They're really just advertising a stupid dior fragrance with j*hnny d*pp with one breath and arguing that his life and career were RUINED by amb*r he*rd with the other, huh?
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so in an attempt to actually use positive thinking, anytime i fuck up and my brain reacts as if ive cause a minor apocalyptic event, i compare my fuck up to the 4 minute fuck up committed by the crew of the uss william d porter.
and only today, as i was having to explain what happened to my mom when i was explaining the whole comparison thing, did i realise that most people dont know about it and ive decided that needs to change because its objectively hilarious.
...which is a weird thing to say about an event that occured on a warship in 1943, specifically november 14th.
see the uss william d porter was a fletcher-class destroyer but you dont need to know what that means, just that she had guns that went bang bang and that she was escorting another ship, the uss iowa, to cairo.
while they were on their way there, they performed some gun trials like testing the anti-aircraft guns or the torpedos. and while they were running a torpedo drill, the crew of the porter managed to fire a live torpedo straight at the iowa which you know, in terms of a list of things to do while escorting a ship, shooting a torpedo at them is not on that list.
especially if the president of the united states is on board.
yeah so fdr was on board and the gun trials were actually his idea, and part of the trials was that they were conducted under radio silence.
and that means the crew of the porter couldnt just call the iowa to be like "move out the way, we accidentally shot a torpedo at you."
but they did have signal lamps and you know, the signalman on board was trained to signal this exact kind of message.
...and uh never mind, the signalman did manage to successfully tell the iowa that a torpedo was coming toward them but wasnt as successful when it came to the direction the torpedo was coming from.
not all hope is lost though because the signalman could still use the signal lamp to correct his previous mistake and-, never mind, he announced that the porter was reversing, which she wasnt.
yeah so at catastrophic mistake number 3, they broke radio silence to warn the iowa and she managed to turn out of the way just in time which meant no one got hurt. and even though the inquiry into the incident led to chief torpedoman (fantastic job title btw) lawton dawson being sentences to hard labour, fdr intervened and waved away his sentence, saying it was all an accident.
but yeah, so thats my new measure for "how much did i really fuck up?" and when i compared accidentally picking up a pencil case without a tag on it in wilko, turns out it was a very minor fuck-up. yes, the cashier had to ask another worker to grab a duplicate so they could scan the barcode, but i didnt nearly kill the president during wartime via accidental friendly fire
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just imagine rockstar! eddie releasing a new album, where one of the songs is called “a voice from above”. in it, he sings about a heavenly voice coming to him in the hardest, darkest hour of his life, when he was ready to give up and stopped seeing a future for himself, and calling him towards the light, coaxing the best out of him and pulling him up from the pit of despair eddie was slowly drowning in.
and it’s a rock ballad, so it differs quite a bit from cc’s usual style, is more “palatable” to the general public with it’s slower tempo, gentler melody and hauntingly beautiful vocals, with addition of a choir in the climax. and because of that, christians start claiming it (basically what happened with “take me to church”), newspapers and magazines wonder at eddie munson, the man a large part of whose aesthetic was so often referred to as “satanic” by the general public, with seemingly no denial from cc, who seemingly has finally found his way to religion.
and when cc comes to their next interview, the question of whether the great non-conformist eddie munson, who on multiple occasions dragged the christian church through the mud with accusations of hypocrisy and fostering bigotry in its midst in his songs and public speeches, has finally found god, inevitably comes up. the moment cc hear it they burst out laughing. after a while, eddie finally responds.
“this song is full of religious motifs, but not nearly for the same reasons you guys seem to think it is. it’s just that the experience the song is dedicated to was the closest i think i ever came to understanding what makes people come to real, genuine faith, the one that fills you with clarity, love and acceptance for the world around you, makes you feel like a part of something so much larger and greater than a mortal human being can possibly comprehend or reach on their own. that experience being the voice of the man that i came to love reaching me while i was in coma and reminding me of all the reasons life was worth fighting for, and then keeping inspiring me to be the best version of myself throughout my whole life.
and that, folks, is how being incredibly gay can save your life! i also don’t mind christians blasting “a voice from above” on their little church parties: my husband, after all, is definitely an angel on earth and absolutely deserves to be worshipped. but don’t you worry, i’m handling that pretty well on my own” and he winks at the camera.
and that’s how the world finds out that eddie munson is married.
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I might have said this before but the nature of the iterator’s very existence is honestly horrifying. They do not die easily, and that is an understatement. Even in submerged superstructure, as the rain approaches, Moon’s siren still wails, with no one to alert but herself of her impending fate. A siren, crushed beneath hundreds of millions of pounds of water and metal, is still functional, screaming for no one. In the Saint campaign, parts of Pebbles’ structure are still active, producing steam and heat deep within despite being mangled beyond recognition, despite being fucking eaten alive. Do you think Sliver endured the same? No Significant Harassment? Suns? Chasing Wind? Without proper maintenance, it’s inevitable, and all they can do is sit idly and listen to their structures creak and groan, wondering when they’ll come crashing down.
An iterator’s death is not swift, it is agonizing, a drawn out whimper, a last punishment for daring to defy their creators. They weren’t designed to transcend, and it drives them mad.
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