking guh hook noses th-I ughu I wish the Holocaust was real fo then uthu would be gon!”

“That’s nice, Bannon. We need you to help Trump sign a bill for our corporate masters.”

“It’s going to be a biiiiiiigly bill, Uncle Bannon!”

Bannon complied. He pissed himself first, but ultimately he stumbled behind the two which made Donald giggle over how silly his uncle was being. All the while Bannon was trying to tell Donald about how the white race was being bred out of existence and how to use secret code words like ‘N1gger’ or ‘k1ke’ to trick normies into spreading nazi propaganda. his words weren’t at all clear and Donald simply giggled most of the time, but somewhere in Trump’s mind, he was absorbing that information.

Before Bannon could call for a race war, he slumped over again and threw up on the back of Pence’s shoes before falling sleep entirely.

“Uh oh, Uncle Bannon had an accident!”

Pence remained silent, seething to himself that one day congress will stop worrying about what a bunch of frog posters thought of them and impeach Trump. How much longer must I endure this? Dead God! Dear mother! Someone help!

They continued on. Trump skipped the whole say singing ‘Bigly bill’ over and over and occasionally telling Pence he had to sing along. 

When they arrived in the oval office, Trump ran over to his seat, lost breath half way, sharted, and then walked the rest of the way. With a wet plop, he sat down and banged his fist on the desk.

“No more fun and games. It’s time to put my big boy pants on and do some work!”

Pence walked up behind Trump and reached into a drawer, brushing aside many drawings of Trump punching Hillary and pulled out the bill his boss was supposed to sign. 

“What’s the bill, Mike?”

“Fuck the poor, take away their health care and let them fucking die by Paul Ryan.”

“Paul Ronald? I love that guy!”

Pence’s eye twitched. In his mind, he was at a cross roads between screaming about homosexuality and letting Trump’s little outburst slip. He knew his pussy grabbing boss was a good Christian who didn’t approve of gays, but what he said disturbed him on a spiritual level.

“I mean, he’s not me or anything, but Paul Renalds, I know him. He’s a great guy, believe me. I remember when I met him, I met him way back ago, he said I was supposed to be President because he knows a good deal maker when he sees one. I make the best deals, believe me, they’re the best. My deals with Paul Rogers, he looks at my deals and he agrees to them because they’re the best. Believe me, Paul Roomba, he knows my deals. This deal here, it’s the best. The best deal. And his eyes are cute!”

Pence finally had to excuse himself, leaving the President alone to sign the bill. It occurred to Trump how strange the situation was. Normally when he signs bills into law, he has everyone stand in the room with him so they can congratulate him on what a big boy thing he was doing. Where was everyone?

“This was supposed to be a bigly moment. I want my praise!” He whined and screamed and pounded, but no one came in. Not even his famous tantrumps would sway the universe this time.

Slowly the gears in his head started turning His buddies in the GOP really tried to push this bill through fast. Kushner said they were doing it before Hillary emails about it on her private server. What was so special about the bill?

He reached over on his desk and grasped it in his hands. Squinting his eyes, for the first time in years he tried to read. “F-f-fuuuuuck t-tha pooor, tac...tic? Take! Take away thi-thir? Heat-ha...”

Sweat dripped from his brow as he slowly stumbled through the title. “bie..Pool Reean...Oh Pool Ransom! I love that guy! I made a deal with him earlier, and he agreed to it saying I make the best deals. The best. I remember making a deal in Saudeyrabba with those darkies, I gave them bigly amounts of weapons for money. Such a good deal. The best deal, believe me. The un were mad for some crap about human rights or whatever, but they’re just liblosers who don’t know good deals. Not like me, I make the best deals. Like I made a deal with Bannon the other day, it was such a good deal! The best and...oh shoot! I lost my place!” He sighed heavily and moved his eyes to the top of the page. 

Hours later, Pence came in, having obtained written permission by his wife to be able to hear any vaguely homosexual things from Trump even if she isn’t there. “Have you signed the bill yet, sir?”

“By pool Reea-Mikey! You made me lose my place! I don’t wanna lose like Shillery!”

--

Ultimately the bill wasn’t signed that day. Trump got bored of reading and instead drew a picture of his magnificent wall on the back. Completely irate but trying to keep his cool, Pence congratulated Trump on the wonderful drawing and said they could try again tomorrow while he stuck the picture to the fridge with all the other bills Donald didn’t sign. 

Their moment was interrupted by Kusher whose voice I have no idea what it sounds like so I’m assuming it sounds something like Kermit the Frog. He came in and stomped his foot. “Daaaaaaaaaady! The feds are being mean to me!” 

In Trump’s mind, he was so flattered. Kusher reminded Trump of himself when he was younger and asking his own father for a tiny loan of a million dollars. Ivanka, that hot piece of ass, really knows how to pick a man. But wait! If Ivanka picked Kushner, then she didn’t pick him! He was getting cucked! Uncle Bannon was right! Kusher was a dirty penny pinching jew boy who should be shoved in the oven and turned into a cake!

“Now Kusher, you know what I told you about handling the deep state.”

“Daaaaad, sending my body guard over to fire their leader didn’t work for meeeeeeee!”

“Kushner, if it worked for me, it’s bigly good. The best idea, believe me. I remember when Comey was giving me trouble, trying to investigate me and Russia. My relations with Putin, I don’t have them. I may have talked to him and agreed to win the election for him so he can systematically destroy the US from the inside out by telling me to appoint the most egregiously incompetent and malicious cabinet in presidential history who have a vested interest in destroying the very organizations they were chosen to run thus ensuring the US has very little power or influence over the world and weakening the pressure put on Russia which in turn would allow Putin to gain more influence over others...buuuuuuut I never met him, believe me! Bigly no no on meeting him!”

“Well if you don’t help me with this then I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll I’ll tell Ivanka!”

Trump leaped in the air. “Not Ivanka!”

“T-That’s right! I’ll tell her about this, daddy!”

“Okay okay! I’ll help!”

He ran out of the kitchen and out of the White House doors. For the first time, he had enough energy to do so. The prospect of losing his daughter’s affection would drive a man to do anything. At least that’s what Trump thought. When he was on the White House lawn, he finally stopped and wondered.

“Where does the feds work again? Gosh, who knew government could be so complicated?”

--

Dinner in the White House was supposed to be a special time. Everyone was gathered around ready to congratulate Trump on signing the bill and ensuring thousands of people would die, but were sorely disappointed when the learned that Trump tried to actually read the bill, failed to get past the title, and gave up. Still, they had to congratulate him lest the man throw another tantrump and ruin the dinner.

“An amazing job, your highness!” Rence Preibus said, raising his glass. 

“Your leadership is the best! Way better than that fucking nigger was. One day, I’m going to go to his house and put a bullet in his nigglet kids, but your kids, you have the best genes. We’re the master race, Trump!” A keebler elf said. Most people call him Jess Sessions. 

“I...have to use the restroo-” General Mattis was about to say before getting cut off. 

“Those fucking niggers, can you believe they were in here? Once I roll back the war on drugs, all of those shit skins are going away. Every fuckin’ one of them!” 

“Anyways, I’m going to leave n-”

“And the mexicans? They’re nigger lite! They’ll get it too. I’ll fuckin’ arrest them all! I swear on me lucky charms, I’ll fuckin’ arrest them all like the rabid squirrels who attacked my magical woodland kingdom. Those squirrels were fuckin’ niggers!”

Kelly Conway was ready to speak up. She was assured that there were no microwaves in the room at the moment. However, Mike Pence stopped her. “Women are to be seen, not heard, Kelly.”

“I for one am very happy for you, Trump. Not even Hitler was able to pass legislation!” Spicer beamed.

Bannon slammed both fists on the table. “Are you sayin’ tha h- *hic* Hitler, MY FUHRER, isn’t good enough?” He was ready to crawl up and strangle Spicer. “M-I-ighguhu va da b-both of us u-ughnggh”

Not even able to present a coherent thought, he passed out on his mashed potatoes. Kusher rose from his seat and pulled out a sharpie from his pocket, drawing several Stars of David on the drunk’s face. 

A turtle spoke up. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to pass our health care bill, but you’ll get it next time! We’ll get rid of those poor people together, and it’ll be your victory!” McConnell tried his best to hide his burning anger. Those poors will get to live another day because of his. Paul Ryan looked him in the eyes and nodded knowingly. Both of their dreams were squashed. 

“I dreamed about taking away health care from poor people since my college days,” Ryan said, “with you in charge, we’ll surely do that!”

Everyone else sang their praises, and then began to feast. Only Pence and Trump didn’t eat. The former because his wife hadn’t given him permission yet and the latter because when he looked down, he noticed that his food wasn’t a well done steak with extra ketchup but instead a massive log of shit. 

“COMEY!” He shouted, flipping his plate onto Pence. “He did this! He’s always doing this! Why does he keep bullying me! I want him to stop now now now now now!”

Pence tried to comfort him. “How do you know it was Comey, sir?”

“Because he’s a fuckin’ meanie!”

“You fired him weeks ago. he doesn’t have access to our kitchen.”

“He used the deep state to do it! I know it! The whole thing’s rigged! Bigly bad!”

Trump started to straight up cry and rolled out of his high chair. Not even three scoops of ice cream would satisfy him now. 

“I want him to stop now! I want the feds to stop attacking me! I want my documents to stop being leaked! I want them to ignore Russia now! Putin said this would be easy but it’s not! It’s difficult! It’s not easy peasy lemon squeasy like he said!”

Most of them had fled the room save for Kusher and Pence who spent the next several hours trying to consolidate him.

--

It was the first time in a long while since he heard his father’s voice. Barron Trump was in the middle of building a massive wall in Minecraft in hopes that his father will notice him, and while every previous attempt failed, he was sure it would work this time. He’d bet his fidget spinner on it!

As if a miracle from God, Trump entered his room and called his name. 

“Barron, I need help with the cyber!”

“D-dad?”

“I need you to hack into the FBI and remove everything they have on me and Russia!”

“Okay, dad! I’ll do my best!”

Trump slammed the door shut and Barron got straight to work. The moment went so fast but it felt like forever. Finally, he was communicated to! He was acknowledged! Using every bit of skill he had, he remotely accessed the FBI’s database and scanned through the files, trying to find any that looked relevant to the investigation between Trump and Russia. 

“Let’s see... aliens, JFK, Atlantas, big foot, little foot, 9/11, the moon landing...”

So many files; it was enough to overwhelm a kid. But Barron was an expert with a mission in mind. He wouldn’t let anything stand in his way. 

“Wait, this stuff looks good.”

When he opened the data base labeled ‘Putin and orange retard’, he was treated to a page with thousands of different files connecting Trump, his administration, and the Russians. There were pictures, scans of documents, text files, and even videos.

“Wow, I wonder what dad was doing with them.”

He clicked on video titles ‘pee tapes’ and minutes later from the halls, the staff could hear his screams.

--

Trump was scouting through the different rooms in the White House. Inside one was his wife being triple penetrated by secret service members. “Melina or whatever, have you seen Ivanka?”

“No!”

“Ok.”

He left unaware that he was being cucked. In another room was Sessions pulling on a rope that was attached to the ceiling fan while some voice, distinctly black, was gasping for air just out of view.

“I barely recognized you in your white hood. Have you seen Ivanka?”

“No.”

“Ok.”

A third room had Spicer and Bannon wresting for alcohol. Spicer was ranting about wanting to make the pain go away while Bannon just made several drunken antisemetic slurs. 

“Hey have you seen Ivanka anywhere?”

They both shook their heads before Bannon finally snatched the bottle away, flipped it to its narrow side, and smashed it over Spicer’s head. The man was knocked out and the alcohol was spilled, forcing Bannon to crawl on top of Spicer and lick it off his unconscious body. 

“Boy, Pence would be mad at that!”

Finally, Trump entered a room and found Ivanka. She was dressed in the sluttiest attire she had and laying in her bed, leads spread apart. Trump was already trying to pull his pants down, having difficulty moving his gut so he can unbuckle his belt, but wasn’t even able to do that when he saw Kusher walk up and climb on top of his daughter. 

“Kushner, stop cucking meeeeee!” He whined.

Ivanka didn’t react. Her mind was incapable of processing anything beyond fashion design and money. She sat there with wide open glassy eyes and a mouth slightly agape while Kusher himself turned around and looked Trump in the eyes. 

“Stop it now, Kushner!” 

“No!”

“I said now! Now! Now! Now! Now! Now!”

Kusher walked over and slammed the door shut. Donald pounded on it with his tiny hands but couldn’t break through. He cried and yelled and rolled on the floor, calling for ‘Mad Dog’ Mattis to launch a nuclear strike against the room and kill Kusher but to no success. 

“I’m telling Putin on you!” He screamed again before finally leaving. Once again he crawled back into his bed all alone and could do nothing but watch the news. Fox, the only real news channel, was reporting on how Trump single handedly cured cancer while the fake news channels were talking about how Muller continues to hire the absolute best lawyers and prosecutors the country has to offer. Trump yelled at the TV to stop Muller from continuing, often mistaking Muller for Comey, but it was no use. No matter how much he cried, the TV didn’t show the investigation stopping. 

He knew that morning, he would have such a rant to post on Twitter. It was a bad day. : (