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Yeah sorry your boyfriend is dead. Yeah there was nothing we could d- wait what are you doing put the DNA copying powers down. Don’t look at him in the eyes desperately and copy his DNA. NO. BAD. THIS IS NOT HOW YOU COPE WITH LOSS. GO TO THERAPY DO NOT INVENT A NEW STAGE OF GRIEF. Why do I even bother.

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Person in my gas station talking to someone on the phone: ...We're in Ohio...

Me, knowing we're in Utah: ????

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honestly i never thought the phrase “i want that twink obliterated” was like a sexual thing. like when i read the phrase i imagine “a meteor like the one that killed the dinosaurs is summoned from the heavens and hits the twink in question” type situation

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the authors open fetish that complements the themes of their work

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The fun thing about Queer as an identifier is they cant chop you off or reorganize you into obscurity. Queer is for everyone. You cant cut the T off of a Q.

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I thought of this and i had to draw it immediately,

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no see the thing is I think he has a point

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[ko-fanatic]

I love having friends who reject diet culture. I love going out when everyone buys food and drinks that they enjoy. I love people who will pipe up and suggest we stop for a snack or grab a meal. I love ordering what I want and no one making comments other than how good it looks (and maybe asking to steal a bite off my plate). I love revelling in how full we are after a good meal and taking a break to appreciate how fortunate we are. I love sharing snack from our bags with one another. I love enjoying the pleasure of food and drinks and good company.

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Just so people know, epilepsy warnings aren’t about, like, purity culture, or online leftists acting as if disabled people are real. It’s about my mom

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i love getting exposure to misc fetishes that im not into because imo it's really interesting to see what the invented scenarios, art pieces, stories, etc reveal about the primary concerns of the fetish-holder, like the specific traits that are necessary to make the fetish "work"

like as an example, one would expect the bimbo fetish to exclusively involve the "bimbo" characters being uhh Universally Uninformed, but there are novels & comics etc that depict like.... Bimbo Scientists. but the Bimbo Scientists' projects are like "how can i make my boobs bigger" "how can i invent a really attractive man" etc. it casts the fetish in this really fascinating light--like, the character *can* be Conventionally Smart, as long as she uses her education for like vapid & trivial ends, which forms this really interesting like Reconfiguration of the conventional images & signifiers of "un/intelligence", like as if to say that for at least some adherents of that fetish, the values & concerns conventionally associated with Foolishness & Vacuity are more weighted than the actual primary traits associated with smartness

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Bruce Wayne knows that his “Brucie Wayne” mask has always helped keep suspicion away from Batman. The image of a party boy and playboy, but also a charitable and kind man, turned him into Gotham’s golden boy from a young age.

But he also knows that, to a certain point, the playboy persona clashed with his image as a good father. I mean, he already had to fight off rumors that all of his adopted kids were actually his secret biological children… Well, even he had his doubts and ended up getting paternity tests for Dick, Jason, Tim, and Cass—more than once. Just to be sure.

Bruce knows that “Brucie” isn’t the same façade it used to be, and that his flirtatious, party-loving public image has even affected his kids. School kids can be cruel, and his children had to take the hits.

So Bruce makes a decision. With Tim, Stephanie, and Barbara’s help, he decides to produce a documentary. Something small, meant to premiere openly in Gotham and digitally for the rest of the country. Basically, it was Bruce admitting that the public image he kept up for years was a façade—a way to avoid being taken too seriously, so people would leave him alone and let him live his real life in private.

In short: Bruce basically pulled a Paris Hilton—performing a role for years to give the media the heir they wanted.

The documentary was titled “The Man Behind the Golden Boy.” It even featured Clark Kent—reporter and close friend—as the main interviewer.

Dick, Jason, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian all made short appearances, talking about their father and what he was really like outside of galas and cameras.

Turns out Gotham’s public loved mature Bruce, the responsible dad, way more than “Brucie”—the guy who once danced half-naked against an ice sculpture at Penguin’s club.

[ko-fanatic]

Chuckling to myself remembering the time I completely broke a scammer's brain by telling them I use Linux.

Scammer: do you have an apple or a windows computer please?

Me: neither, I use Linux.

Scammer: no no no, I asked if you use a apple or a windows

Me: neither

Scammer: what is the sticker? Is it a four boxes or is it an apple with a bite?

Me: ... I don't use EITHER of them. There's a third operating system called Linux. It isn't a PC or a mac. Please tell me you understand

Scammer: do -- do you know what I mean about apple or windows sir?

Me: yes. I'm a software developer. I understand completely. I'm telling you that YOU don't understand. Its called Linux, spelled L-I-N-U-X, type it into google

Scammer:

Scammer: but is it an apple or a windows computer sir

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the thing that bothers me with 7 deadly sin based characters is when they cant decide if they embody the sin by suffering from it or by drawing it out of others. ie. if your gluttony demon is a guy who loves eating then your lust demon should be a gooner sex pest. and if your lust demon is a seductive girlboss then your gluttony demon should be a 5 star chef. does this make sense.

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Folks have got to understand that they probably aren't messed up by some Secret Big Trauma that they just can't remember; but rather by a million tiny microtraumas that they do mostly remember but don't even register as traumatic because nobody actually understood that these things would cause trauma, much less stack on each other over the years.

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