#European qualifications

[ferrari-desmosedici-wwe-fc]

"to speak Spanish, just add an S, every word in Spanish ends with S"

Meanwhile Greece:

That Baldock must be an immigrant🤔

[chelseajackarmy]

NECO WILLIAMS

[thrilling-oneway]

I'd give you 5$ if you post that draft

you didn't even need to bribe. it's not actually in the drafts of this blog so i'll write a better version

i've said it a billion times before: tsukasa is the comedic relief weirdguy, the devs basically will do anything with him so long as it's funny.

so starting with that valentine's day vlive in 2021. during the MC part of that he gets jealous that rui has been getting chocolates and tries to brag that he got lots of chocolates too but then immediately reveals that he got friendzoned by multiple girls. his voiceline that year is something about how he catches everyone's attention on vday and year round bc he's a star or something like that but anyway that whole interaction there seems to suggest he's straight lol.

however.

he's REALLY oblivious. played for comedy ofc but i see a lot of people interpret this as him being somewhere on the aro spectrum (probably not what the writers intended but fair instance of accidentally coding a character as smth). examples include: not understanding why Akito doesn't want to be seen at PXL alone with Toya in an Akito's initial 3* (second story), literally says "thank you" when Asahi basically confesses to him and completely misses the point (he actually did seem to nearly get this one for a second), and he doesn't understand why Rui's friends are impressed that he's friends the incredibly attractive Shizuku (Tsukasa is the only not-gay-coded male character who isn't attracted to Shizuku, probably because they're childhood friends. or if you want to view him as being aspec, then that works too). also when he mentions that he's friends with guys in his class who are cool and popular and good with women, Hibiki says that he was in a class with one of those guys in 1st year and is amazed that tsukasa is in that crowd now, emphasis on the "tsukasa's friends are good with women part". tsukasa's just confused about that because of course they talk to girls a lot they're in the same class.

also he usually rewrites a lot of romance plays to remove the romance. he rewrote R&J to just make it focused on the action (which is probably because he likes playing action heroes more than anything else), and he got rid of the romance plot in little mermaid because he didn't felt it was needed (this one is justified in-universe as they do fun shows for small children and don't really need the tragic romance, and also from production standpoint like you don't do that because fandom). so yeah that could again be read as him being aspec if you want but i don't think the writers intended it to be read that way, especially the R&J one that was purely for comedy.

all that said, this is an idol game, which generally run on the rule of thumb that every character is some flavour of queer, even if it's just for fanservice (i don't play enstars but from what i do know of it it falls a bit on that last point). anyway you can probably tell where this is going but he gets ship tease with rui sometimes. vast majority of this is from Rui's side but there are things like Oki ni Mesu mama

Tsukasa: Waiting for the "1, 2…" signal, holding hands with you is an act of courage for me

or that one part in pandemonium where he drops his persona for a brief second when he's impressed by rui's plan that was very much put there on purpose, or that Tsukasa and Airi's cheerful carnival team name from that event is "swayed by their partners (相方, aikata)" and when you consider that Shizuku and Airi are heavily implied to like each other, and have canonically been on a "date", that was also a Choice.

idk whether to count KING because justified by them being actors and the fang motif in the song... vampires kinda homoerotic it makes sense that the dance routine was that. also i'm not sure if the connect lives are even canon, especially the wxs one since tokishun broke character and the 4th wall.

yeah i dunno. the writers kinda just do whatever they want with him. interpret any of this how you will i'm just recounting shit from the game.

oh hey it's longer than 300 words now

[down-with-cis-train]

can I ask what the specific job title of your data crunching job is & how you got it and what qualifications you had to provide

Struggling over here

Hello :) i got that job under very specific circumstances through my friend who also worked there at the moment and the home office was bc of covid at the time, they just haven’t bothered to make us go back to the offices so far… Which is why i’m myself scared i won’t get anything this chill again when i eventually change jobs 🥲

Sorry i can’t be very helpful, all i can say my job is in a non-profit organization and i assume all sorts of government offices could also need people to manage their documentation. I swear it felt like they almost apologized to me when they were hiring me like “sorry the job is not too exciting “ :D Its like a strange dance you have to perform of being very excited and outgoing to get hired and then they apologize for making you do what you secretly wanted all along.

[ithacanradio]

there's a lot of confusion around the EU especially after Brexit, since wanting to leave it now seems like a right wing position. however this is an extremely important matter and this podcast episode explains rlly well why from a marxist point of view the EU is an evil, imperialist and anti democratic institution made to uphold capitalism.

[imaharrie]

I mean WC winners being usually European teams is a fact so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and? the current champion is South American so like it or not he had to eat his own words

[markagorman]

Scotland Women vs England Women is a scandal.

This will surely go down in history as the most outrageous qualifying match ever. How were these teams allowed to compete in the same Olympics qualifying group? Put simply, it is Scotland’s DUTY to throw the match against England to give those Scotland players who are good enough the opportunity to play in the Olympic tournament in a GB side that will of course be dominated by English…

[suurfl]

The wikipedia "random article" thing is crazy.

Like it can just go from 'majestic norwegian fjord' to '2007 UEFA European Under-21 Championship qualilfication preliminary round' in one click

[potentiallyahuman]

applying to sit an art a-level while doing the course in 1 year (less than) and without studying art properly for 5 years is wild AND im predicted an A :/ HOW

college besties im doing it outside of college hence the 1 year aaaaaaa hdjfhsjdfh help

[venus-haze]

She's Out To Please, She Pouts Her Best (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Soldier Boy’s been pulled from the European Theater to sell war bonds to the American people, the goodwill tour dotted by big cities and small towns alike. In the meantime, he gets familiar with the variety of women in dazzling costumes that accompany his speeches with carefully choreographed dances. You’re, without a doubt, his favorite of them all.

Note: Female (blink and you’ll miss it implied plus size) reader, but no other descriptors are used. This fic is so short because it’s pretty much PWP. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Dressing room sex, mirrors, breeding kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, overstimulation, implied baby trapping. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Chattering from the packed high school auditorium somehow seeped through the walls. The rural town that was the latest stop in Soldier Boy’s war bond drive had shown up en masse out of patriotism or sheer curiosity. Usually both. Electricity was always in the air before the show in small towns. Some of them didn’t even have movie theaters. 

You and the other dancers on the tour had set up camp in one of the bigger classrooms, using it to get ready in since it was near one of the bathrooms. Dresses, sequins, and makeup scattered about the room, making the place of learning look like a department store had exploded inside. You’d been helping another girl with the curlers in her hair until a masculine voice called out your name from the doorway.

“Soldier Boy wants to see you in his dressing room.”

You nodded, giving an apologetic look to your colleague, who waved you off. It wasn’t unusual for Soldier Boy to call on one of you to help him “warm up” before the shows. Lately, however, he’d almost exclusively been asking for you, to the detriment of your jaw. 

Grabbing a nearby tube of red lipstick, you hastily applied it in the illuminated mirror in front of you. The lipstick residue soon adorned a tissue that you discarded, and you used your fingertips to gently massage the muscles in your face in preparation for taking him again. You hoped you’d at least get to come this time.

A flyer had gotten you to this point, stark white with patriotic motifs, pinned to a board in the nightclub you had been working in prior to getting the gig. Uncle Sam declared, “Ladies, you can serve your country too!” You figured why not, there was a war on, and if you could do something to help, you might as well. 

Your qualifications led you to your local USO office, where you were handed a star-spangled outfit and joined a gaggle of other girls to be the supporting act on Soldier Boy’s war bonds tour across the country. At times, you felt silly, kicking and shimmying to audiences who were clearly only putting up with the opener just to catch a glimpse at the world’s first superhero. A man larger than life in every sense of the word, as you and your fellow dancers on the tour would learn.

Wandering the hallway, you checked each door for an indication of which commandeered classroom was his. Not one for subtlety, his dressing rooms always had ‘SOLDIER BOY’ printed in large letters, declaring his presence. You found the sign toward the end of the hall, giving a smile to the usual group of people who congregated around him, assistants and handlers to keep him on schedule.

You knocked on the door, announcing your arrival. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you asked when he opened the door. 

He smiled, putting his hand on your lower back as he ushered you inside. “Sure did, sweetheart.”

His dressing room always betrayed his vices—alcohol, drugs, porno mags. It didn’t faze you anymore, not like the first time he asked for you, a stuttering mess in his presence. Back then, you had to take a shot with him to settle your nerves enough to blow him without feeling too self-conscious. Now, it was routine. You moved to get on your knees, but he stopped you, to your confusion. 

Instead, he disarmed you with a passionate kiss that nearly knocked you over. You steadied yourself on his strong arms that had made their home near your hips. He squeezed them, pulling you closer so your body was flush against his as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. 

You let him take the lead, he always did—strong, masculine, hard-working. Wasn’t America lucky its hero was easy on the eyes too? Except he had a temper, a mean streak that could go for miles. Not that you’d ever been on the receiving end of it. No, for all his faults, you seemed to get the best of Soldier Boy.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You have?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. You’re—“ he paused, searching for the word he wanted to use, “special to me.”

You weren’t sure why he was laying it on so thick. It wasn’t your first rodeo with him. “Special?”

“‘Course you are. You wouldn't be here if you weren’t,” he said. “I wanna try something different today, alright, doll?”

“Alright,” you agreed softly.

He smiled. “That’s my girl.”

Your body came alive at his praise, and you pressed your lips to his for another kiss. He guided your body backward until you bumped into the vanity. Parting his lips from yours, he turned you around, bending you over it so you were face to face with yourself in the mirror. 

You looked at him from the reflection, brows furrowed as you wondered what he was doing. 

He leaned down, voice husky in your ear as he growled, “I want you to see how pretty you look when you come.”

Your eyes widened, and you grabbed either side of the vanity in preparation, to his amusement. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck as he pushed up your shimmery skirt, exposing your red, satin panties, specially made to be on display. Soon, your panties were around your heeled feet, one of his hands reaching to play with your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts through your top.

“We look good together, don’t you think, sweetheart?” he asked, intense gaze studying your reactions.

“Y-Yes,” you moaned, trying to keep your eyes open. 

He always wanted you to look at him. From your knees when you were sucking him off, when he’d be standing on the side of the stage during your act, in his hotel rooms when he couldn’t find local girls to fuck around with. This instance was different, though, able to really see him, and yourself. You didn’t find your glassy gaze or parted lips particularly flattering, but he couldn’t seem to get enough.

His fingers had already brought you close to climax, and you whined when he pulled them away from you for a moment to free his hard cock from his pants. You shuddered, feeling it on your skin before he guided it in your pussy. Your hands curled around the vanity you were bracing yourself on. You weren’t sure if you’d get used to how his cock seemed to split you apart every time.

One of his arms wrapped just below your chest to hold you up, as you struggled to support yourself when he started pounding into you. Your pussy was already wet and pliant for him, and you'd be embarrassed by the obscene squelching sounds if you weren't so focused on getting off when he had brought you so close to the edge already.

You were your own voyeur, your brain feeling like it was going to melt, watching yourself getting fucked by him. His superhuman strength always caught you off guard, from the first time he shocked you by lifting you above his head on stage for a roaring crowd to the way he could make your body feel—and look—like you were little more than a ragdoll. 

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunted as he thrust into you, items falling from the vanity and onto the floor at the force he used to fuck you. “Want you up on that stage with my cum leaking out every time you kick up those legs—fuck—you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenched around him at the vulgar image he conjured up. “Yours daddy.”

His voice was strained, words slurring together. He was close. “‘S right, baby. Keep fuckin’ you ‘till you make me one. You like takin’ daddy’s dick, don’t you?”

You had to force the short affirmation out of your mouth, pleasure’s chokehold creeping up on you. That wasn’t enough for him or his ego.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“I love taking—oh fuck—taking your dick, daddy.”

He came, hard and sloppy as your pussy milked his cock. You cried out, feeling so full it almost started to hurt. Something in you finally snapped, releasing the pain and pressure as you rode out your orgasm on his softening cock. Your arms gave out from under you so that it was just his strength holding you up. You weren’t sure how you’d be able to go back to having sex with men who weren’t well-endowed superheroes. Go back to faking it, you supposed.

Your throat was sore. You hadn’t paid attention to how loud you were being. Everyone outside the room must’ve known what was happening if they didn’t have an idea when you first showed up looking for him. 

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of you, and you could hear fabric rustling and the sound of his zipper again. You didn’t bother trying to stand up, still needing time to catch your breath. 

He used his fingers to swipe up some of his cum that had begun dripping out of you, causing you to gasp at the slight sensation of them brushing against your pussy. You whimpered when he pushed his index and middle fingers inside you, already aching from the orgasm he’d just pulled from you. 

“I—I can’t—“

‘I can’t get pregnant and ruin my career,’ you wanted to say, but all that came from your lips was a desperate, animalistic moan.

“I got you, baby,” Soldier Boy whispered, voice low and husky in your ear. “Give me one more so it sticks.”

You choked on air as his thumb brushed your clit, rubbing circles in the sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers pushed deeper, and your hips bucked at the overstimulation, your spent pussy reactively pulsing around his cum-slicked fingers that curled inside you.

The woman staring back at you in the mirror was a mess with her mascara stained cheeks and smeared lipstick. You were utterly unrecognizable as you came again, harder on his fingers this time, crying out as you gripped the edge of the vanity, threatening to break one of your manicured nails. 

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing kisses to your cheek, as you came down from your second orgasm, pulling his hand from between your legs. “You alright?”

“I think so,” you breathed. “Jesus Christ.”

Your legs felt like jelly beneath you, and you wondered how the hell you were going to be able to dance in less than half an hour. You’d have to reapply all of your makeup too.

He turned you around, looking at you with a brief fondness before kissing your lips, soft and quick. 

“I need to fix my face,” you breathed.

He smiled. “Why? You look great.” 

You laughed softly as he gave you space. You pulled up your panties from around your ankles, knowing his cum would stain them by the time you made it back to the dancers’ makeshift dressing room. Taking some of the tissues from the box on top of the vanity, you began wiping your ruined makeup from your face. He stared at you in silence from the spot he’d taken on the loveseat that’d been brought in for him.

“I think I’d be a good father. Better than my old man,” he said finally.

You paused, looking at him from the mirror, giving him a sardonic smile. “I don’t see you as the settling down type.”

“Maybe I just need a woman worth coming home to.”

“Maybe,” you echoed.

“C’mere.”

You obliged, joining him on the loveseat. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close. You let yourself bask in the intimacy.

“Things aren’t always gonna be like this,” he said. “Once the war’s over, what’re you gonna do? Go back to dancing in nightclubs?”

“Why not?”

His jaw clenched, cheek twitching as he pulled his gaze from you. “I don’t want you doing this for anyone but me.”

This could have been any number of things, dancing, fucking, being at his beck and call. Knowing him, he meant all of it.

“Ben,” you said, grabbing his attention, “then you have to tell me what you do want.”

“I want you. I want the white picket fence, kids running around the yard with the dog,” he said, the intensity in his voice wrapping tendrils around your mind, pulling you into the world he was describing. “I want dinner to burn ‘cause I was busy putting another baby in you when I got home.”

“Oh,” you whispered.

A voice through the door startled you. “Soldier Boy, the mayor’s here to see you!” 

“Think about it,” Soldier Boy said, getting up from the loveseat to grab his helmet and shield. 

The door shut behind him, leaving you to agonize over the future he presented to you. Part of you wondered if you’d really have a choice.

[hussyknee]

Jesus is Under the Rubble

“This Advent, while global Christians prepare to commemorate the arrival of the Prince of Peace, our Palestinian kin in Gaza suffer unthinkable violence. Their cries of deliverance, echoing those of two millennia ago, seem to be falling unheard on the United States.”

— by Kelly Latimore icons. All proceeds from sales of this digital image will go toward Red Letter Christians trusted partners in Gaza.

Transcript: Christ in the Rubble A Liturgy of Lament Rev. Dr. Munther Isaac Evangelical Lutheran Christmas Church Bethlehem Saturday, December 23rd, 2023 We are angry…

We are broken…

This should have been a time of joy; instead, we are mourning. We are fearful.

Twenty thousand killed. Thousands under the rubble still. Close to 9,000 children killed in the most brutal ways. Day after day after day. 1.9 million displaced! Hundreds of thousands of homes were destroyed. Gaza as we know it no longer exists. This is an annihilation. A genocide.

The world is watching; Churches are watching. Gazans are sending live images of their own execution. Maybe the world cares? But it goes on.

We are asking, could this be our fate in Bethlehem? In Ramallah? In Jenin? Is this our destiny too?

We are tormented by the silence of the world. Leaders of the so-called “free” lined up one after the other to give the green light for this genocide against a captive population. They gave the cover. Not only did they make sure to pay the bill in advance, they veiled the truth and context, providing political cover. And, yet another layer has been added: the theological cover with the Western Church stepping into the spotlight.

The South African Church taught us the concept of “The state theology,” defined as “the theological justification of the status quo with its racism, capitalism and totalitarianism.” It does so by misusing theological concepts and biblical texts for its own political purposes.

Here in Palestine, the Bible is weaponized against our very own sacred text. In our terminology in Palestine, we speak of the Empire. Here we confront the theology of the Empire. A disguise for superiority, supremacy, “chosenness,” and entitlement. It is sometimes given a nice cover using words like mission and evangelism, fulfillment of prophecy, and spreading freedom and liberty. The theology of the Empire becomes a powerful tool to mask oppression under the cloak of divine sanction. It divides people into “us” and “them.” It dehumanizes and demonizes. It speaks of land without people even when they know the land has people – and not just any people. It calls for emptying Gaza, just like it called the ethnic cleansing in 1948 “a divine miracle.” It calls for us Palestinians to go to Egypt, maybe Jordan, or why not just the sea?

“Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” they said of us. This is the theology of Empire.

This war has confirmed to us that the world does not see us as equal. Maybe it is the color of our skin. Maybe it is because we are on the wrong side of the political equation. Even our kinship in Christ did not shield us. As they said, if it takes killing 100 Palestinians to get a single “Hamas militant” then so be it! We are not humans in their eyes. (But in God’s eyes… no one can tell us we are not!)

The hypocrisy and racism of the Western world is transparent and appalling! They always take the words of Palestinians with suspicion and qualification. No, we are not treated equally. Yet, the other side, despite a clear track record of misinformation, is almost always deemed infallible!

To our European friends. I never ever want to hear you lecture us on human rights or international law again. We are not white— it does not apply to us according to your own logic.

In this war, the many Christians in the Western world made sure the Empire has the theology needed. It is self-defense, we were told! (And I ask: how?)

In the shadow of the Empire, they turned the colonizer into the victim, and the colonized into the aggressor. Have we forgotten that the state was built on the ruins of the towns and villages of those very same Gazans?

We are outraged by the complicity of the church. Let it be clear: Silence is complicity, and empty calls for peace without a ceasefire and end to occupation, and the shallow words of empathy without direct action— are all under the banner of complicity. So here is my message: Gaza today has become the moral compass of the world. Gaza was hell on earth before October 7th.

If you are not appalled by what is happening; if you are not shaken to your core— there is something wrong with your humanity. If we, as Christians, are not outraged by this genocide, by the weaponizing of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness, and compromising the credibility of the Gospel!

If you fail to call this a genocide. It is on you. It is a sin and a darkness you willingly embrace.

Some have not even called for a ceasefire.

I feel sorry for you. We will be okay. Despite the immense blow we have endured, we will recover. We will rise and stand up again from the midst of destruction, as we have always done as Palestinians, although this is by far the biggest blow we have received in a long time.

But again, for those who are complicit, I feel sorry for you. Will you ever recover from this?

Your charity, your words of shock AFTER the genocide, won’t make a difference. Words of regret will not suffice for you. We will not accept your apology after the genocide. What has been done, has been done. I want you to look at the mirror… and ask: where was I?

To our friends who are here with us: You have left your families and churches to be with us. You embody the term accompaniment— a costly solidarity. “We were in prison and you visited us.” What a stark difference from the silence and complicity of others. Your presence here is the meaning of solidarity. Your visit has already left an impression that will never be taken from us. Through you, God has spoken to us that “we are not forsaken.” As Father Rami of the Catholic Church said this morning, you have come to Bethlehem, and like the Magi, you brought gifts with, but gifts that are more precious than gold, frankincense, and myrrh. You brought the gift of love and solidarity.

We needed this. For this season, maybe more than anything, we were troubled by the silence of God. In these last two months, the Psalms of lament have become a precious companion. We cried out: My God, My God, why have you forsaken Gaza? Why do you hide your face from Gaza?

In our pain, anguish, and lament, we have searched for God, and found him under the rubble in Gaza. Jesus became the victim of the very same violence of the Empire. He was tortured. Crucified. He bled out as others watched. He was killed and cried out in pain— My God, where are you?

In Gaza today, God is under the rubble.

And in this Christmas season, as we search for Jesus, he is to be found not on the side of Rome, but our side of the wall. In a cave, with a simple family. Vulnerable. Barely, and miraculously surviving a massacre. Among a refugee family. This is where Jesus is found.

If Jesus were to be born today, he would be born under the rubble in Gaza. When we glorify pride and richness, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we rely on power, might, and weapons, Jesus is under the rubble.

When we justify, rationalize, and theologize the bombing of children, Jesus is under the rubble.

Jesus is under the rubble. This is his manger. He is at home with the marginalized, the suffering, the oppressed, and displaced. This is his manger.

I have been looking, contemplating on this iconic image….God with us, precisely in this way. THIS is the incarnation. Messy. Bloody. Poverty.

This child is our hope and inspiration. We look and see him in every child killed and pulled from under the rubble. While the world continues to reject the children of Gaza, Jesus says: “just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” “You did to ME.” Jesus not only calls them his own, he is them!

We look at the holy family and see them in every family displaced and wandering, now homeless in despair. While the world discusses the fate of the people of Gaza as if they are unwanted boxes in a garage, God in the Christmas narrative shares in their fate; He walks with them and calls them his own.

This manger is about resilience— صمود. The resilience of Jesus is in his meekness; weakness, and vulnerability. The majesty of the incarnation lies in its solidarity with the marginalized. Resilience because this very same child, rose up from the midst of pain, destruction, darkness and death to challenge empires; to speak truth to power and deliver an everlasting victory over death and darkness.

This is Christmas today in Palestine and this is the Christmas message. It is not about Santa, trees, gifts, lights… etc. My goodness how we twisted the meaning of Christmas. How we have commercialized Christmas. I was in the USA last month, the first Monday after Thanksgiving, and I was amazed by the amount of Christmas decorations and lights, all the and commercial goods. I couldn’t help but think: They send us bombs, while celebrating Christmas in their land. They sing about the prince of peace in their land, while playing the drum of war in our land.

Christmas in Bethlehem, the birthplace of Jesus, is this manger. This is our message to the world today. It is a Gospel message, a true and authentic Christmas message, about the God who did not stay silent, but said his word, and his Word is Jesus. Born among the occupied and marginalized. He is in solidarity with us in our pain and brokenness.

This manger is our message to the world today – and it is simply this: this genocide must stop NOW. Let us repeat to the world: STOP this Genocide NOW.

This is our call. This is our plea. This is our prayer. Hear oh God. Amen.

(Source)

I found these on Twitter a while ago. Original creator unknown.

I can't stop you ascribing hateful, paranoid meanings to these images, but they're not about blaming religions. Jesus was a Jew born to a community of Jews in Palestine, the cradle of the Abrahamic faiths. He was raised and loved by them, betrayed by their rulers* and killed by Romans. He's a Prophet of Islam. End of.

*Y'know, like how the people of the Arab and Muslim nations love Palestine and crying to help them, except their leaders are greedy and rotted to the core. The ruling class will always only serve the empire.

Edit: alt text provided by @this-world-of-beautiful-monsters

[ferrari-desmosedici-wwe-fc]

Albert Guðmundsson🇮🇸

I'm really happy to finally watching him playing with Iceland national team

But don't forget that Iceland nt used to not call him because of the accusations of sexual assault he got

Not knowing if he was guilty or not at the time yet, the decision of not calling him was the right thing to do 👏

Now he can finally play for his country again, so I suppose he is truly innocent, I hope it is really true, it would be a good thing for everyone, some things are way more important than football

Anyway, hoping for this way, now the nt level is higher, Iceland needs a player like this, also he seems to do literally everything, main striker, free kicks, corners 😅

[uselessheretic]

the qualifications for this is entirely subjective and non-scientific based off of what i'd generally chalk up to white people culture. things like southern cooking as a whole just doesn't count and for the most part i'm ignoring that's a widely understood european spinoff (think pizza) unless theres a specific american jenny say quo to it (think pizza with chili cheese fries as a topping) i'm also double not counting things that are probs white culture but is generally known that black people make it better and has become a cookout staple (the reverse cultural appropriation of mac n cheese)

i also don't care enough to argue the specifics of this and have elected to do very little research beyond asking my friend from the midwest to name casseroles for me

[useless-englandfacts]

I do recommend watching the whole thing but here is a clip from Rev. Munther Isaac's Christmas sermon entitled 'Jesus under the rubble', delivered in Bethlehem in the occupied West Bank on Saturday.

Transcript under the cut:

This war has confirmed to us that the world does not see us as equal. Maybe it's the colour of our skins. Maybe it is because we are on the wrong side of a political equation. Even our kinship in Christ did not shield us.

So they say, "if it takes killing 100 Palestinians to get a single Hamas militant then so be it". We are not humans in their eyes. But in God's eyes, no one can tell us that.

The hypocrisy and racism of the Western World is transparent and appalling. They always take the word of Palestinians with suspicion and qualification. No, we not treated equally. Yet on the other side, despite a clear track record of misinformation, lies, their words are almost always deemed infallible.

To our European friends: I never, ever want to hear you lecture us on human rights or international law again. And I mean this. We are not White. I guess it does not apply to us according to your own logic.

So here is my message: Gaza today has become the moral compass of the world. Gaza was held before October 7th and the world was silent. Should we be surprised that they're silent now? If you are not appalled by what is happening in Gaza, if you are not shaken to your core, there is something wrong with your humanity. And if we as Christians are not outraged by the genocide, by the weaponization of the Bible to justify it, there is something wrong with our Christian witness and we are compromising the credibility of our Gospel message.

If you fail to call this a genocide then that is on you. It is a sin and a darkness you willingly embrace. Some have not even called for a ceasefire - I'm talking about churches. I feel sorry for you.

We will be okay. Despite the immense blow we have endured, we the Palestinians will recover. We will rise. We will stand up again from the midst of destruction as we have always done as Palestinians - although this is by far maybe the biggest blow we have received in a long time. But we will be okay.

But for those who are complicit, I feel sorry for you. Will you ever recover from this? Your charity and your words of shock after the genocide won't make a difference. And I know these words of shock are coming, and I know people will give generously for charity. But your words won't make a difference. Words of regret won't suffice for you.

And let me say it: we will not accept your apology after the genocide. What has been done has been done. I want you to look at the mirror and ask: where was I when Gaza was going through a genocide?

[best-habsburg-monarch]

Introduction: Do you have strong opinions on a certain - now defunct - Central European dynasty? Are you especially fond of a house that elevated themselves by forging their qualifications to be archdukes and then ruled for centuries? Do you enjoy a house whose favorite diplomatic strategy is marriage? If you are, this is the place for you to voice those strong opinions and to vote for your favorite.

FAQs (or what I imagine will be frequently asked):

Where is Sisi? - This will be a bracket of ruling monarchs, not their consorts. There will be no Sisi, no Charlotte of Belgium, no Marie Antoinette, and no Mary of Burgundy. Each person must have been crowned king or emperor of somewhere (otherwise the sheer number of archdukes and duchesses would be overwhelming)

Can I send in propaganda for my favorite? - I highly encourage it. Anons are open.

Is this both the Spanish and the Austrians? - Yes, this is both branches of the family.

But where is Sisi? - Again, this is not a consort bracket. Maybe later if this one doesn't reignite some long dead dynastic war.

Will this include Holy Roman Emperors? - Only if they are from the House of Habsburg.

What versions of the names and/or titles are you using? - I am using German spellings of names and titles for the most part (unless the most widely used version of their name is something else.)

Why is the numbering so confusing? - Because this house has an absurd number of separate titles that all follow their own numbering. Specific titles will be added when necessary.

Why is everyone named Ferdinand? - They aren't, there are some Franzs and some Josephs as well.

But what about Marie Antoinette or Sisi? - See point 1. This bracket has rules.

Rules? Are you a Prussian? - Unfortunately they are necessary.

[vogelmeister]

Eurovision 2024: my experience as a fan

One thing about me is that I love Eurovision. I have all the winners plastered on my door at home, I can beat anyone and everyone at European geography. Each year for a week in May, I am people’s go to for anything and everything Eurovision, from explaining the big five to promoting my favourite songs. I willingly get up at 5am to tune in live, I have written two academic essays on Eurovision, and both essays have a sense of passion running through them where you can tell I love the topic- may or may not have been called out once on that. I knew so much about the topic that neither essay required much research. When I lived in the Netherlands, I attended Het Grote Songfestivalfeest, probably killing my seat neighbours with my singing and poorly articulated Dutch when De Diepte came on. As well as that, my friends and I took a trip to Rotterdam and visited where the contest was held in 2021. Having me, an Australian, alongside a Dutch person and a Greek, exploring Rotterdam highlighted to me exactly what Eurovision should be about. Unity. 

Being in a room of Eurofans gave me joy that is unexplainable. I just remember realising, ‘hey I found my people’

However, I always knew ESC 2024 was going to be a hard watch for me, even before the boycotts begun. About a year ago I went through a massive friendship breakup with one of my closest Eurovision friends, and their villianisation of me meant that watching with them wasnt an option. I didn’t want to watch alone. That’s all I will say on that. I had a year to deal with that, anyway, and even when people were boycotting the event after October 7th, I thought, theres actually no way that Israel is actually competing this year. They surely will send something too political and get dq'd, right? Most of the knowledge I have of Palestine and Israel comes from my year 12 modern history class, which as my friend and I discussed today, was taught neutrally- and it’s not in Israel’s favour. I was there when Hatari spoke out in 2019 and did the banners, and I remember the shock and understanding what a big deal this was.

I toyed with the idea of boycotting myself. I had my reasons. I auditioned for a play, which didnt work out for me, as I was too distracted by Eurovision week to care. I was less invested in Eurovision as a whole, and I would get sleep. But in the end, I decided not to. My friend (who found out I liked Eurovision after I bitched about my ex friends not enjoying that I had other interests asides from Taylor Swift) was already coming around to watch.  I decided my mental health came first, before boycotting and before being an activist. If I could save this one piece of my mental health, I would be fine. Stupid delusional me, well she had hope. I wanted to support Joost, and the other artists who were stuck in this shitshow of a year. I staunchly boycotted Isreal’s song, I have only heard it in full once, and that was against my will. I even blocked her on Spotify. 

I looked at it all positively- this all meant I was going in more blind than ever. I bought my 2024 CD, but I also broke a lot of traditions- I didnt do my predictions like I do every year on my whiteboard, I didnt film the first semi qualifications with the caption ‘im in spain’ and put it on my story, and I hardly watched the NFs. I liked Eurovision, but this year, with all going on, I felt guilty and ashamed. I have been ashamed of being a eurofan before, but not on this level. I felt like I was trapped in a glass box, kicking and screaming at the ebu but they had airpods in. The answer was so obvious. Ban Isreal, like you did with Russia. People were harassing artists for competing, especially Olly, who I realised had no choice in the matter anyways. I ended up thinking “just get through the week, soon it will be over, and you’ll have fun with your friend.” I have never wanted Eurovision week over in my life. I just wasnt excited.  Europapa basically became my ride or die, built upon my love for the Netherlands, and the genuine good vibes of the song. Joost was charismatic, and the song had a nice story. Another one of my friends, who realised I was eurofan after I posted a video on my story where you could see my Dowue Bob poster (I have my reasons for keeping it), found a watch party and it was free. She had her drivers license so she could get us there, and my other friend and I agreed. It would be fun, I would bring my Dutch flag and my orange beanie and wear my Sam Ryder shirt. 

The first semi happened. My friend came over, we slept on the couch. I enjoyed myself, the qualifiers werent shocking though and I guessed 9/10 of them. It was pretty mid, but it was fun. The only issue was Poland being robbed and the Australian commentary on SBS being dicks to Portugal, which they backtracked in the final. It was insufferable, but the worst was yet to come.  

The second semi. I was so excited to see Joost perform and bonded with my Dutch coworker over him and his song, which honestly was beautiful. If she didnt know how much I love the Netherlands before, she does now. I did notice that when Israel qualified, all the sickness in my stomach just exited the room, as the worst that could happen, happened. But sadly, I knew it would happen. Seeing the videos, however, of Palestine protesters and the booing and shouting, despite attempts to silence us, was beautiful. It showed exactly where the fandom stood, what we thought. And my mum was even happy about Israel being treated like bullshit. 

And then shit started to go down. 

The second semi press conference. The kaarija video. Joost being followed around for propaganda content by Israel. Joost’s “why not” and throwing the Dutch flag over his head.  Marina falling asleep (queen). Bambi being dehumanised by Israel’s delegation and asshole of a commentator. Zionists kept making excuses and I got a few threats on TikTok of all places for supporting a bully manchild. Well, fuck you, at least I am not suporting genocide. It was a mess. My friend asked me for my opinions on the qualification while at work and i basically told her I didn’t want to talk about it. I looked so sad on break my coworker offered me a banana. 

“Treat Eden Golan as human! She’s only 20” I wondered, how could I? How could I treat someone as human when they were basically a puppet, a face for a genocidal nation. How could I do that when that same genocidal nation was tearing apart the one thing I loved?  Her delegation certainly didn’t treat Joost Klein as human; certainly just as another tool they could use to promote their propaganda machine. I felt sick. He wasn’t the only one. I was so proud of Joost, and I will always be proud of him, I think. What he did during the press conference after semi 2 took guts.  Normally I would be pissed at a delegation getting mistreated like this, but not today. As far as I was concerned, this was good riddance. Get the fuck out, you’re not wanted here. 

On Saturday, I started to realise I had this heavy feeling in my chest and it wasn’t leaving. I felt on edge, and yet I was a world away in Australia. I listened to “I can do it with a broken heart” fifty times on my way to work that day, confident that maybe I could power through this matinee shift without cracking. My favourite thing in the whole world was falling apart before my eyes, and it was easily avoided. I felt sick at work, there were points when I was thinking “I can’t do this.” But I could. I would. I would get through this shift. I messaged one of my friends in NL asking her how she was and she said she also wasnt having a good time, to which I confessed not wanting to get out of bed that morning because I was so sick with discomfort. 

People were continually asking my thoughts, if I enjoyed the shows, the memes were sent and I had to put on a brave face because crying over a song contest is stupid and im a coward and hate being an outspoken activist.

The final straw for me was Joost Klein getting disqualified. This would have been a devastating blow for me no matter which nation it was, but it being the Netherlands, the one country I love more than anything else, the one song that was basically my ride or die in this shitshow of a year: well it felt personal. It showed the double standards of the EBU- how could an incident, hardly worth a fine, get Joost kicked out of ESC when Israel waltzed in with a smugass grin and a kill count. If it was about Joost's parents, I hope he hit them hard. the misleading information, the lack of transparency, and AVROTROS's discomfort over the whole ordeal was the cherry on the cake and really, actually showed me in full colour who the EBU were and that they didn't give two shits, bending the rules for Eden and using everyone else as scapegoats. That Joost, or any of the other artists were not allowed to have boundaries. Instantly I messaged my friend,  and went “I am not fucking going to this watch party.” She agreed with me, the vibes would be off and probably zionist. My other friend, who was staying the night, was still keen to watch ESC. Instead of going to the livestream in Hurstville, we all  came to mine at 5am and we elected to watch together.  To finish what we started. As my friend said, “it could be the last one.” 

I saw myself witnessing the death of Eurovision.  All because someone wouldnt fucking kick out a country. When I woke up in the morning, I saw that Bambi had posted a statement saying they had issues with Israel and the delegation, and even the EBU fully admitted that Israel had broken rules. Yet where was the punishment?

I will confess the 5am start time hurt more this time around. Normally I would be bounding down the stairs, box of chips in hand, and excited to see the memes. Today, it just hurt. Dancing around to Europapa didn’t hide the emptiness in my soul about the disqualification, about the double standards enacted by the EBU this year.  The interval acts were mid. Petra talking about the rules, saying shit like “it’s apolitical” stung with irony I had never felt before. I put on a brave face and I had as much fun as I could but in reality, I was sad and angry. Wishing I had gotten into that play. That I had the guts to boycott and explain to people why. That Joost wasnt disqualified for shit Eden Golan would have gotten away with. 

After the show, I felt empty. Switzerland won, and congrats to them obviously, I like The Code. But after the shitshow of this week, all I felt was free and relieved. Israel still came top 5 and it confirmed what was sickeningly true. People still support Israel. People were still pulling the “Croatia robbed” game, unaware how tone deaf that feels in the current circumstances. It didn’t matter who won, as long as it wasn’t Israel, but it never felt like Israel lost. All I wanted to do was cry. My friend was showing me Eurovision memes probably unaware that I had been through the worst Eurovision of my life, and just wanted to cry and be left alone. No hate to her obviously but I was fucking trying to hold it together all morning, but I couldn't express my emotions on the matter. I hope AVROTROS sue the shit out of the EBU. I hope Joost gets a hero’s welcome home in the Netherlands. I hope past artists speak out. I hope Isreal gets banned. 

I will be celebrating the small wins this year. I will be streaming the artists that stood up to the ebu, streaming the ones that spoke out, and of course, continuing to support Joost Klein. I will never forget watching Ukraine sail past Israel in the televote, a win of itself. I am thankful to those in the arena that spoke out against the EBU and booed both Israel and Osterdahl.  To those who smuggled in flags, to those who refused to be silent. I will get over this, I will, but seeing the outcome of this week leaves little joy. I hope this isnt the end of Eurovision, but wherever we go now, I think a part of me did die this week.