There’s a scene in the novel The Orphanmasters Son where the main character jerks off male cows to get enough calories to survive a North Korean camp. It broke my suspension of disbelief, tbh.

You’ve caught me. This shitpost is part of my veiled conspiracy to increase oat milk sales using a diegetically attractive Santa Claus. It’s part of my cults plan to ensure the growth of the Quaker Man, who we keep in an underground vat we will eventually use to achieve the apocalypse.

Legit. Gotta be fresh, homemade stuff can be slimy. But oat milk is dank.

Rowling has spent tons of money petitioning the UK Supreme Court to basically make existing as a trans person in public illegal. She’s got more money than some cities do.

Like, legally, there is no where a trans man can piss in the UK. Not allowed in the women’s, not allowed in the men’s. Just got piss yourself.

[Transcript]

“I think you’ve healed my ballet injuries enough for one day,” Maddie giggled, smirking. “But I do have one teeny-weeny wittle wound that could use a pounding from your Theragun,” she teased.

As their lips were about to meet, the physical therapy office door slammed open. There stood Maddie’s father, looking furious. “What the hell is this?”

“Dad, it’s not what it looks like,” Maddie stammered, her cheeks burning as bright pink as her tutu.

James stood protectively in front of Maddie, his posture tense. “We were just-”

“I know what you are…” Mr. Stevens hissed. He slammed James against the Stairmaster "Balleraggot”

James hadn’t heard that word in years. He was brought right back to PT academy, to the hate he had faced simply because of who he couldn’t help but love. As his head hit the top step of the Stairmaster, he heard all the other familiar slurs, too: nutcracker, chasse chaser, plié-wad, and even tutu-fucker. He collapsed to the ground.

“And you…” He turned to his daughter, who’d broken into tears.

"Don’t think for one fucking second that we didn’t know. That’s right, your mother knew, may she rest in peace. All those years at performing arts high school… any normal daughter would’ve healed from the occasional sprain. Imagine the shame you brought onto your chemotherapy mother when she had to explain to the Rotary Club why her daughter spent her entire senior year in PT. Throwing herself at every new physical therapist. Imagine the tears in your chemommy’s eyes when we heard you in your bedroom, firing, up your Theragun for the fifth time on one of her last nights with us.”

"Leave your daughter alone, " James bellowed, tears streaming down his face as he slowly stood up.

“She’s hardly my daughter now,” Mr. Simmons laughed derisively.

"Make me.”

“Oh, I will.” James cocked his Theragun.

The Brightest Light of Sunshine

Determined to walk away from a traumatic past, 22-year-old Grace Allen feels ready to take the next step in her healing journey—dipping a toe into the dating pool. Although she should probably start by making a friend or two, right?

Samuel ‘Cal’ Callaghan isn’t who she had envisioned as her first male friend in… well, forever. With an intimidating build, tattoos everywhere, eight years her senior, and a little sister under his care, the last thing she expected was to warm up to him so easily. As their friendship evolves, Grace can’t help but wonder if Cal is exactly who she’s been looking for all this time.

Cal can’t afford to lose sight of his priorities—making sure his tattoo parlor thrives and taking care of his little sister. Especially the latter. He wants to make sure 4-year-old Maddie has a healthy and happy childhood, despite their mother going off the rails and her father’s blatant neglect. There’s certainly no room for love in his life right now. But when a sweet blonde with a veiled past breaks down his walls, he finds it difficult to stick to his guns.

This is book 2 in a published series.

Not AI.

Oklahoma believes the government saying “no” to anyone is a crime against God.

The name is Martha, apparently it has been returned to its owner who lost it recently. That may be an entirely different escaped kangaroo.

Then of course, the matter of the kangaroos hopping around the courts of Stillwater…

You shouldn’t microwave water though, because there’s a chance that it could be superheated to the boiling point without looking like it and that can be dangerous.

Daggerfall is long as fuck (in universe, the adventure takes at least ten years.) The dungeons are massive serpentine mazes. Multiple guilds and factions, although they don’t feature overarching questlines - lots of radiant quests, but they never really feel boring.

It’s also fairly difficult - especially if you build a character without cheesing it with a guide. You need to be juggling multiple saves to prevent yourself being trapped in a certain death situation, mess up a quest, etc.

There’s a modern remake, Daggerfall Unity, which a lot of people say is a good way to play it nowadays. The original DOS version is quite playable through DOSBox though, and there’s lots of little quality of life tools that you can find online.

You know that discussing the Bible is not the same as apologetics?

I get religious trauma sucks, but the critical analysis of primary source texts from the ancient Near East has absolutely nothing to do with your shitty pastor giving you a hard time for being gay.

I invite you to name a 9th century BCE society that fits whatever moral requirements you think are needed to make a culture worthy of historical study.

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Yeah, I know and knew, hence not following that path. Went for teaching where I did 80 hour weeks for a little more than minimum wage instead. But we’re talking about “perfect” lives here - which for me, would be being a professor of Chinese history or math at a small liberal arts university in a small town where no one gave a shit I was trans.

I really would have liked to have become a history or math professor at a small university. Living close enough to campus to walk, getting to go to my colleagues lectures and learn new things, keeping a dozens of books checked out from the library at the same time…

It’s kinda funny how popular Angel numbers are, when they were made up in the 90s someone who freely admits they are bullshit.

Or the crisis line.

What happens is that they “triage” you, where depending on how you answer their script you get cops at your door and a trip to hell on earth, or you are on hold for 20 minutes to speak with someone who also is reading a script and doesn’t give a rats ass about you.

Maybe states that aren’t Oklahoma have mental hospitals which are preferable to drinking yourself to sleep, but who knows.

Adult Swim predicted this ten years ago.

The Fog of War is a damn good documentary. I watched it in a college class about the Vietnam War, and that class absolutely radicalized me. There was zero reason for the US to be there.