shouting “DERIVATIVE!” at an art school kid just walking down the street from a moving vehicle, they break down and sob
okay but if i, a guy driving a car, yell that at somebody walking on the sidewalk, that’s not really an insult, that’s just what they are
[Image ID: Tumblr tags reading: for lit majors its Pedestrian, bruh never have i been so decimated than when a prof said my thesis proposal was pedestrian /End ID]
northwest passage perfec t size to put ship in to sail! inside very ice and comfort ship sleep soundly put ship in northwest passage. put ship in northwest passage. no problems ever in northwest passage because good shape and support for ship hull weak of big ship deck. anorthwest passage yes a place for ship put ship in northwest passage can trust northwest passage for giveing good love to ship. friend northwest passage.
my favourite bit right now is saying “scientists still don’t know” in relation to something I (One Single Scientist) specifically do not know the answer to
Ok, I adore the Frogs to begin with, but the sheer finesse and dedication of this one boggles my mind.
me: this is cute and precious
my brain: 45 years ago this person could’ve made a public access television show that ran for half a decade on the strength of this concept with the right framing device and it would’ve been paid for with federal arts grants and maybe even national syndication rights. now they’re begging for a single minute of engagement on tiktok in the hopes that maybe someday the abstract metrics of digital media platforms will translate into a tangible career
Okay okay okay so while we’re talking about censorship:
When you say something is too evil for words, what you’re saying that if you HAVE words, then it isn’t really evil.
When I was a kid, people didn’t like talking about child abuse. Because child abuse is evil and fucked up and horrific, and extreme, and it destroys people, and ruins your life forever, and the people who abuse children are irredeemable monsters and it’s always immediately obvious to see because there is all this visible evidence of it happening.
So when I got a slap, and I was told, “that was nothing. Look, there isn’t a bruise, you’re fine. This is normal.” I believed it.
And when I went to school with greasy hair and clothes that didn’t fit, that wasn’t a symptom of anything. It wasn’t like I had a black eye.
And when I was home alone with the children for hours and hours, that wasn’t abuse. That wasn’t a bloody nose.
Real abuse was worse. Real abuse was unspeakable. And my life wasn’t unspeakable. My life was cooking spaghetti for six and washing the dishes for three hours before I was allowed to go to sleep and wake up and go to school and do it again tomorrow.
When we heighten taboo subjects to this elevated, special kind of evil, it’s sort of like moving the goalposts for the people experiencing the harm as well.
I got smacked a bit, but abuse leaves marks.
I got my hair yanked, but it wasn’t like they were ripping out chunks.
I was in charge of raising the kids, but parentification means paying the bills.
Neglect means having no food, and we just had small portions.
Absence means running off on a drunken bender, not just locking yourself in an office and leaving your daughter to take care of the baby.
Yall see what I’m getting at?
There’s a lot of shitty things we can do to each other, but it’s not special, or unspeakable.
Cause my parents weren’t unspeakable. They were my parents. They loved me, and they were doing their best.
having 40 minutes to leave the house is terrible because 40 minutes is basically 30 minutes and 30 minutes is basically 20 minutes and 20 minutes is basically fifteen seconds. but 50 minutes? 50 minutes is an hour, and an hour? ooobh thats plany off time
