dude this is ricky dick (new way of saying ridiculous)
twitter: currently owned by techbro pissman
tumblr: actively removing functionality and bloating the interface with things nobody uses
discord: being retooled by ex-Meta management who don't understand the appeal of the platform
youtube: neutered by advertisers and algorithms and also tiktokification
reddit: half of the site is down due to protests about the removal of third-party API support
facebook: my mom is on there
milf monday posts always get added to the queue to be posted at some unknown later date because there is literally no real day ever that can be made worse by being milf monday
as we're all staring down the barrel at this whole extremely grim death of art tier deepfake ai script future of cinema I feel it's time for us all to throw everything into weird independent films by like 4 people with one camera and a $200 budget. we need to start watching them and supporting the filmmakers ofc but more importantly everyone needs to get a camcorder and start going wild with it
Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.
Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.
Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.
You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.
As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.
Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.
This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.
A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.
found a twitter tweet that was like "oh yeah content warning hatoful boyfriend has a lot of gore and violence" and every single person in the notes/retweets/qrts/whatever the fuck terms twitter has was going "WHAT THE FUCK IT HAS WHAT" and i find that hilarious because. large amounts of gore and violence is a tremendous understatement about the amount of stuff that goes down in hatoful boyfriend
my full trigger list for hatoful boyfriend (and its sequel), for anyone curious is:
- war and genocide
- suicide (including coerced suicide)
- murder (including decapitation and dismemberment)
- cannibalism
- guns
- terminal illness and biological weaponry
- persuing monster-based horror
- unreality
- scientific experimentation-based horror
- racism
- childhood trauma and parent death
- infanticide (or more accurately, bird abortion)
- emotional manipulation
- unhealthy/codependent relationships
- death of a romantic interest
- twisted morality and gray morality
- general heartbreakery
just on the off chance anyone reading this doesn’t know what Hatoful Boyfriend is
