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YOU HAVE ENTERED

RADICAL SATURDAY

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Alluring

Black and white commission for dotfalcon_

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UNTITLED HOMEBREW WARGAME

Hello friends! I am currently working on something huge and possibly tangible for everyone! if you're a fan of wargames and lore, this may interest you! coming.... uhhhhhh Not Soon At All to a Tumblr blog near you! (This one)

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Reblog if your holes are a safe place for tgirl cum <3

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Reblog to give a trans person a fresh and perfectly ripe mango wait huh

It's the wikipedia image??? How big could it be

What

Huh???

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I like it. It's like a water park gone horribly wrong.

Josh (Let's Game It Out)

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In fairy culture its actually considered extremely rude to inject them with formaldehyde and pin them to a corkboard

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probably like a gigantamax eggsecutor

cow tools and Pattern recognition

so. I like old newspaper cartoons such as Calvin and Hobbes, or, for today’s rant, The Far Side. But aside from reading them, I also enjoy reading ABOUT them.

now, many already know of the Cow Tools comic, but if you don’t, here it is

Now, this comic, for those who don’t know, once caused mass confusion and panic due to one little detail. One of the Cow Tools happened to resemble a handsaw. This led to thousands of people across the US during the comic’s original printing to decide that this means all the other objects were supposed to be other human tools[ as built by cows].

now, unfortunately, this is not the case. The joke was that if cows made tools, this is what they’d look like.

but the fact so many came to this conclusion and spent months [yes, MONTHS] trying to piece together what the cow tools were “supposed” to be says a lot about the human mind’s pattern recognition and stubbornness. Once we decide a conclusion is the “correct” one, we stubbornly try to prove it with any evidence we can piece together, usually utilizing pattern recognition alone if that’s the only evidence we can find.

now there’s two things this reminds me of, and one is FNAF lore, so I’m not touching that with a forty-three and 7/8ths foot pole.

the other, of course, is pseudoscience and pseudoarchaeology. How many of these theories rely on pattern recognition, like terrace farms actually being staircases for giants, or mountains being pyramids or treestumps?

Cow Tools provides a great microcosm of this phenomenon. The only difference is that Earth doesn’t have a cartoonist in charge who can explain that the joke isn’t that deep.

in conclusion, sometimes a cow tool is just a cow tool, no matter what your eyes are telling you.

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Is it really possible for two dragons to on purpose kissed

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don’t forget the Robot Locust Janitors that used to be Normal Guys that got too old

Stuff that actually happens in Bionicle:

Sexy snakes invent capitalism and then face severe regulation by a bunch of demonic mad scientists.

One of said mad scientists impersonated the mayor of a Frutiger Aero dystopia and put all of the citizens into The Pokéballs That Make You Smaller.

There are six fish-themed warlords with (for the most part) really on-the-nose names. They weren't always fish-themed, they just happened to be in a prison that became flooded with The Water That Makes You A Fish. Their main underling is a four-armed squid-man, who is naturally immune to The Water That Makes You A Fish.

The setting's equivalent of Hephaestus made a bunch of useful stuff, including but not limited: to the first six protagonists, the leader of the Bionicle CIA, some cool planes, and the Bionicle CIA's prison-warden robots.

One of the Magic Frisbees that are the central macguffins of the 2004 arc was stuck between the teeth of the Bionicle equivalent of The Bloop.

Some shark guys who were the antagonists of the 2006 arc got put into the Water That Makes You A Fish. They got turned into eels.

There's an entire group of heroes who were brought together to protect the mad scientist I mentioned earlier, then got turned into tiny lizard creatures by one of the sexy snakes, and they didn't get turned back until thousands of years later.

A random villager from an underwater city (which is directly next to the prison that got flooded with the Water That Makes You A Fish) was transformed by the main macguffin into said prison's jailer, who by that point had already been dead for several millenia after being shanked by the blue fish-themed warlord.

There's a substance called Black Fire, which isn't literally black fire. The CIA's warden robots are filled with (and presumably powered by) it, and can shoot it out of their giant impractical swords.

The Makuta devolution scene.

Bionicle Frankenstein's name can also refer to his private island and also a giant plant monster.

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Sexy meowmeow

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For the last decade or so, I’ve been routinely attending a ride-on lawnmower race. I’ve always wanted to participate, but the high cost of used mowers is better spent on more practical vehicles, like literally anything else. Sometimes, though, the universe sends you a message. And in my case, that message came in the form of an awkward leg of a huge trade-in scam.

Picture, if you will, the humble redneck. They await the approach of big, fast domestic mowers. John Deeres, Cub Cadets, even weird modified Chinese stuff they looted from Aliexpress. There is jubilance, but that soon comes to an awkward hush. An unfamiliar engine note approaches.

My International 1480 combine harvester, all ten tons of it, is barrelling down the highway at a clip somewhere between “tepid” and “jaunty.” Even though I have shown up for a race, I am sandbagging a little bit, making sure that the bets get settled against my vehicle before I show them the might of a fully operational monster such as mine.

Technically, there is no violation. I had looked at the rulebook from every angle in the previous year: it has the correct number of wheels, the proper agricultural intent, and with precise work on the tiller, it can even (poorly) mow a suburban lawn. Is it modified? Oh yes, yes indeed, but I see the nitrous bottles poking out from the rows of Kubotas at the starting line.

And when I leave the starting line, it is a thing of beauty. At least for a few milliseconds. It seems that the wizards at International Harvester simply did not comprehend of a situation in which the frame of their combine would be launched into the air by means of one thousand eight hundred foot-pounds of supercharger-bolstered torque. I had erroneously believed that the loose soil of the rural community would let the wheels dip in, but now I am facing directly into the sky, having twelve o’ clocked hard on my wheelie, shooting flames from my exhaust and whirling vertical blades of death towards the grandstand.

It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.