#Science™

[clementinecandlev100]

Hypothesis: smoking “the weed that makes you pull your tits out” (variable A) has a synergistic relationship with “sitting on the porch on a beautiful day” (variable B), causing an exponential increase in satisfaction and happiness, especially among transgender women.

Experiment: subject (nearly 30 yo old trans woman with pointy breasts and love in her heart) will consume variable A while enjoying variable B, and will experience more pleasure than would be experienced simply by totaling the sums of pleasure per minute (ppm) of variable A and variable B.

Testing Hypothesis: subject was sent outside on a sunny day with a temperature of 80 degrees Fahrenheit in a fairly tiny top that favored her curves (see figure 1). Her mood was self-described as “content” in these conditions.

Figure 1:

Subject was then provided variable A, administered via her favorite bong which, although dirty, did have fresh water in it (see figure 2). Subject consumed variable A over the course of 30 minutes.

Figure 2:

Results: within 15 minutes, subject was noticeably cheerier and eager to get out of her top. She at first tries to pull the top down to expose her breasts (see figure 3), but later finds that pulling the top up is comfier while also allowing her to feel more exposed (see figure 4). After 30 minutes, subject describes her mood as “playful, scampish, and full of pastel pink yearning.”

Figure 3:

Figure 4:

Conclusions: transgender women who enjoy both “sitting on the porch on a beautiful day” and smoking “the weed that makes you pull your tits out” may receive extreme benefits when combining these two activities. It is unconfirmed but likely these results will be found consistent amongst all queer subgroups. More research into this phenomena is of course necessary, and thus, this researcher encourages all of the scientifically-minded queer readers to perform their own experiments and report on their findings.

[thatsbelievable]

[trashwaaveactual]

Fellas, time to start cat-maxxing

[besocrazy]

Friend of mine told me I needed to find an outlet. I think I found it.

[frenchiepal]

10.06.25 🌧️ despite loads of caffeine i am beyond exhausted. it's been raining the entire day and i accidentally thought about my future this morning

[mintghostko]

Don and Shelly scribble because I love them :)

chances are Dr. Feeling didn't mean for them to go on a robbery spree but they seem to be having fun so it's probably fine…probably (^^ゞ

[andrcmache]

Hilda Furacão (1998)

That Scene™ in Episode 26 vs. Episode 30

[the-most-humble-blog]

<!-- BEGIN TRANSMISSION --> <div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta existential-weight="98.7 sextillion to 1"> <script>ARCHIVE_TAG="BLACKSITE_STATISTICAL_EXISTENCE_DROP_001" EFFECT: troll neutralization, cosmic perspective reset, awe-induced clarity </script>

🧬 HEY, YOU.

---

The one rereading the comment from a troll who’s never written anything worth archiving, quoting, or even remembering past Tuesday.

The one wasting heartbeats wondering if their 12-word drive-by somehow means you’re not worthy.

Let’s reset your entire nervous system with reality.

First things first: Do you have any idea how statistically impossible you are?

Here are the receipts:

> 1 in 400 trillion — > That’s the minimum estimate of the odds of you being born, according to Dr. Ali Binazir, Harvard-trained physician and researcher.

> 13.8 billion years of cosmic chaos. > 4.54 billion years of planetary weirdness. > 3.7 billion years of evolution across mass extinctions, gamma-ray bursts, volcanic winters, and frogs the size of sedans.

You are the result of every survivor in that chaos.

Not a mistake. Not an accident. A mathematical miracle in a meat suit.

Now imagine this:

The Earth is formed. Crust cooling. Oceans churning. Meteor showers lighting up the atmosphere like a rave hosted by Satan.

And in that apocalypse?

A single cell forms. One cell. Floating in what is essentially alien soup, on a planet that looked like it got rejected from a Doom concept art file.

That’s your great-great-great x a billion grandmother.

She didn’t get eaten. She didn’t dry up. She didn’t dissolve.

She multiplied.

And her descendants? Ran, crawled, slithered, fucked, mutated, and evolved through horrors you will never even know existed.

Why?

Because over 99.9% of all life leaves no fossil record. Gone. No trace. Nothing left but implications.

So yes, there probably was a soft-bodied murder-octopus on land. Yes, there probably was a jellyfish the size of a f*cking truck that disintegrated your ancestors on contact.

And yes — if you ever invent a time machine and go back to the Devonian Period?

You’re gonna die. Instantly. Horrifically. And probably from something with no bones, no name, and no screen adaptation.

Don’t even get me started on the viruses that once existed.

Imagine catching something that boils your blood in your own skin like a microwave full of meatballs.

Or a fungus that melts your nervous system before you even twitch.

Or an airborne microbe that doesn’t kill you — it evolves inside you and eats your memories while your body continues paying taxes.

That could’ve happened. And maybe it did.

We just don’t have the records. Because you’re here.

And that means every single one of your ancestors survived all of it.

You think trolls are scary? Try living through the Permian Extinction.

> 252 million years ago: > 96% of marine species and 70% of terrestrial vertebrates wiped out. > Earth’s atmosphere turned to a chemical oven.

And your DNA still made it.

Still not impressed?

Let’s talk about Earth itself.

We exist in a “Goldilocks Zone.” Not too hot. Not too cold. Just right.

But even that doesn’t last.

Every stability on Earth is temporary. We are between ice ages. Between magnetic pole flips. Between solar flares that could fry the grid like a cockroach under a magnifying glass.

And you? You’re reading this on a glowing rectangle in the last microsecond of relative peace in a cosmic timeline that doesn’t care if you exist.

And yet — here you are.

Now imagine thinking a troll on the internet has the power to define you.

A troll who statistically hasn’t written a single sentence anyone willingly re-read.

Who wouldn’t survive a single round of jellyfish extinction or bat plague or saber-toothed orgy.

A troll who is only here because billions of others fought, starved, mutated, suffered, and bled for the right to exist at all.

You are the only version of you in this one surviving universe where you happened.

You are an evolutionary chainsaw, sharpened over 3 billion years of death, grit, chaos, birth, and luck.

You’re not a person. You’re a biological victory lap.

So don’t let someone who wouldn’t survive a bullfrog the size of a Honda make you doubt your power.

You have human hands that evolved from fins. You have eyes that descended from light-sensitive cells floating in primordial vomit. You have language that didn’t exist on Earth for 4.5 billion years — and now you’re using it to doubt yourself because a digital fart with Wi-Fi said “lol u suck”?

Listen.

If it doesn’t serve you? Mute it. Block it. Evolve past it.

Because the fact you’re alive means you’ve already outlived ten million things designed to erase you.

And you can outlive a troll too.

In the voice of Yoda: > “If it makes sense to you… > the universe doesn’t give a fuck.”

So don’t waste your miracle on someone who doesn’t even understand they are one.

🔥 Reblog if you needed the reminder: You are the final boss of improbability.

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[wonderarium]

anyway i started watching the xfiles because im gonna make a spooky mystery comic and i figured i better watch THE spooky mystery show (that isnt twin peaks) and yeah it helped and was enjoyable for the first few seasons. i really liked it.

but something happened somewhere in the middle. and it became way more entertaining just watching the show kinda melt before my eyes. i dont know that ive seen a show where the creator just. wholly misunderstands what makes his show work or why it appeals it people this much. like fundamentally on every level. on a molecular level even. its fascinating.

[stromuprisahat]

Tsar Cotton and Tsaritsa Plums

or How a political union of progressive second Prince and a Living Saint could've turned into an agricultural disaster

While I don't ship it on personal level, I have to admit certain appeal of Nikolina. The idea of a well-meaning, patriotic Prince persuading a rising religious icon to help him save the country isn't half bad.

Today I won't focus on deficiencies of their general personalities or lacking relationship, but a specific hole in both their range of knowledge and its catastrophic impact on Ravka as a country and the land itself from ecological viewpoint.

Nikolai is presented as a genius engineer and a brilliant philanthropist. As soon as the civil war's over, he puts great effort into feeding Ravkan people instead of starving them.

“Faced with steel saw blades,” he whispered, brushing his hand over the new plow as he passed, as if it were a lucky talisman. He wasn’t sure why the blades were better, but when the plow had arrived, those were the words his father had proudly repeated to their neighbors, and Dima liked the strong sound of them. There had been long arguments at the kitchen table about the plow, along with all the king’s agricultural reforms and what trouble or hope they might bring.

King of Scars- Chapter 1

The thing is... his plans don't get overly specific. Even the quote above doesn't tell us more than that the miraculous plough consists of steel parts, and excuse me when I remember my history lessons, but upgrading horse-driven ploughs were a thing around the first half of 19th century. Fjerdans build working tanks. That's about a century of development further.

Ravka is a backwards starving hellhole feeding peasants rye bread with salted herring, when they lack workers for fields of the first, and access to sea for the later. The obvious solution? Potatoes, beetroot and turnips ("The night is dark and full of turnips."), ponds of freshwater fish for protein. Cabbages are good for vitamin C and as sauerkraut easy to store, legumes are also easy to grow, rich in iron and dried can be stored pretty easily for a long time etc. etc.. Just look up European peasant food!

That's how you feed them first.

Nikolai also intends to free the serfs.

By persuading their owners to grow cotton (link to that and some of those preferable crops).

In Ravka, a country of humid continental climate without larger water bodies, famous for snow-heavy winters and somehow also white nights as far as Os Alta...

His focus lies where it isn't merely of no use, but would drain already scarce water sources, devalue soil and produce nothing considerable in return. In addition it wouldn't help feeding the populace, and it sure as hell wouldn't improve their socio-economic situation.

How could his union with Alina make any of this worse you ask?

We're supposed to believe Alina is a peasant, raised in an orphanage, where she was expected to help with its everyday workings. Quite a win for a country such as Ravka you'd think, right?

Nope! She's more likely to pick a correct fork for snails, than a hoe.

Alina is a person, who believes plums in autumn had to come from a hothouse, but figs won't surprise her. I couldn't find a source stating plums truly require frost, but it's one of a few fruit trees normally capable to withstand -26°C (-40°C for some varieties). European plum also doesn't like temperatures above 35°C and too high humidity means fungal issues.

Alina never asks how come inland-bound country has salt-water fish, she just doesn't like to eat it. When she's confronted with possible need to take care of a larger amount of people, she simply orders others to feed them, not once stopping to ask herself how are they supposed to achieve it. She's the Saint. She tells others what to do, and stuff happens...

Now put these two together. One has some vague ideas about how nature works for him, the other is so used to full plate she doesn't even know foodstuff has to come from some place, least of all it might have various requirements.

By the time the mortal one's dead, Ravka is wrung dry in more than one sense. Cold desert wasteland, no Fold needed.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

this poll is SPECIFICALLY for fans of darth maul. we're testing something. if you don't know who maul is, or, do not like/vibe/jive/relate with him then GO AWAY <3

[thatsbelievable]

[bumpscosity]

*trips and spills my enas everywhere* oh no my Thangs

[fauxpapillons]

screenshot redraw from a detco episode w this funny book

Nehan gets a gift from the kids and he cherishes it.

[3llatricks]

Shout out to Science for when we combine these drinks we make Sprite Adjacent

(shout out to @skylar-jay for deciding to open The Lab)

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta existential-integrity="unsanctioned-reality-leak"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="WE_EXIST::NO_REASON_NEEDED" EFFECT: subconscious dissonance spike, certainty rupture, quantum ego destabilizer </script>

🧠 BLACKSITE ENTRY — “YOU EXIST. BUT NOBODY KNOWS WHY.”

---

Let me ask you something.

When did you decide the universe was figured out?

Was it a TED Talk? A YouTube explainer? A NASA tweet with glowing graphics and captioned confidence?

You saw the term “theory” and your brain helpfully deleted it —because uncertainty makes your teeth itch.

But let me offer you something quieter than panic and heavier than dread:

> We don’t actually know anything. > Not deeply. > Not in a way that holds up outside a textbook or an echo chamber.

—

We don’t know why reality exists. We don’t know what time actually is. We don’t know why your thoughts arrive before you can think them.

And yet we build particle accelerators like toddlers trying to microwave a black hole because we think slamming atoms together will unlock the secrets of God.

Cute.

—

Let’s go deeper.

☢️ The Big Bang? Still a guess. ☢️ Time? Might not flow — it may already be finished, and you’re just remembering. ☢️ Death? Might not be an end — just a lateral move through another dimension where your brain politely forgets that you exploded three seconds ago.

Some researchers now speculate that dreams may be cross-dimensional data leakage. That when you sleep, you’re catching flickers of other lives you’re also living simultaneously but can’t consciously integrate because your nervous system has a bandwidth cap.

—

Still with me?

Good.

Because here comes the part you’re not going to like.

> You may never not have existed.

No beginning. No end. Just a reformatting loop of what you call “you” being carried from one timeline to the next like luggage with no tags.

And maybe — just maybe — you’re the only version of yourself that’s still conscious.

Which means all the others?

Already failed. Already gone. Already recycled.

—

Now here’s the fun part.

You think your decisions matter? That free will is a virtue?

You’re operating on hardware you didn’t build inside a reality you didn’t request and dreaming thoughts you didn’t design.

But sure — go ahead and judge yourself for not having your life together on a spinning rock hurling through a mostly empty dimension created by a cosmological event that (again) we have no verified reason for.

—

Some physicists now consider the possibility that there was no beginning. No spark. No origin story.

That the universe just is.

> “Why are we here?” > “Because we are.” > “Why do we exist?” > “Because.”

Not divine. Not cruel. Not planned.

Just… happening.

And maybe it always has.

Maybe you're the nervous system of a universe that got bored and started writing blogs with thumbs.

—

So here you are. Alive.

With a pulse you didn’t earn inside a body you barely control on a planet that could be erased by a gamma burst before you finish your next coffee.

And you're still hesitating to write the book. Still scared to say what you mean. Still obsessed with what someone might comment under a post that will vanish from relevance in under 36 hours.

Really?

—

Here’s your cosmic permission slip:

✅ You don’t need a reason. ✅ You don’t need the algorithm’s approval. ✅ You don’t need to be right, safe, or explainable.

You’re here.

By whatever unquantifiable chaos birthed this whole thing. By whatever static frequency reality is currently tuned to. By whatever made stardust decide to metabolize into personality.

Use it.

Write like the universe is watching, but too old to care. Speak like your soul already left the group chat and you’re just trying to finish the monologue before the lights cut.

—

Don’t wait for a clearer answer.

There may not be one.

And that’s the most permission you’ll ever need.

===

🧠Reblog if you believe in scientific humility. Existential poetry. Post-cosmic cadence.

🕯️ Not everyone gets this memo. You just did. Don’t waste it.

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