I want what Hollywood costume designers circa 1987 thought "punk" looked like and what prime time television costume designers circa 2007 thought "goth" looked like to fight each other to the death.
I want what Hollywood costume designers circa 1987 thought "punk" looked like and what prime time television costume designers circa 2007 thought "goth" looked like to fight each other to the death.
And the crowd goes autistic
I think one of the most damaging ideologies towards children is the conviction that having children isn’t a calling but a moral obligation.
Not to be a crazy radical or anything, but children deserve to be deeply wanted by their parents.
Children shouldn’t be a “stage” in life that everyone is obligated to fulfill; childrearing is not for everyone. More importantly, children shouldn’t be state-enforced punishments for “irresponsible” sexual behavior.
Children are people with thoughts and feelings just like the rest of us. They are conscious of the way people treat them. And they can certainly tell when they are unwanted and/or resented.
[ID: tumblr tags. they are: #reblog #i also dont think its enough to want a child. i think you need to want a teenager and an adult too #my mom wanted a baby. when i was too old to pronounce spaghetti wrong and let her put me in church dresses she was done with me #my dad wanted a person. he wanted a baby a child a tween a teen and an adult #my dad wanted to watch a person happen. which was different. /end ID.]
Boosting all of the above signal.
“Saying i love you every minute lessens the meaning” um to YOU….freak.
fantasy characters: “Geez”
me: who the fuck spread Christianity there
this two-years-old shitpost just gained a hundred notes who the snickerdoodles dug it up
In moments like this I always fall back on the fact that they also aren’t speaking English because they don’t have England or the many languages and conquering peoples that contributed to the creation of the English language and therefore the work musr be a translation into recognizable terms in our world’s terms. Call that Tolkien Brainrot.
Definitely funnier if you make fantasy explanations though,
Champagne is a wizard who sells bubbly alcohol.
It’s called English because of the original Lish people, all languages start with En here.
French fries are not potatoes they’re roots of the french plant.
Goodbye is now short for ‘good be your eye’ wishing you luck seeing the path ahead.
Jesus Christ is a long dead lich who used to cause everyone problems and we haven’t stopped saying her name when things go wrong.
And that’s the Pratchett approach
[Image: Screencap from Shrek 2; the text, “They don’t even have dental!” was changed to “They don’t even have France!”]
When people ask, “How can I tell if someone is disabled or just lazy?” I think about my parents.
My parents have known me my whole life. When they’re not actively contemptuous of me, they do seem to be somewhat aware of my general personality and character. In one of his nicer moments, my dad has called me “sweet-natured.” They can tell that when I make them a surprise breakfast or lunch that I enjoy being helpful and doing nice things for people.
They know from watching me grow up that I have always had trouble keeping my room clean, getting homework done, and keeping my desk tidy at school.
The longest I can push myself past my limits is about nine months. Then I collapse and end up less functional than I was before I pushed myself. This has been a pattern throughout my middle and high school years. I would go to public school for about a year, and then collapse and have to do the rest of my education at home. My work history follows this pattern, too.
I once sat in a therapy session with my dad to talk about the constant struggle we were having at home because he wanted me to help out more and do better in school. When he asked me why I didn’t do things, I broke down in tears, because I couldn’t explain it. “I just CAN’T. I want to, and I CAN’T.” Nobody listened.
My mom asked me why I don’t do things, and I said, “I just can’t. I sit there for hours trying to convince myself to do things, and I can’t. Move.”
And she said, “Don’t think about it, just do it,” completely missing the point.
When I got older I found words for the things I was dealing with. I got professionally diagnosed, and I’d look up information about my diagnosis and e-mail articles to my parents explaining what my disability is and why I can’t do things.
My parents have firsthand information about my character (helpful, likes doing things for others) and my history with disability (can’t consistently keep things clean, can’t manage a daily schedule). I’ve talked to them extensively about my diagnosis and given them information about it. They have known me my whole life, and I’ve always been this way. And they still, STILL choose to believe I’m just a bad person who doesn’t try and doesn’t care.
My disability isn’t invisible, people refuse to look at it.
People like problems they can yell at. They like having a target for their frustration. They don’t want to admit disability is real, because they want problems that they can either solve, or blame someone else for. And the disabled person themself is their scapegoat, someone who can’t ever opt out of their role because the disability is never going to go away.
My disability isn’t invisible, people refuse to look at it.
My disability isn’t invisible, people refuse to look at it.
My disability isn’t invisible, people refuse to look at it.
“The longest I can push myself past my limits is about nine months. Then I collapse and end up less functional than I was before I pushed myself.“
Oh.
Well this resonates 🫠
Boosting signal