#greedhead

[nehrujackets]

hey im heems, im back

[finalexpenses]

yeah

[crescent-coral-base]

(via CGC slabbing scandal rocks the collecting world)

[seat-safety-switch]

Everyone's trying to cut out sugar from their diets now. Sugar, as introduced to us by Big Industrial Monsters, has been inserted into all of our foods without our consent. A little bit is fine, but eating it with every single meal is fuckin' up our guts. And if you ask literally anyone on the street, they don't want their guts fucked up. Well, maybe don't ask that guy.

One problem is that we don't know what has sugar in it. Sure, you could read the ingredients, but the greedheads have corrupted the government into allowing them to hide the cursed crystals under one of many different names. Glucose-Fructose sounds like an interstate shipping company, but you better believe it's sugar too. The only answer is to rely on science, and by "science" I mean the biggest dirtbag with a mass spectrometer that I could find.

What is a mass spectrometer? It's a fancy science machine that looks at whatever you put into it. And with only a lifetime of expertise (or about 30 minutes of training) you too can understand its cryptic answers. Or at least, come back with an "I dunno, but it had some cool blinking lights." One such scientist is Dr. Mary Su, a PhD who has been kicked out of every lab in the tri-state area for her extreme views on the recreational use of nitrous oxide.

Here's how our arrangement works out. I bring Dr. Su some food, and then she tells me if it has sugar in it. Then I slip her a $20, which she spends on race parts (the only ethical use of money.) Unfortunately, our partnership has yet to bear fruit. On my way to visit her, I invariably get stuck in traffic for a few minutes, and then eat whatever I came with out of boredom. Or the rat in the glovebox gets it first, when my back is turned. Either way, nothing is left by the time I get to her ramshackle lab built into a disused nuke bunker.

You might have better luck. Or, you can just eat some broccoli. Once it's been deep-fried and breaded, it's gotta be pretty healthy for you.

[prototypesteve]

1994. A little story about my asexuality being misinterpreted (by a professional) as a disorder, and how that led to years of trouble.

Animation Description: An aromatic-asexual sense pride flag, onto which someone writes "So the thing is… I don't think I've ever had what my friends say would qualify as a real crush, and even after four years of college I still haven't started dating, but maybe the weirdest part is that I've never wanted to." Then, abruptly and violently black paint is spattered across the message and in white text someone superimposes the dismissive message "It's just low self esteem! – Expert opinion"

In 1994, I went to see a counsellor.

What happened was some friends and I were just talking about life. We were all in our early 20s, and so of course sex came up, and I confided that no, I hadn’t had it yet. In fact, I hadn’t even been on anything that would qualify as a date, yet.

I’ve always had good luck with friends. Instead of teasing me about it, one of them gave me the name of a counselling clinic, because they thought it might be worth checking that everything was okay, and there wasn’t something getting in the way. (It was the 1990s, and Generation X didn’t have taboos about getting help.) So I made an appointment.

I described what we’d now call textbook aromantic asexuality. I explained that I was 22, and hadn’t yet been in a relationship. I hadn’t even had anything like a crush. I hadn’t experimented; no kisses on a dare. I had pretty good friendships with guys and girls, but nothing closer than friendship. I felt “behind schedule,” especially because my friends all found it odd that I was still inexperienced.

The counsellor gently asked if I felt it was because I wasn’t allowed to be “experienced”. They noted that I referred to everything euphemistically. Experienced. Relationship. Spark. Feelings. Dating. I never said love, sex, aroused, boyfriend, or girlfriend. I never said romance. Was it because my parents had some strict taboos around seeing girls while I was just fresh out of college, when I should be focused on my career? (I’m half Japanese so that was plausible.) Was it because I felt I wasn’t allowed to love the people I felt attracted to, because I might have been gay or bisexual and hiding that? (Also a fair question, because, sadly, the 90s still weren’t a safe or fair time for my gay and lesbian friends—I didn’t know that I knew any bi or trans people at the time, although I’m sure I did.)

I thought about it. The honest answers were no. My family didn’t make me feel like dating was inappropriate or wasteful, and I just didn’t feel anything “special” for any of my guy friends (and I had guy friends who were comfortable telling me they were gay).

I went on. I explained that I felt happy. I didn’t see any obvious signs of depression or illness or anything. All I felt was a little embarrassed about being so far behind all my friends. Not dating, not “feeling the spark”, not having a “type,” and not having any thoughts on a future family all made me feel immature, and like maybe I had some kind of developmental thing going on. I knew what all those things were. I wasn’t some sheltered or repressed prude. I just wasn’t doing any of that stuff. Not even the perfectly innocent stuff like having a crush, or even really having a “type.”

But it was 1994 and counsellors didn’t have asexual or aromantic on their list of things it might be. So the best the counsellor could guess was that I just didn’t feel good about myself. It must have been low self esteem. (The early 90s still reeked of the yuppie success-or-die greedhead era.) Their guess was that I might have felt my sexuality was something I didn’t feel I had earned the right to access yet, evidenced by my using euphemisms to describe love, romance, and sexuality.

They suggested I read “Feeling Good, the New Mood Therapy” by David Burns, and not worry, because some people are just late bloomers.

And I left there, redirected away from a truth that neither of us knew about. And it would be nearly thirty years before I “reopened the case”, and asked the same questions and got a better answer: Some people experience little to no sexual or romantic attraction. They aren’t necessarily repulsed by sex, or driven away by trauma. They might even have perfectly natural responses to sexual stimuli either alone or with others, but they just don’t feel “I want that, and I want it with this specific person, or this specific sort of person”. They call those people aromantic and/or asexual, based on a presumption that romantic and sexual attraction can sometimes be experienced independently.

I learned that in 2022.

I needed to know that in 1994.

I know I’ll gradually get over that. But yeah. I feel a lot of things about it. Some of them are bad things. But what I’m going to choose to feel about it is grateful that the person who needed answers in 1994 made it to my answers in 2022, and didn’t fall apart in 2022 when I found those answers.

I didn’t let that lost time break me. I didn’t let the mistakes I made crush me. I didn’t find anyone to blame. (That counsellor in 1994 wasn’t hiding anything from me. The world just didn’t talk about people off the Kinsey Scale.) I didn’t let it derail my faith. Asexuality isn’t a curse, and our confusion and fear about the gift of being different like this isn’t the Gift-Giver’s fault.

I’m just going to keep moving. With answers. I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.

[aelfgiure]

"Wait," you pause and turn slowly, something in you icing over, turning hard and bright and dangerous. "You did what?"

They flap at you like you're an annoying bug, barely worth noticing. "Oh, go on and serve the tea, it's just one less villain in the world and good riddanc-urghk!"

They're scrabbling at your hands, desperately trying to breathe as you squeeze the arrogant bastard's throat. The other 'heroes' are frozen in place with shock. All the years you served tea, cleaned up after them, repaired uniforms (and injuries, on occasion) and they had never truly noticed you. You were like a droid, useful but not notable. Until now.

Somehow, you manage to keep your voice level and calm. "Did I hear you say you got the drop on the Rustmonger? And, correct me if I'm wrong, but the drop was terminal?"

You loosen your grip enough to let the hero breathe, and he gasps, in pain and air hunger, sweating and trembling in your hand. "The fuck is wrong with you?!" he manages to choke out. "Little prick had been on the wanted list for what, fifteen years now? About time that little fuck got justice."

"Justice. I see."

You close your eyes. Memories of damaged buildings, civilian casualties, near-cataclysms, brought about by this person and their teammates, all in the name of 'defending the city/world' but mostly to protect the interests of the wealthy, the smug bastards who were happy with the way the world was being run as it benefited them. These 'heroes' were gleefully willing to be sponsored by these corporate greedheads, overjoyed to be allowed to use their skills to punch down, allowed to get away with being bullies in spandex and capes.

The other memories surface. The times he hurt you. The way he mocked you, stole from you, made your life hell. The legacy of a broken and miserable childhood that you had both fled, but on very different paths.

"Rustmonger was my brother," you inform him, your voice sounding distant and surreal in your ears, like it was coming from somewhere or someone else, "my twin brother. He was the favourite, because he was the boy."

One of the heroes spectating manages a whispered "oh fuck," that you barely notice.

"I've learned so much from all of you."

Your voice is thoughtful, calm, and you hurl the hero away from you, into the rest of them, standing in the breakroom and gawping at the scene. Some of them are helping him up, starting to babble at you about not overreacting, things about calming down, being reasonable, things you barely hear.

"I thought you were the good guys," you say, as things start whirling around you. Someone starts to scream as your hair ripples out behind you, the brown dye you used to fit in starting to splatter the wall and floor, your opalescent hair flowing free for the first time in decades, your eyes turning a moonlike silver, streamers of silvered energy cracking around you, shorting out appliances. "Russel deserved jail, maybe rehab. But you decided that you were allowed to be judge, jury, and executioner.

"Allow me to show you what justice is, you fuckers."

You walk out of the building, leaving rubble and corpses in your wake.

You and your twin are opposites in this world of heroes and villains. One a villain, another a hero. You just heard one of your colleagues talk about how they killed your twin.

[blackoutfeverdream]

The Trump Administration's attack against the principle of jus soli is predictable and stupid beyond plausibility.

A mother's immigration status is not indicated on birth certificates.

Ergo a better government in power would have no difficulty in declaring "questionable" every right-winger's citizenship. Their mass deportation only could better this nation: Richer prettier better-educated and healthier citizens of superior stock.

Yes, it's a grim tiding for the present under this rotten a government when the opposition are so obsessed with carrying water for venal billionaires they don't even bother to put up a fight out of geriatric solidarity with their fellow privileged greedheads

but think of the future.

We'll finally have the chance to cleanse this country: Socially, culturally, ideologically, intellectually, economically, and biologically.

We can rid ourselves of our dregs and use the military to prosecute it with extreme prejudice.

Just like we should have in 1865. Not just the United States but the planet would be in a state so glorious as to be unrecognizable if Grant and Sherman had done what was clearly needed and overthrown the government to pursue an American Endlösung.

The annihilation of the Southerner and Confederate broadly was called for to the last adult man and woman.

We still need it.

We still should pursue it.

Of course statelessness is more desirable than extermination camps, but let us not forget they raised it first.

At least they owe us remuneration, even if only in their carbon and nitrogen and ammonia for fertilizer.

Their children can be redeemed.

They cannot be.

[jaywinaustin]

“I also wish to apologize to the American car manufacturers in case they got the impression I was trying to say that they were a bunch of snobbish greedheads, who don’t give a shit about the environment, America or the general public and their sex lives.

Even though that was my intention, I apologize.”

From SEX and the AMERICAN MALE. It’s one of the funniest chapters because the editor and publisher keep interrupting the story. This quote is from “the author” at the end of the chapter.

For more hilarity, BUY the book for only $1:

[veryverytemporary]

It’s Elvis’ birthday, yes! Even though he’s long left the building, when you do what he’s done, you’re never gone. He was born 8 January 1935 in Tupelo, Mississippi. Thanks to his greedheaded manager, “Colonel” Tom Parker, he became a lousy B-movie actor and a has-been in the era of the Beatles, occasionally surfacing with his great gifts (Elvis in Memphis), only to toss it with stupid moves, offering to be a cultural counterrevolutionary agent President Nixon against the cooler kids who had succeeded him. He died in 1977.

#Elvis Presley

[monsata]

"I can't vote for a genocider!"

Yes, you can. You likely already have before.

Every president of the last century was a genocidal war criminal, hands down, full stop, bar none, even the ones you think you like because you got suckered by their good pr teams.

One option is "more of the same", which I agree isn't great,

However-

Her opponent is an omnicidal sociopathic greedhead with an actively dissolving brain, who's last stint in the office is still reverberating in the form of "every single one of the hundreds of food recalls you've heard about recently, which are explicitly Trump's fault, as he slashed food safety regulations".

Trump is a worse outcome for everybody by ORDERS OF MAGNITUDE, and his followers don't give a shit about anything other than him. They WILL vote for him and he WILL win if we all stay home, sitting on our hands while somehow also clutching our collective fucking pearls.

[seat-safety-switch]

At some point you stop collecting tools to make things, and you start collecting tools to make tools. This sickness has struck so many of my friends, and it comes for me now also.

In antiquity, many of our most famous innovators had to build their own tools in order to discover whatever it was they became famous for. Charles Babbage had to invent the interchangeable machine screw, because up until then everyone just made their own crazy types of screw. For this, he was marked for death by at least one machinist, but his sacrifice was all worth it for the ability to pop on down to Home Depot and buy some complete dogshit drywall screws to use to cobble your bumper back on. Is he remembered for this? Not unless you do it.

Nowadays, every kind of tool that can ever be made has been made. Unfortunately, corporate and governmental greedheads don't want to let us have those tools. They ask invasive questions like, "are you really certified to operate a 10kW pulsed cutting laser?" and "do you have a hundred thousand dollars?" We have to make them instead. Of course, I'm not the kind of guy who builds his own CNC machine. No, I have to cobble together something useful from my own raccoon-like hoard of total garbage.

Most of the time, I can toil away in complete anonymity. This time, I regret to inform you, I have really fucked up. When I broke my ratchet at the junkyard last time (by using it as a hammer,) I still needed to make a hammer. I ended up using some of their batteries to stick-weld it to a broken chunk of frame rail, which really stepped up the ol' potency and also made it look like a horrifying movie prop.

Unfortunately the resulting vibe really stuck with a visiting Hollywood producer, who was touring the yard to look for filming locations (and probably a blower motor for his Bentley, judging from the racket it was making.) You can see my cool new Seat Safety Sledge in the latest Disney superhero movie. Getting a job at Disneyland is pretty cool, but they keep telling me that the robots can't cuss. Look, folks, what do you want me to do with this pile of Profane Speak 'n' Spell? Put it back in the dumpster where I found it?

[nineteenfiftysix]

Heems - NYC Cops (Nehru Jackets, 2012)

[jaywinaustin]

“I also wish to apologize to the American car manufacturers in case they got the impression I was trying to say that they were a bunch of snobbish greedheads, who don’t give a shit about the environment, America or the general public and their sex lives.

Even though that was my intention, I apologize.”

From SEX and the AMERICAN MALE. It’s one of the funniest chapters because the editor and publisher keep interrupting the story. This quote is from “the author” at the end of the chapter.

For more hilarity, BUY the book for only $1:

[scottguy]

(See working link below.)

Here's a link to see ALL the ultra right-wing money grubbing, lgbtq+ hating, christofascist, corporate greedheads, and other various assholes hiding behind respectable sounding organization names who want

American democracy dead

in order to pursue their personal agendas at the expense and lives of their fellow American citizens.

These organizations are signed onto treason. They are an open threat to democracy. Where is the FBI?

Planning to subvert government is wrong EVEN IF done on behalf of rich white men. (Or does their white privilege give them a pass on treason too?)

FYI and be ready to mobilize in the #RealWorld http://dlvr.it/T9BwTm

[screwjackduke]

Freak Power: The Ballot or The Bomb

Hunter S. Thompson's Campaign:

"Rip up all city streets with jackhammers" and "sod the streets at once ... All public movement would be by foot and a fleet of bicycles, maintained by the city police force."

"Change the name 'Aspen,' by public referendum, to 'Fat City.' This would prevent greedheads, land-rapers and other human jackals from capitalizing on the name 'Aspen' ... These swine should be fucked, broken, and driven across the land."

"Drug Sales must be controlled. My first act as Sheriff will be to install, on the courthouse lawn, a bastinado platform and a set of stocks in order to punish dishonest dope dealers in a proper public fashion. Each year these dealers cheat millions of people out of millions of dollars ... it will be the general philosophy of the Sheriff’s office that no drug worth taking should be sold for money."

"Hunting and fishing should be forbidden to all non-residents, with the exception of those who can obtain the signed endorsement of a resident- who will then be legally responsible for any violation or abuse committed by the non-resident he has 'signed for' ... By this approach-making hundreds or even thousands of individuals personally responsible for protecting the animals, fish and birds who live here-we would create a sort of de facto game preserve, without the harsh restrictions that will necessarily be forced on us if these blood-thirsty geeks keep swarming in here each autumn to shoot everything they see."

"The Sheriff and his Deputies should never be armed in public. Every urban riot, shoot-out and blood-bath (involving guns) in recent memory has been set off by some trigger-happy cop in a fear frenzy."

"It will be the policy of the Sheriff's office savagely to harass all those engaged in any form of land-rape."