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my empire of gurt.. i will slurp you down. i will make you purp

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i really like fallout because, unlike a lot of media that uses retrofuturism as just a cool aesthetic, fallout’s obsession with 1950s americana actually means something. it’s not just chrome fins and googie diners, it’s weaponized optimism. it’s that sickly-sweet propaganda sheen slathered over nuclear terror, where smiling mascots tell you to duck and cover while the government quietly preps for the end of the world. it’s about a country that believed so hard in its own greatness it signed its death warrant in cursive.

fallout takes that warped, post-war idealism, the “gee whiz!” charm of suburbia on lithium. and drags it through the dirt, showing us what happens after all the white picket fences melt into radioactive slag. in a world shaped by that specific brand of McCarthyist exceptionalism, the future isn’t flying cars and robot butlers, it’s a dinky holotape of your last moments before the bombs hit, looping forever. like vault 11, the one where the final recording plays after everyone’s already dead, revealing the whole “sacrifice one person every year or everyone dies” mandate was a lie. a loyalty test. a sick joke. and the vault passed, right before it failed, because paranoia and desperation had already eaten them alive.

that’s fallout. not just the end of the world, but the punchline that comes after the moral.

and honestly? that hits way harder than any sleek utopia. because fallout remembers: beneath all that pastel patriotism and canned laughter, something was always rotting.

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this from the guy who wrote the sting pain index, a scale he constructed after letting himself be stung by insects

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The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.

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my humor might be broken cause I find this trend actually funny

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v.2

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me when feeling suspiciously relaxed: what responsibility have i forgotten

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literally my favorite type of tweet

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its a mystery

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how about you "switch 2" a gender other than the one you were assigned at birth

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🍜🍥🍜