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Just to let everyone know my mortal kombat characterizations are a mix of the arcade games, mk1995, mk defenders of the realm, and my imagination. Rarely will i maybe pick and choose the rare good things they did in the newer stuff. Just so we're clear:
Raiden and fujin are GODS not demigod as that means one of their parents would had to have been mortal. They are GODS
Liu kang is humble but not infallible, he hates the idea of being a god and tricked himself into thinking he wants to be a chosen one when deep down he just wanted a normal fucking life. He can and will crack under pressure and just bc it takes a lot doesn't mean he'll last forever as a "hero". There are no heroes in Mortal kombat.
Kung lao is prideful in his HONOR of his ANCESTOR and the SECRET WHITE LOTUS SOCIETY. He is not anymore arrogant in his capabilities as a warrior as literally anyone else. He works hard, fights hard, for his friends and earthrealm.
Johnny cage has no fuckin deep lore ancestry to explain his powers he just has chi energy like everyone else he's just rare bc he managed to bring it out so quickly naturally no special bloodline or whatever the fuck percentage this white man has, its all him all his own soul all his own talent.
Sindel LOVES kitana and will never not love her. No matter how much dark magic corrupts her soul and mind, her heart is strong and true and Although it might be twisted she will love her daughter and sacrifice everything for her. Including herself.
Shang tsung is a baddie and he doesn't need big muscles or fancy artifacts to do so. His danger is in his smarts, even if he's not top dog he'll never be out of the game for long nor at the bottom. He will always be persistent and always there in mortal kombat, after all. He is THE tournament master of mortal kombat.
Shao kahn aint no whimp and he isn't a meat head either. He's a cunning tyrant, bold but not so brash he can't be smart enough to know what fights to pick to give him an advantage. Conquered realms with the oldest trick in the book, divide and conquer. Makes his enemies fight his other enemies, plays both sides to gain allies to his power. He's deadly because he is smart AND strong.
Kuai Liang LOVES his brother and never ever in all the lifespan of the universe and several others will he abandon or denounce bi-han. If he has to pluck bi-han's soul out of the layers of void and dark magiks that quan chi put in place then so be it. Kuai knows his brother is in there and if not, he'll find a way to give him peace one way or another.
JAX HAS HAPPINESS AND RESPECTS JACQUI EVEN IF HE SEES HER AS DADDY'S BABY GIRL BC JACQUI IS A GROWN ASS WOMAN
Speaking of jacqui, she is awesome and doing fine as takada's wife and is researching some cool magiks on the side to better help earthrealm (always leaving shang tsung on read since he wants an apprentice)
Sonya is doing her own thing. Ideally she would never had married a man she has 0 chemistry with, but if it has to happen she is divorced and fine with it and never gets back with Johnny. They're still friends tho! Best friends that just don't work as lovers.
Cassie is doing her own thing like Johnny does and has a personality that isnt "nerd dude bro wank bait" and is a warrior who goes through her own journey.
And scorpion is practically retired he's doing fine he's ok he's rebuilt the shirai ryu and everything is prosperous with the ninjas.
Reptile is actually not the last of his species and is getting some damn respect for once. Kotal Kahn is trying to better himself not only as a warrior but a leader bc he realized he has a long way to go actually. Goro is back and vibing. Sheeva is vibing too. Baraka is vibing.
MILEENA AND KITANA WILL HAVE RESPECT EVEN IF THEY'RE STILL RIVALS
Kitana is not some stuck up dipshit haughty princess she actually remembers what being under shao Kahn's oppressive regime, but also starts to realize despite that she had more privilege than others and starts to actually help all of her people and learn that edenia was never a utopia and such a thing doesn't exist, but regardless she will try to actually unite ALL of her people regardless of social status (might even abolish it)
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can not STAND the amount of radfem posts that have show up on my dash "based on my likes" because i've liked posts related to feminism. like what in the world. i should be able to like a quote from bell hooks or a post on reproductive rights and not have this wild and hateful terf shit pop up
#just had a post pop up where the OP was saying drag was similar to blackface#so now i have to deal with my anger about that for the rest of my life#all bc this platforms shit algorithm facilitates extremist thinking and radicalization#as if all women and transfolk arent struggling enough irl huh#fucking all these ppl need to go outside and see whats happening in the world to trans people like........ get off the internet and wake up#how do you look at the trans community and go oh yes! the reason for our oppression!#girl you are looking in completely the wrong direction#you have all the reason to be mad when it comes to the horrible endless misogyny in our world#but how is blaming this very small and widely unaccepted community going to help your cause#its the oldest trick in the fuckin book#u cant scapegoat the minority and make your problems go away#thats just a fast track to violence#like if yall are really interested in feminism why aren't you spending more time looking to men in power#vs people who are already struggling to be themselves in a way that DEFIES the gender norms that you claim to hate and rally against sfm??#gnc people are not threatening your 'womanhood' u just gotta fucking chill#dont u want to build a future BASED on your sex being of less importance? isn't that the whole damn point?#that our differences are acknowledged and celebrated and accommodated#not used against us#like... c'mon#so full of shit#show me the real feminists on this site who actually care about women and building a better future for everyone#and wanna have real convos rooted in compassion for one another
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ive seen so many posts of troll blogs pretending to be disagreeable/awful aro/ace people to stir up drama and y’all fall for it every damn time
#im sure there are homophobic/biphobic ace and aro people out there#because theres horrible members of every group of people#but its seriously every damn time#like if it seems outlandish or weird or ‘no person would ever say this’ then its probably a troll#get a clue guys#kath shouts into the void#its the oldest trick in the discourse book and people keep taking the fuckin troll bait
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A COLLECTION [ updated: 8 . 23 . 21 ]
— STATUS ONGOING — NO REPOSTS — ASKS under #ncouple ! — Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr
—NETFLIX & CHILL.
summary If you planned things right, you could rain down your raging displeasure on Jeon Jungkook right after the meal but before this proposed ‘Netflix and chilling,’ maybe dramatically throw your glass of wine at him, before storming out of his place and reporting him to the authorities (Namjoon) for his douchebag personality. warnings smut in the forms of grinding, oral (f), cum eating, vanilla unprotected sex, dirty talk misc use of the oldest trick in the book (“your hands are sooo big”), shy oblivious AND gentleman jk? pick a struggle, brief ment of app developer kook, evil and conniving oc word count 10.2k posted june 12, 2020
—HULU & WOOHOO.
summary But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings slight feelings of insecurity, smut in the forms of fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, hand jobs, unprotected sex, riding, slight praise kink misc if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read word count 6.3k posted july 4, 2020
—IMAX & CLIMAX.
summary The occasional dark horse candidate among Barbie movie binges— Jungkook gets weirdly horny and fucks you to the tune of a classic Barbie movie soundtrack. warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, tit play, praise kink, standing sex, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl (? kinda), daddy kink that morphs into ily kink misc jk is an avid history channel viewer, jk hates Barbie movies ik we took an L today girls 😔, jk goes thru like 4 personality changes (commanding > soft > mean > in love), honestly idk what to tag it’s a mess, he’s still cheesy and romantic but also 👀 just read word count 9.8k posted august 5, 2020
—KISSANIME & FOREPLAY.
summary You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings mentions of hentai, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 word count 8.2k posted september 1, 2020
—DISNEY+ & BUST.
summary There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of humiliation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment (? idk lol), unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, the return of mean jk, desperate jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf misc angst, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count 13k posted september 9, 2020
—ESPN & BDSM.
summary You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings smut in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink misc kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count 12.7k posted september 14, 2020
—YOUTUBE & USE LUBE.
summary You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, tit fucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook misc domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count 8.7k posted september 30, 2020
—VIKI & HICKEYS.
summary Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. warnings a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries, jk is a good boy n I want him to be happy misc there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide word count 16.3k posted january 14, 2021
—PEACOCK & SWEET TALK.
summary “I wanna watch Solange in Bring It On,” Jungkook smiles, and you have to wonder who exactly this blond man is and what he did with your teen-movie-hating boyfriend. warnings smut in the forms of kissing, cunnilingus (eating out + fingering), light praise, a lil body worship, jk fat cawk, brief nipple play, playful jk, unprotected sex, riding and missionary, the jk hand kink, I love you kink, jk wants nudes, jk’s cheerleader fantasies mentioned, spit kink, light choking, jk has like a scent kink (?), mention of collars and pet play misc app developer jk becomes even MORE app developer-y, oc is anti-google, there's plot, a 2 year anniversary, Solange knowles appreciation, BLOND JK!!!, gets sappy for a sec, seahorse marriage mention, doyeon x joon side pairing, jk is disgustingly dreamy and oc is threatened by that fact word count 10.7k posted march 23, 2021
— CRUNCHYROLL & RAIL.
summary Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. warnings smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… misc fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality word count 8.7k posted may 21, 2021
—FUNIMATION & PROCREATION.
summary Never mind your upcoming wedding, this was perhaps the greatest moment of your life— the day Jungkook sought out an anime on his own. warnings kissing, smut in the forms of cunnilingus, cum eating, mentions of anal, doggy style, unprotected sex with the intention of pregnancy, spitting, hand holding<3 misc the wedding night, Doyeon strikes again, jjk watches jjk, oh no not twins word count 9.1k posted july 31, 2021
—BOOMERANG AND BANG.
coming soon
—COOKIES & CREAM.
summary Jungkook will watch a thousand cheesy Christmas movies if it meant making you happy. (And maybe having his dick sucked.) warnings smut in the form of blowjobs, face fucking, cum facials, fingering, overstim, double orgasm, r*mantic sex, riding, unprotected, cream pies, jk does this weird thing where he licks her face yeah idk, jk loves seeing his gf cry, jk has an obsession with jizz misc jk pov !!, eggnog slander, jk hates xmas movies, oc dresses like a sexy mrs claus, Elf !!, jk is in loooove word count 7.1k posted december 23, 2020
— TUTUS & TIARAS.
summary your first pregnancy through the lens of your husband warnings smut in the forms of penetrative sex, sex while pregnant, unprotected sex, tit play, cunnilingus, mutual masturbation, sticking the tip in and jacking off/cockwarming?, creampies, nose kink (? like she grinds against his nose), infatuation with scent, frottage/grinding, lactation kink, titluvr jk [bass boosted] misc married ncouple <3, domesticity, jk pov, mood swings, pregnancy, GIRLDAD!JK, DILF!JK, pregnant!reader, jk’s kids are virgos its true word count 10k posted august 23, 2021
— one.
summary Maybe Jungkook wasn’t always as cool and composed as you initially believed. But that’s okay, because you love him all the same. word count 1.3k posted September 10, 2020
—two.
summary Even after all these years, all these doubts, and all this solitude that was really no one’s fault but his own, he still finds himself hoping that maybe you’ll be the one. word count 1k posted september 11, 2020
—three.
summary But Jungkook loves the sun. word count 1.5k posted september 12th, 2020
—four.
summary For the last ten minutes or so his mind has been bothered by one thing and one thing only— the hair that hung in his face. word count 800 words posted september 22, 2020
—five.
summary Startled and inexperienced, he can’t do anything but rub his hands over your back. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he murmurs, even though it’s not. word count 1.3k posted september 22, 2020
—six.
SUMMARY Jungkook enjoyed pushing you down, indulging you in all your little fantasies, but he too had some he wanted to live out. WC 1.8k POSTED september 25, 2020
—seven.
summary And lastly, Jungkook will bring it full circle by indulging you two in some good old fashion spooky sex where he nuts inside you because the only thing scarier than a scary movie is a pregnancy scare. It’s a perfect plan. word count 2k posted october 30, 2020
—eight.
summary You always do this— always ask for more. You take and you take until there’s nothing left for Jungkook to give. But Jungkook is the same. word count 1.9k posted december 28, 2020
—nine.
summary “I think that, like— me and you? We’re like, totally destined,” you ramble, “you should, like, take my number! And maybe we can, like— Netflix and chill one of these days?” word count 2.2k posted january 8 2021
—ten.
summary See, there’s no one in this world who ignores his house rules more than you. Even worse, there’s no one on this planet who can make Jungkook ignore his own rules like you do. word count 1.4k posted february 14, 2021
—eleven.
summary You’re too bright, too… there. His shell is too small. word count 1.2k posted may 3, 2021
—twelve.
summary Anyway, if it was up to Jungkook, Kim Doyeon would not be a member of the Engagement Ring Committee. word count 1.4k posted may 8th, 2021
—thirteen.
summary Because for as much shit as you let him get away with, Jungkook is certain you’ll draw the line today. word count 1k posted june 13, 2021
—fourteen.
summary Jungkook needs you to know that you can always count on him. word count 1.3k posted july 6, 2021
—fifteen.
summary It’s Jungkook’s teenage fantasy— being pushed down by a cheerleader. word count 3.1k posted august 9, 2021
— sixteen.
summary Your skin is warm and smells like sunshine. Jungkook can’t really explain it. (And also like the sunscreen you had doused him in earlier, but that isn’t as romantic.) word count 1.9K posted august 11, 2021
—seventeen.
summary She looks his way and suddenly Jungkook is nineteen again, in his dorm, listening to the first person he ever thought he loved telling him he’s too much to handle. word count 1.6k posted august 18, 2021
beautiful banners made for series!
cute and cozy gif by the lovely @ladyartemesia
LASTLY:
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Good Intentions
I just wanted to write something short and simple and cute.
fShenko, but it is from my Western AU.
Shepard calls over her shoulder, “Wagon up ahead.”
Deft hands gather reins and draw her revolver simultaneously.
Wrex pulls his shotgun, his stout, spotted horse jigs underneath in anticipation of gunshots.
“Roadblock?” Garrus asks as he tosses the pack mule’s lead rope to Tali.
Kaidan and Ashley hesitate over their own weapons. Determination creeps into the lines on Ashley’s face, lips pressed thin, her hand on her rifle. Kaidan is already surveying the land for a work around, for cover.
“Wagon’s on the side, people on the road.” Shepard replies.
They spread out across the full width of the road, clearing lines of sight to prevent friendly fire.
Kaidan urges Pepper into a trot and brings her alongside Shepard, earning a half-hearted set of pinned ears from Normandy.
“We can follow the ridgeline North, drop back down to the road before it cliffs out.” Kaidan offers, eyeing his planned route.
Shepard doesn’t take her eyes off the threat. “They’ve already seen us.”
Down the road, Kaidan sees the wagon for the first time; it’s beautiful, made of deep purple wood and fully enclosed, ornate carvings along the exterior. One of the rear wheels is snapped off, the horses - a stunning matched pair of black cart horses with immaculate white feathers - unhitched and tied to nearby trees. Its passengers, two well dressed young men, stand in the middle of the road looking distraught. And completely helpless.
Kaidan forgets his plan to bypass the roadblock.
“Shepard,” he watches her profile, set in stone, “their wagon is busted.”
“Sure looks that way.” Shepard knows he’s going to argue and cuts him off before he can get out a sigh. “They have no driver. No one with a coach like that drives it themselves.” Eyes back on the couple, she says, “Makes a decent trap. Eventually, someone will stop to help them or try to rob them, then the rest come out of the woodwork.”
Kaidan scans the surrounding forest. What he can see, anyway. It’s dense and dark and beyond fifteen feet, everything blurs into one indiscernible mass of timber.
To Shepard, he says, “Reckon you better keep an eye on the woodwork, then.”
“Kaidan,” she warns, “don’t.”
He dares smirk at her before trotting forward, Shepard’s frustrated sigh hitting his back with enough force to turn that smirk into a full fledged shit-eating grin.
***
After they help patch the wheel well enough for the young couple to limp the wagon to the nearest town, they break for water. Shepard approaches Kaidan from behind, shoves him by the shoulder.
“You’re an idiot.”
Kaidan chuckles, turns to face her. “I think you mean to say, ‘you were right’.”
“I know I can be paranoid, but it’s for good goddamn reason.”
He sobers, “Shepard-”
“Shut the fuck up.” She jabs his chest. “I used to do that shit all the time and killed plenty of fuckin’ do-gooders doin’ it. It’s one of the oldest fuckin’ tricks in the book. If they hadn’t been-”
“Shepard.” He takes her by the shoulders, just firm enough to be reassuring without setting her off. “I know.”
Stubbornness sets her jaw. “You didn’t fuckin’ know they weren’t gonna shoot you in the goddamn face.”
He knows she’s serious, that her excessive swearing comes from a place of concern, but it still makes him smile. The woman could make a sailor blush. He quickly extinguishes it, needs her to know he’s not taking her lightly.
“One of my first days as a deputy, we rode out to check on a reported busted wagon,” he says. “Anderson warned me it could be a trap. That we could be walking into an ambush. Or worse.” He removes his hands from her shoulders, rubs at the back of his neck. “The dirt was stained for weeks. No rain to wash it away. It was such a mess, we built a new road. No one could stand travelling over that patch of earth.” His hand falls to his side.
Shepard clings to her anger, “And you went trottin’ up there anyway.”
“I had back up.” He shrugs. “That’s more than you can say most of the time.”
Her frown deepens. “If someone needs help, I’m going to help them.”
For a long moment, long enough that he feels the need to shift under her gaze for fear of being scorched by it, they say nothing. Then, Shepard reaches out, her touch unexpectedly soft against his jaw, steps forward, and kisses him. Deep and long, her frustration ebbing into tenderness, until Kaidan melts into her and everything fades but the warmth of their bodies and the taste of salt on their lips.
When she pulls away, she looks at him with something akin to wonder. “I like you.” She kisses him again, quick and chaste. “But you’re still a fuckin’ idiot.”
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vent post bc i fuckin love Don from the promised neverland.
character analysis below the cut
personality:
we don’t see much of Don until episode 4, but there are a few things about his personality we can infer up to this point.
1) Don is very close with the younger children of the house
2) Don was exceptionally close to conny
this first screenshot is taken from the last few seconds of the opening where Don is the only older child grouped with younger children. this relationship dynamic hasn’t really been given a lot of spotlight outside of the opening or the first few minutes of episode 1 when Don is seen holding conny when emma greets them.
other than his close relationships with the younger children, we can see that Don has a very similar personality to emma. he’s carefree, extroverted, and tends to hope for the best in situations.
when emma reveals the “truth” that the children are being trafficked, Don’s response is to laugh, because he honestly doesn’t believe such a terrible thing could be true. he’s lived his whole life in grace field, established important relationships with the children, and without a doubt loves his whole family.
but then emma doesn’t reveal that she is tricking him, and Don quickly becomes concerned. a small tangent, but lets discuss ages for a brief moment.
1) norman reveals that the younger a child is, and the lower the test scores, the sooner they are shipped
2) emma, ray, and norman are the oldest children in grace field, and i’m assuming Don and gilda are the next oldest
3) from these facts, we can then assume that Don and gilda are not at perfect scores like our main trio, but are smart enough to have continued past the age of 6 at grace field. given that most of the children are young, its likely many of the children the 5 lived in the house with when they were much younger have already been shipped out. these 5 were the smartest of their “cohort,” and thus, have survived the longest.
back to Don’s relationship with conny. norman reveals the least of children shipped and their test scores. there were at least 2 children previously shipped before conny. while Don knew the other children, his first concern was for conny. he places a lot of importance on conny and i think that speaks to his strong connection to her. of course Don is most worried about her.
when Don is faced with such a harsh “reality” that the children are not safe, what else is there to do when it seems the trio are holding back information? in episode 5, the trio attempt dissuading Don from checking out mom’s base of operations, as they don’t think its relevant to escaping.
however, i think its absolutely necessary for Don and gilda to discover the stakes of escaping. its live or die. Don /needs/ to be invested in the plan. the only way to ensure this is for him to discover that conny has actually died.
emma and Don:
emma and Don have a lot of similarities in their personalities. my initial reaction is that Don perhaps is more subdued, but we’ve hardly gotten any screen time with him. he feels emotions just as much as emma does, and he isn’t quite as 1-dimensional as he may seem at face value.
trust dynamics:
ray encourages emma to suspect other children as traitors, saying that she needs “to be more suspicious! thoroughly!” it is established with the main trio that suspicion is what will get them closer to escape. investigating loopholes, discovering clues that don’t add up--these are all essential to escaping and discovering the truth about the world they are living in.
bottom line: we see suspicion from the trio as just!
but when faced with the reality that Don and gilda are not always going to take the trio’s advice at face value, suddenly suspicion is bad! unwise! unhelpful! i disagree. Suspicion is absolutely necessary especially when the circumstances are life and death. Don and gilda are also losing the same family members the main trio are losing--its only right they suspect and discover the fate of their younger siblings.
bottom line: truth/discovery are a necessary subject in the promised neverland. without these elements, the plot just doesn’t develop. emma wouldn’t have found out the morse code in the books phil was reading, norman and emma wouldn’t have discovered the tall wall encircling them--we need to accept that other characters are their own individuals and that there are motives beyond just listening to the main trio because “they’re the smartest.” this sounds oddly similar to “i know what’s best for you.”
additionally, ray is incredulous with the lie norman and emma told Don and gilda. in the previous line, ray admitted the lie they told the newer 2 was cruel. i assume ray believes they should have told Don and gilda the truth. at this point though, ray did not want to undermine norman and emma, since they have taken the lead on escaping.
in episode 6, Don points out that emma, norman, and ray were fully prepared to take all of the young children into a “world full of enemies.” ultimately, if the trio had it their way, everyone would be absolutely unaware of the dire situation they were in. i’m on Don’s side: how absurd is it to hide from people that their lives are at stake, whether they stay at grace field or escape?
some other emotional quotes that made me cry when Don was trying to express how hurt he was:
traitor dynamics:
and then we are introduced to the real traitor: ray. i think a lot of people may have been pleasantly surprised by this twist--this may have even encouraged people to take on ray as a new favorite character (i’m one of the people who absolutely adores ray’s character development).
on the other hand, people were probably quick to assume it was Don instead before this grand reveal (which would lead to their surprise that is was ray in the first place). people have been gunning for Don for a while up to this point. he’s loud, he’s suspicious, he’s definitely a different personality type in terms of being told what to do. he’s an individual.
either way, i think some people may have been disappointed it wasn’t Don and (pleasantly) surprised it was ray, which... quite honestly says a lot.
up to this point, the characters have made it a point that the trio’s suspicion is fair--and i agree--but also, other characters should be allowed suspicion of everyone else, too.
race:
let’s face it. a lot of the dynamics occurring between the audience’s reaction of ray vs Don and emma vs Don are also influenced by race--or, at the very least colorism.
the trio is /allowed/ to be suspicious of Don, but Don is not allowed to suspect the trio or their lies.
emma is allowed to be boisterous and hopeful, but Don is not allowed to be this way.
in episode 6, the trio accost gilda and Don for disobeying orders, telling them they could have compromised their escape. to be honest, if i were in that situation, i would blow my top off; constantly being questioned/untrusted by my family? my siblings? Don is frustrated and angry and upset that he isn’t trusted--despite ray already being revealed as the spy. it’s not an explicit discussion, but its a dynamic that certainly exists. especially when the only other Black characters are Sister Krone (villain), Phil (ray’s first toddler-spy suspect), and Don (intelligence, trustworthiness constantly questioned by the trio).
TL;DR: Don and Emma are incredible similar personality types, they love their family as much as everyone else does and wants what’s best for them. at the end of the day though, we have to pay more attention to the ways some characters are consistently treated by other/light-skin characters. there’s a privilege for emma being a light-skinned girl and Don isn’t seen as likeable or innocent, because he’s a Black boy. Ages are incredibly important in the development of the story, the older you are, the smarter you are, give Don some credit that he has at-least above average intelligence. he’s smart, capable, caring, and expressive. I love Don and you should, too.
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Medieval cosmetics: The history of looking good
So, I recently saw a post on my dash with someone lamenting the fact that in the medieval era, they would have been considered ugly as there was no makeup, and someone else offering a well-meant attempt to reassure them: that since they’d have no pox scars, rotten teeth, filthy hair, etc, all medieval men would think they were amazingly hot. While I appreciate the sentiment, there’s.... more than a little mythology on both sides of this idea, and frankly, our medieval foremothers would be surprised and insulted to hear that they were apparently the stereotyped bunch of unwashed, snaggle-toothed crones who put no care or effort into their appearance, and had no tools with which to do so.
(Or: Yep. Hilary Has More Things To Say. You probably know where this is going.)
I answered an ask a couple weeks ago that was mostly about medieval gynecological care and the accuracy of the “mother dying in childbirth” stereotype, but which also touched on some of the somehow still-widely-believed myths about medieval personal care and cleanliness. Let’s start with bathing. Medieval people bathed, full stop. Not as frequently as we do, and not in the same ways, but the “people never washed in Ye Olde Dark Ages” chestnut needs to be decidedly consigned to the historical dustbin where it belongs. “A Short History of Bathing Before 1601″ is a good place to start, as it follows the development of bathing culture from ancient Rome (where bathhouses were known for their use as gathering places and influential centers of political debate) through to the modern era. Yes, common people as well as the nobility washed fairly frequently. Bathing was a favored social and leisure activity and a central part of hospitality for guests. Hey, look at all these images in medieval manuscripts of people bathing. Or De balneis Puteolanis, which is basically a thirteenth-century travel guide to the best baths in Italy. Or these medieval Spanish civic codes about when men, women, and Jews were allowed to use the public bath house. There was also, as referenced in the above ask, the practice of washing faces, hands, etc daily, and sometimes more than once. Feasts involved elaborate protocol about who was allowed to perform certain tasks, including bringing in the bowls of scented water to wash between courses. They associated filth with disease (logically). Anyway. Let’s move on.
Combs are some of the oldest (and most common) objects found in medieval graves -- i.e. they were a standard part of the “grave goods” for the deceased, and were highly valued possessions. Look, it’s a young woman combing her hair (that article also discusses the history of medieval makeup for men, which was totally a thing and likewise also suspected of being “unmanly.”) The Luttrell Psalter, now in the British Library, includes among its many illuminations one of a young woman having her hair elaborately combed and styled by an attendant. There were extensive discourses on what constituted an ideally attractive medieval woman, and the study of aesthetics and the nature of beauty is one of the oldest and most central philosophical enquiries in the world (as were beauty standards in antiquity). Having a pale complexion was a sign of wealth (you didn’t have to work outdoors in the sun) and women used all kinds of pastes and powders to achieve that effect. Remember the Trotula, the medieval gynecological textbook we talked about in the childbirth ask? Well, it is actually three texts, and the entire third text, De ornatu mulierum (On Women’s Cosmetics) is dedicated to makeup and cosmetics. What weird and gross sort of things do they advocate, cry editors of “7 Horrifying Medieval Beauty Tips You Won’t Believe!”-style articles? Well...
First come general depilatories for overall care of the skin. Then there are recipes for care of the hair: for making it long and dark, thick and lovely, or soft and fine. For care of the face, there are recipes for removing unwanted hair, whitening the skin, removing blemishes or abscesses, and exfoliating the skin, plus general facial creams. For the lips, there is a special unguent of honey to soften them, plus colorants to dye the lips and gums. For the care of teeth and prevention of bad breath, there are five different recipes. The final chapter is on hygiene of the genitalia. [...] A prescription said to be used by Muslim women then follows.[...] The author gives detailed instructions on how to apply the water just prior to intercourse, together with a powder that the woman is supposed to rub on her chest, breasts, and genitalia. She is also to wash her partner’s genitals with a cloth sprinkled with the same sweet-smelling powder.
Wait so... hair care, skin and facial creams, toothpaste, lipstick, and sexual hygiene?? With the latter based on that used by Muslim women??? Zounds! How strange and unthinkable!
L’ornement des Dames, an Anglo-Norman text of the thirteenth century, offers more tips and tricks, and explicitly references the authority of both the Trotula and Muslim women: “I shall not forget either what I learnt at Messina from a Saracen woman. She was a doctor for the people of her faith [...] according to what I heard from Trotula of Salerno, a woman who does not trust her is a fool.” So yes. The beauty regimes of Muslim women were transmitted to and shared by Christian women, especially in diverse places like medieval Sicily, and this was valuable and trusted advice. Gee. It’s almost like women have always a) cared about their appearance, and b) united to flip one giant middle finger at the patriarchy. (You can also read more about skincare and cosmetics.) Speaking of female health authorities, you have definitely (or you should have) heard of Hildegard von Bingen, a twelfth-century abbess and towering genius who was the trusted advisor of kings and popes and wrote treatises on everything from music to medicine to natural science (she is regarded as the founder of the discipline in Germany). This included the vast Physica, a handbook on health and medicine, and Causae et curae, another medical textbook.
Did the church grumble and gripe about women putting on excessive adornments and being too fixated by makeup and the dangers of vanity and etc etc? You bet they did. Did women ignore the hell out of this and wear makeup and fancy clothes anyway? You bet they damn well did. Also, medieval society was fuckin’ obsessed with fashion (especially in the fourteenth century.) The sumptuary laws, which appeared for the first time in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries, regulated which classes of society were allowed to wear what (so that fancy furs and silks and jewels were reserved for the nobility, and less expensive cloth and trimming were the province of the lower classes -- the idea was that you could know someone’s station in life just by looking at them). These were insanely detailed, and went down to regulating the height of someone’s high heels. So yes, theoretically, the stiletto police could stop you in fourteenth-century England, whip out a measuring tape, and see if you were literally too big for your britches.
(”But, but,” you stammer. “Surely they had rotten teeth?” Well, this is probably a bad time to note that in addition to the five toothpaste remedies mentioned in the Trotula, there are even more. Jewish and Muslim natural philosophers and herbalists had all kinds of recommendations -- see Practical Materia Medica of the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean. Also, since there was no processed sugar in their diet, their dentistry was far better than, say, the Elizabethans, and white and regular teeth were highly prized. There would be wear and tear from grist, but since fine-milled white bread was a status symbol, the wealthy could afford to have bread that did not contain it, and thus good teeth.)
Of course, everyone wasn’t just getting dressed up with, so to speak, nowhere to go. What about sex? It never happened unless it was marital rape, right? (/side-eyes a certain unnamed quasi-medieval television show). Oh no. Medieval people loved the shit out of sex. Pastourelles were an immensely popular poetic genre which almost always included the protagonist having a romp with a pretty shepherdess, and anyone who’s read any Chaucer knows how bawdy it can get. Even Chaucer, however, is put to shame by the fabliaux, which are a vast collection of Old French poems that have titles so ribald that I could not say them aloud to an undergraduate class. (”The Ring That Controlled Erections” and “The Peekaboo Priest” are about the tamest that I can think of, but I gotta say I’m fond of “Long Butthole Berengier” and the one called simply “The Fucker,” because literally people are people everywhere and always. And yes, you perverted person, you can read the lot of them here.) This was incredibly explicit and bawdy popular literature that was pretty much exactly medieval porn (and like usual porn, did not exactly serve as any kind of precursor of feminist media or positive female representation, but Misogyny, Take a Shot.)
So yes. Once more (surprise!) the history of cosmetics goes back at least six thousand years, and is one of the oldest aspects of documented social history in the world. It existed broadly and accessibly in the medieval world, where women had other women writing books on it for them, and was just as much as a concern as it is now. People have always liked to look good, smell good, accessorize, dress fashionably, try weird beauty trends, and so forth. So if by some accident you do stumble into a time machine and end up in medieval Europe, you’ll have plenty of choices. Our medieval foremothers, and the men who loved them and thought they were beautiful, thank you for your time.
#history#medieval history#history of cosmetics#history of makeup#women in history#history of medicine
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you got any unpopular young avengers opinions?
Of course I do, have you seen this fandom?
I mean this is obvious considering my blog but David isn’t an asshole
Along with this, the team doesn’t hate David for kissing Teddy. They are all over what happened. Billy and Teddy canonically have NO PROBLEM with David and David and Teddy are FRIENDS and it puts NO STRAIN on Billy and Teddy’s relationship.
Also, when you guys make Thinkfast au’s where Billy is overly aggressive to David because he’s trying to “sleep with everyone he loves” or something, it just straight up isn’t cute. A meme is a meme I guess but this fandom has taken it out of hand, to a point that before I reread volume 2, I was convinced that Billy was an ASSHOLE because of the way y’all portray Billy acting about their relationship.
And what is this mentality that Tommy isn’t fucking Roma or Jewish outside of people who like, stan Tommy? Like idk about what Tommy believes really cause its not talked about in canon, and I ain’t Roma so my opinion on this doesn’t technically matter but like. They are identical fucking twins. They are both Roma. And not explicitly Jewish doesn’t equal Christian? It’s the same thing with the twins about mental illness and with them being gay? What the fuck is with you guys.
On the same coin, Y’ALL BABY BILLY WHILE DEMONIZING TOMMY? THE FUCK IS THAT? They are both fucking adults. I get it, Billy is an iconic canon gay, but y’all treat him likes hes five years old while at the same time going after Tommy? Y’all can die?
People who ship Tommy/Noh-Varr are automatically shady to me. Like they’ve barley even breathed the same air and I see people in the Tommy tag shipping it cause they got the same hair color? Y’all brushing aside a black man for the sake of shipping two pale guys, its the oldest trick in the book, don’t think I wouldn’t have noticed.
tl;dr: Y’all treat David and Tommy like shit while acting like Billy can do no wrong, and I’m sick of it.
Anyways this fandom isn’t ready to come back so stop asking for it
it’s fuckin monday
#vic: ask#vic: anon#marvel#ya#wooo oh look there it is#also i aint black so#if i crossed a line when talking about how the fandom treats david then tell me ill fix it and apologize
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The Chronicles of Elfdom
Last December, I documented my struggles with Hermie the Elf - you know, of the “on a shelf” variety, sure, but more accurately, in my head, eating my brain and in my soul, tormenting from here to eternity.
This is my story, shared only in hopes that it may help others.
Tread lightly... Vol 1: Narrowly avoided complete disaster after totally forgetting about the little bastard on Night 1, despite having read the special book/instruction manual/elf commandments at bedtime. Oldest boy Kramers through our bedroom door at 0500, announcing that he'd prefer to use our bathroom over his. As I pondered the logic behind this, thinking, "Boy, he's assertive," something felt amiss and within seconds, I realized my worst December nightmares (since exam time during the old teaching days) were already coming true. As Boy 1 finished his business, I sprung into action, anticipating his yearning to find our annual household guest at this ungodly hour, escorting his proactive little ass back to his bedroom. Always (read: sometimes) a step ahead, I waited in the hallway for the inevitable: an attempted rendezvous to join forces with little brother. After that was easily intercepted, it was time for a little psychological warfare. Warding off both emotional sabotage (Boy 1's, "Daddy, I love you") and an honesty play (Boy 2's, "We we were trying to find Hermie but he's tricky") some redirecting was in order. Authoritative Dad speaks! "It's 5:00 am. No one comes to this house unless everyone is sleeping." With that understanding in mind, aided by the musical distractions of the old Epcot Canadian band and, of course, Kidz Bop 27, I hunted down Public Enemy #1 in his top secret hideaway. Tucked away in a Target bag - dead giveaway, right? Duh. - I shoved him into my pocket and moved on to recover the donuts that he brought with him from the North Pole. Breaking kayfabe here, I'd actually purchased these GMO-laden diabetes bombs myself from Dunkin Donuts on the way home last night, on direct orders from the General, but yes, still totally forgot about this whole charade... Does anyone realize how fucking loud a paper bag is at 5:15 am? Donuts on a paper plate and little orphan Hermie's demanding ass still secured in my Florida State sleepy pants, I knew I had very little time to reach the intended destination and disappear into whatever remained of this night. Cat- or zombie-like in my movements (not quite sure which) down went the plate and into a bouquet of flowers leftover from Thanksgiving landed Osama - or whatever his name is. Somehow, now back behind my bedroom door, I'd survived. There would be no more sleeping for our hero this morning. The sweet taste of victory would be the lone reward. Looking ahead to Night 2, it is possible that we may bribe an acquaintance to drop the bomb on Boy 1, letting him know that this is all a bunch of honkybonk, and thus, instantly creating a valuable ally to continue the ruse for Boy 2. It is now clear that the oldest is the mastermind of what will surely be a constant barrage of this sort of subterfuge for the next 24 days. Vol 2:
There will be no threat of disaster tonight. Since yesterday's torment weighed on my mind all day, it would have been nearly impossible to forget my elfly duties this evening. So, there he sits, the little prick. He's made friends with another rather smug trio that has taken up residence in my home (rent-free, I might add.) Yes, nestled snugly between Alvin and Simon, while Theodore's fat ass looks on, in the morning, the kids will find Hermie, appearing to have read the timeless holiday classic, "Santa Comes to Florida" with his rodent buddies. If you haven't read this piece of literature, it's worth at least a passing glance. But I must warn you that it isn't all that accurate. For one, there is no mention of meth or bath salts, even as Santa flies right over Apopka. And two, there isn't a lot of love for Melbourne, which is pretty shameful since such visionaries as Jim Morrison, Darrell Hammond and that guy I went to high school with who ended up in that reality show boy band are among its native sons. Let's not get too sidetracked here. There is still work to be done. I was informed earlier that one of Boy 2's little friends announced that he received a letter from Santa himself this morning, officially putting him on "The Nice List," while, shame on me, all I did was make sure the kids saw the fuckin' elf and got to eat donuts for breakfast., sacrificing sleep, sanity and something else I forgot about because I'm tired and crazy. I guess lil' man used the power of deductive reasoning and, sans Santa letter, convinced himself he was on "The Naughty List," creating a bit of a challenge at bedtime. Dad here, who may or may not have occupied a spot on the unsavory version of the imaginary fat man's lists a time or two over the years, did his best to convince the young buck that he was not on any such document - that things were going just fine - but I'm not sure he bought it. Thanks to utter exhaustion, a self-inflicted derivative of last night's bullshit adventures, sleep came quickly for the littlest Jordan, allowing me time to think of what I might include in the now necessary piece of prose needed to support my earlier claims of his green light toward Christmas presents galore. Ideally, it'd be straightforward: [Hey, kid(s). If you're worried that you might be on the wrong side of Santa's ledger, maybe you weren't as good as you thought you were all year. You ever hear of the NSA? Ever see any of my text messages? Holy shit! Now that's a list you don't want to worry about being on. Anyway... Keep the faith. The truth is, we like you. And you'd probably have to try to stab one or both of us before we'd make sure you didn't get anything at all for Christmas. Love, Dad PS: On Saturday, I want you to sleep until 10 am. Remember: THE LIST!] But traditions are traditions and in this family, as in so many others, we lie like a muthafucka - especially around the holidays! And so, the propaganda continues. Hermie, it will appear, took a break from reading his Florida Santa book to his pals to write a letter to the Jordan kids, detailing how fantastic they've been and urging them to be good listeners and make good choices at least for a few more weeks. (Pretty suspicious - or "ironic," as Alanis Morrisette might deem it - that the stuffed elf, who I think wears makeup, uses the exact same discipline terminology as Mom and Dad do, ain't it? These kids get any smarter any time soon and they'll bust me for sure. And what then?!?) Depending on what time they wake up in the morning, I may have to stage a sacrifice when it comes to the chipmunk population in this home. If we can send positive messages via letters from imaginary people, we can also send negative messages by offing a fake friend or two. And since they haven't seen "Christmas Vacation" just yet, nor do they know for sure that I don't have a Cousin Eddie, they'll have no idea that he stopped eating chipmunks (yeah, yeah, chipmunks and squirrels are different things, I get it) when he found out they were high in cholesterol. Black and white photos should do. I'll use the old Hitchcock chocolate syrup trick. Tomorrow brings the added challenges of that batshit crazy Chick-Fil-A with all the lights, what the food there does to my insides and selecting the 2016 Jordan Family Christmas tree. There will be booze. Two down, 23 to go. Vol 3:
It's clear that my efforts here are drawing something of a crowd, which is much appreciated but not at all the intent. One trusted advisor has even suggested I attempt to profit financially from this record but the truth is simply this: It has to be done. For the betterment of all mankind, our successes and failures with this Johnny-come-lately holiday irritant must be documented. Tonight, I was reminded of a better day that has passed us by. As we decorated our tree, I took some inventory of the many ornaments we've accumulated over the years. Among them, holiday stalwarts like Frosty the Snowman, Santa Claus and The Grinch make their presence known. We also have the typical representation of some of our sports teams (all of whom suck out loud), life milestones ("2006 New Home" is a real joy, since that was two houses, two kids and one lawsuit ago) and the innocence of homemade trinkets featuring the younger versions of Boy 1 and Boy 2, long before they discovered the art of whining. There is also an ornament that is simply a beer glass (right on!) and the disembodied head of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which I find terrifying. It wasn't so long ago that my biggest holiday concern was making sure that as few of these characters were damaged during tree-trimming time as possible. (Why do they call it "tree-trimming" anyway? When I go to get my hair trimmed, I'm not looking for Akbar the barber to scatter random trinkets about my rapidly-depleting mane.) But as I longed for the days of yore tonight, there it was, right in my face, as if to say, "Not so fast, asshole! The glory days are over, mother fucker!" Hermie - this sonofoabitchofanelf - is also present as an ornament on our tree. Well, shit in my hat. Just as I discovered this mini version of our mini-monster, both boys began to melt down, merely an hour past their regular bedtime, and I was already on my way to a conniption fit myself, three days into the shit and already running out of placement ideas for Elfrey Dahmer. Coincidental timing, my ass! This guy's in my head. Or he's like the alien thing from Stranger Things. If my lights start flickering, I'm setting him on fire and we'll tell the kids he didn't stop, drop or roll because he wasn't a good listener. But at least I'm not in danger of forgetting at the moment. Tomorrow may prove difficult, what with multiple activities involving alcohol already scheduled - after the children's sporting events, as per societal acceptance. I figure if I can make it through a day like that and still move "it" from Point A to Point B, that's a big win for ol' Daddio. His mind powers working on both me and the young'ins tonight jives with my recognizing the cheery-cheeked, red-and-white clad fuzzy thing to be quite clearly a demon in cahoots with Beelzebub himself. So, I've now paired him up with a dragon statue that we have atop our curio cabinet. (Never thought you'd hear me use the term "curio cabinet," did you, old friends? That's right, I'm cultured. Or I've lost all street cred. Not quite sure which distinction to hang onto here.) What's the connection between Hermalerm and the dragon? Well, heroin of course. That's right, kids, the elf didn't just chase the dragon. He caught the damn thing. Which means as I drift off to sleep tonight, I'll be headed for a righteous dream of Hermie sinking through the floor to the sounds of Lou Reed's "Perfect Day," a la Trainspotting. You'll be alright, elf boy, but this one won't be easy. One bucket for urine, one for feces, and one for vomitus. Preparation is key. You're in a new kind of hell for now, fella. See you on the flip. Vol 4:
The voodoo appears to be working. In the last 24 hours, my better half and I have each been caught making mention of "having a talk with Hermie" about this instance of a slight misstep in behavior or that. It's worth pondering what sort of residual effect this may have on the boys (or any kids, really) long-term. Is life truly one observed event after another, with an eye in the sky passing judgment in turn? And let's not get all religious here. I'm seeing this through an Orwellian lens at the moment. If we do slip up, must we live in fear of being told on? I should get out more... Speaking of, having been out quite a bit yesterday, bailing on my "move the elf" responsibility was a distinct possibility but it did not come to pass. Late at night, headache looming, our favorite holiday hobo was relocated from the dragon's back to a high perch overlooking the entrance to Boy 1's room. It's a creepy spot for sure. Like, if you were to walk out of your bedroom and find a person situated the way Hermie is at the moment, laying on his belly, chin resting on his hands, smiling like a whackjob, cheeks as rosy as ever, you'd definitely call the cops. Or shoot him. Or both. The creative maneuvers are lacking for yours truly this year - although I guess mounting the dragon was pretty cool. That's ok, though. My goal is simply to survive this month with as few mid-sleep panic attacks as possible. Started off 1-for-1 but we have a clean slate since, so I'll call it a win so far. Perhaps tonight, we'll set the elf up with a lady or something - freak Carrie out a little, if nothing else. The boys have been warned - née, reminded - that no one is supposed to be up and moving about until at least 7 am in this house (great rule, hardly ever followed) and they seem pretty beat from a long weekend so there might be hope for a more restful slumber. If not, maybe it's time for the elf to get shelved for a day or two, go visit Santa (or Satan?) or something. That'll get these tired kids back on track. Tired kids are like drunk adults, by the way. But that's a story for a different setting. 21 days to go. Zeus help me. Vol 5:
There has been no shortage of remarkable moments in our adventures with the red devil of late. Boy 1, in an apparent attempt to extort his elf friend, left him a tangerine on Monday, after finding him purportedly reading through one of Mom's cupcake cookbooks. Perhaps he was being proactive, in the event that the elf delivers cupcakes as he did donuts on opening day of this annual charade. A simple, "Hey, man. I gave you a tangerine. Whatchyougot for me?" Or maybe he's overheard dear ol' Dad opine on the corruption of politics, in general. Either way, Boy 2 was not pleased. The littlest Jordan, you see, has developed an affinity for these tangerines and while he is almost always quite willing to share his snacks, such was not the case here, as he relocated Boy 1's offering back to its original box. This incensed the elder sibling and the back-and-forth game from tangerine box to offering table began. I should note that the boys are still suffering from Christmasitis - the plague that renders otherwise lovable little humans into demon beings, drunk on exhaustion, impulsive and exhibiting a bravado unbecoming of their age or social status. Now off to school, Mom stepped in with a solution, staging a scene where the elf appeared to have eaten the tangerine in question, abandoning his cookbook perch in favor of a seated position at a makeshift snack area and leaving scraps behind, along with a note that read, "Thanks for the tangerine! I'll only eat one!" (It is also likely that a smiley face was included but I cannot confirm with any certainty, having destroyed this document, and thus, in the name of accuracy and out of respect for journalism, it is omitted here.) This was, largely, an intelligent counter tactic by my female counterpart and while its intended result - assuaging the pending civil war betwixt brothers with a reasonable compromise - was achieved, ultimately, the strategy lacked the necessary foresight to continue the mind games without needling questions from the youngsters. Of utmost importance: "Wait... You moved him?" Crickets. "No, kid," I thought to myself - but dared not say aloud. "He moved himself, of course!" But, of course, this was not supposed to be a part of the pestilent pixie's skillset! For his meandering about is only supposed to take place at night, according to the owner's manual! Far be it from Mom to not have her next move planned, however, and as I stood stock still, considering a swift exit strategy (were the neighbors home? Could a friend pick me up? Where is my rocketpack?) as if beamed in by the projector of Orson Welles himself, the holiday classic "Home Alone" was suddenly on the living room television and Mom's invite for cuddle time was accepted by both young Jordans. Crisis averted, once more. In the time since, the attitudes of drunken demon children 1 and 2 have worsened. Boy 1 resisted piano practice and was not permitted to walk the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights in turn, then admittedly plotted revenge on yours truly, attempting to stave off bedtime as long as possible by prancing about the house, giggling and speaking in tongues. And Boy 2 ignored my orders to disarm, wielding his light saber freely about the living room as though I wasn't even there. With Mom on a run (and not 100% sure she was coming back) I engaged hand-to-hand, demilitarizing my target and receiving his "Mad Dog" glare for my troubles. In fairness, Boy 2 pulled it together enough to join me on the aforementioned Christmas walk, where he graciously educated me on the difference between frogs and what he calls "toadfrogs," (apparently this has everything to do with their tongues - who knew?) and I shared with him my disdain for projector lights. Nonetheless, the net result of Sunday/Monday called for a sabbatical for the nefarious imp creature, who has, as far as the boys know, "gone to visit Santa for a day or two," according to my - no, his! - note. Improvements are expected in short order but just in case, the vodka supply has been restocked. I now count 19 days, which looks far less daunting than 20. Still, my sleep pattern has been erratic. We'll call that 20% problem drinking, 60% guilt from blatantly lying to one's offspring and 20% New York Jets football. With apologies to my parents and, more importantly, to Mark Twain, I haven't told the truth, out of necessity, thanks to you-know-who, and now I can't remember anything.
Vol 6:
Tensions have subsided. The elf was brought back after the exhibition of acceptable behavior on the part of both boys on Tuesday night. 1 did a fine job at his school Christmas concert, while 2 gave a great effort at soccer practice. (It is also important to note that Dad scored a goal in an impromptu coaches/kids mixed scrimmage. That this feat was accomplished against 6- and 7-year-olds matters not.) More importantly, bedtime was without incident on the evening in question. Why that is ever an issue is still beyond me but never has a more relatable tale been told than that of "Go the Fuck to Sleep," by Samuel L. Jackson a few years back. (Well, maybe it isn't exactly the written work of Jules Winnfield himself but I'd like to think it is, as no one could possibly ever recite it better.) Boy 1 is a fan of the every-excuse-in-the-book technique (from pooping to asking questions to feigning injury to everyone taking turns laying with him, telling stories, needing water, etc.) while Boy 2 is more straightforward with his thoughts on sleep overall. Namely, he says he never sleeps. He just relaxes. While I know this isn't completely true, having witnessed him sleeping myself on thousands of occasions, there is something a little vampiresque about the littlest Jordan, who is almost always the first to arise in the morning, often long before the sun. Today, in fact, I awoke to a noise and thinking it was either intruders (that I would have to exterminate, obviously) or my youngest son dicking around (slightly more likely) I promptly began a seek-and-destroy (or G the F to S) mission. The latter scenario proved to be reality, as there he sat, hiding behind his bathroom door, sitting on the floor with the light on, cuddling with his blanket. I don't know either, people, but hey... We all have hobbies... The return of Hellboy Hermie, fresh from his visit with Santa, Satan or Sam Kinison - can't recall which and perhaps it was all - featured him choking out one of the boys' forgotten bath toys, a gator. In this house, that visual brings more joy than the hair of the dog cure-all on a Jordan Family Christmas morning. (Well, almost.) As we enjoy this new era of peace, recognizing that it may be a brief interlude, I'm appreciative of the pause its given me, for the war against the imaginary (?) black magic of this shitbag of a Christmas toy is rather taxing. 17 days. #tylenol Vol 7:
This tradition begets strange bedfellows. Hermie the Elf, who is destined to be renamed Beelzebub, I assure you, commandeered a ship belonging to Jake and the Neverland Pirates last night, along with John Cena and Sleepy (of Seven Dwarfs fame.) Oh, if this were only real, what an adventure they may have had overnight. Sleepy, groggy to the point of hallucination, no doubt, likely from a mixture of NyQuil, booze and some medicinal herb (since we can do that here now!) wouldn’t have been much help to his shipmates. The elf, in his Luciferian glory, perched atop the crow’s nest, would attempt to serve as captain, I would think, causing immediate conflict with Cena, the jorts-wearing, self-important hero, who nobody above the age of 12 really likes. (I’m told he was actually at a local bar I’ve been to a time or 200 a couple of weeks ago. Think I could take him?) They’d square off at some point to determine the alpha male and I’d have to give that decision to the only being on this ship with supernatural, other-worldly powers. “You can’t see me,” John? Well, that’s fine. Hermie doesn’t need to see you to breathe demon fire into your soul. And they'd land at their final destination knowing that the little red-faced asshole with the pointy hat was absolutely in charge. The destination was our TV stand, by the way, because I didn't feel like thinking anymore - or leaving the ship somewhere it might easily fall, ruining everything for everyone. (Or saving them?) The children seemed to approve of this newly established faction, upon this morning's discovery, and I suppose that’s what it’s all about. Unfortunately, it’s also proven to be all about my own sick mind, full of delusions and unfulfilled desires belonging to my inner child. Back in my day, all we had was the mystique of Santa Claus himself – and thanks to friends, Sean and Tina, that gig was up for me at around eight. (Eight! That’s Boy 1’s age now. Well, balls... Getting old indeed.) I believe the big reveal upset me for a few minutes but already conditioned toward materialism (thanks, America!) I reasoned that, hell, I’d still be getting presents, so I don’t think I really cared whether they came from Mom, Dad, Uncle Charlie (who I’m pretty sure once stole a trampoline before gifting it to me) or an old, fat stranger in a furry red suit who likes to have little children sit in his lap. I was skeptical – maybe my friends lied to me. After all, this was the same brother/sister combo that once had me convinced that the oil I spotted floating atop the drink they’d made for me was perfectly normal for “Swedish chocolate milk.” (Looking back, the accompanying smell of vinegar should have been a dead giveaway. Tasted like shit but I’m sure it built character. Appreciate that, S&T!) But alas, as I gave my dad a goodnight hug on Christmas Eve, 1987, there sat the Nintendo I’d be receiving the next morning, in his closet behind him. When I found it, unwrapped, as was Santa’s style, at the foot of the tree, the bullshit meter exploded but I wouldn’t let it get me down. Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out and Super Mario Brothers (and Duck Hunt, if only so we'd all learn about tagalongs at an early age) awaited! I was smart enough to know that I didn’t want to deal with upsetting my mom so I didn’t let on that I knew that Santa was Keyzer Soze (or Verbal Kint? Sometimes my metaphors don’t work.) I think I hid that from her for at least two years. Point is, I guess I fear these kids of mine finding out we’re all the masterminds behind some pretty serious fabrications. What sort of example does that set? But mostly, it’s about the growing-up-too-fast thing. I mean, fuck. I’m 37, somehow. Oh and the other point is, how did we allow this elf thing to get so popular? We had friggin' Santa already! And wasn’t one lie enough? I’m tired. 16 days.
Vol 8:
Turnabout is fair play. Boy 2 had something of a rough day yesterday, although not in the sense that his behavior was unacceptable. With the added pressure of a snitch like the elf-demon watching over you at all times, I'm sure being a 6-year-old isn't as easy as it could be at this time of year so, when the boy wonder seemed exceptionally emotional, I should have known to chalk it up to just that. After eight straight days of "being on 'Good Citizen'" at school, the littlest Jordan was proud to announce that he had recorded No. 9 in a row. How about that? My own little Cal Ripken-type thing. But after dinner, the tiny tough guy started showing his sensitive side (a trait shared by his father - but don't tell anyone.) Seeking either a goalkeeper for his soccer game, an opponent in marbles or a playmate of any sort, he solicited the services of all of Boy 1, myself and the lady of the house, though we all politely declined, citing a collective desire to relax and/or consume the programming of WWE Network before bedtime. (The latter, of course, forced upon Mrs. Jordan, although I think she enjoys it at least a little, though she would never, ever admit as much.) His emotions played out with faulty reasoning - "No one likes me!" - and harsh accusations - "I don't have a nice family!" and "Nobody is being my friend!" My explanation was simple; that declining an invitation to any particular activity does not automatically disqualify one from being another's friend, since free will is an important quality and, if I asked a friend of mine to eat dog poop with me, their lack of participation would not stand in the way of my assessment of their loyalty toward me. But Boy 2 was not having any of this and in a brief fit of rage, he roared at me, "You better watch your attitude, Mister, or I'm telling Hermie!" Oh, did I laugh! But he did not appreciate that either and retired to his room. Confession time came quickly. As I laid with him to coax him to sleep - the sleep that, remember, he swears he never gets in favor of only "relaxing" - he exclaimed, "I'm a bad boy!" and began crying immediately. At first, he would not tell me why he had come to this conclusion but after some leveling with him in the form of a promise not to get mad, he told me he had lied and that he had not, in fact, achieved a ninth straight day of school-bestowed "good citizenship." Instead, he was stuck on "Ready to Learn," which is quite fine in this house, although anything less will need to be addressed. I blamed the elf. For the boy was convinced that he needed to be stellar each and every day without fail, whereas on most days, outside of this window of watching from on high (and by on high, I mean somewhere high enough so as not to tempt the "illegal" touching) he, like his father, would be just fine in the realm of acceptable mediocrity. Never again will I utter the words, "I'm telling Hermie." At this point, 1) I hate the name. The kids named him, after that failure of an elf from the original Rudolph special, now a dentist, or so we're told. (Probably one of those creepy dentists, I'd say. You know, the kind that gasses his female patients and plays peekaboo and stuff?) 2) The kids know the (completely fabricated) score. I will not add to this charade more than I already have. And I will not go gentle into this good night. The company Christmas party awaits and I've got some tomfoolery in which to partake. Still tired. 15 days.
Vol 9 and 10:
They sell both volumes of Kill Bill together now, as I understand it, so I’m allowed to drop a double dose of Elfdom if I want to. (This will be of no additional length, mind you, but we’ll call it two volumes nonetheless.) The uptick in emotion from Friday still fresh in my mind, the idea this weekend was to restore the spirits of Boy 1 and Boy 2 (and mostly the latter) and the elf, for all his faults, appears to be adept at aiding that, so long as the pressure he brings is tempered. I’d like to think that the littlest Jordan is less concerned, having had some weekend time, about trying to be “Good Citizen” levels of perfect than he was during our last volume. Saturday morning, Elfenstein, which is one of many names I am considering for a possible rebranding, took a ringside seat next to Boy 1’s toy wrestling ring, watching what was staged as a battle royal between all of his favorite toy wrestlers. Adorning the garb of a particular favorite, Samoa Joe, along with the NXT championship belt, he sat, smiling his usual satanic smile, as if to say that he was some sort of champion himself. You are not, sir, by any stretch. Let me make that clear. But, they enjoy your company, again, despite your many shortcomings. The wrestling set-up reminded me, however, that I would enjoy squaring off against you, were you of an acceptable size to do so, and perhaps if I can find someone of a similar appearance in human form, elbows will drop (and he shall fall.) Of course, then, I’d likely be arrested and/or sued but hey, that’s the cost of doing business, I suppose. This scene, like so many others featuring you-know-who, turned out to be less than perfect, largely because I set him up too low to the ground to be completely ignored or out-of-reach, but this turned out to be a positive step for the children, who resisted the temptation to move him themselves and asked for assistance when he flopped over at one point. Boy 1 wanted the championship belt the evil elf had been wearing, you see, and I was happy to strip it from him, since he did not deserve such an accolade by any means. Boy 2, it should be noted, held back his elfly interactions on Saturday. Maybe he was trying to determine just how emotionally invested in this thing he really should be. Saturday evening brought forth the annual company Christmas party and since the lady and I do not often stay out past 11 pm, let alone 2 am, anymore, it is no wonder that the Hermie the Hack almost did not get moved that night. Of course, I had every intention, and though my return home (thanks, Uber!) involved a certain level of whiskey breath as I spoke directly with my mother-in-law about plans for said move, in the fleeting seconds following that conversation, I forgot completely, probably focused on the pillows calling my name just a few feet away. Ever-clutch, Gran chipped in and relocated the impetuous imp, placing his (fake) happy little ass in the middle of a wreath on the door to the laundry room. Last night, as I stared at him, I honestly thought to myself, “You know, elf, you look like a real asshole sitting there smiling at me with your hands folded. I’d like to spear you with one of the skewers I use to make kebobs from time to time. Or drop you into a vat of bleach. Or something... Keep looking at me like that! Go ahead!” He was just lucky that there was no whiskey for a second consecutive evening. Of course, there can be no whiskey on consecutive evenings for yours truly anymore. Such is the penance that comes with age. Well, that and a vile attitude toward all things festive, it seems. Or at least all things purportedly festive that are nothing more than some sort of fabric, a little plastic and stuffed with cotton (or is it demon fiber?) 13 days. Unlucky 13, the elf might say, but we’ll see how lucky he is when I practice punting him later on today...
Vol 11:
The easy way seems like the right move at the moment. From one stocking (with Spider-Man) to another (with Ultron) - specifically recognizing each boy's individual preference for good guys vs. bad guys, we've killed two days and two potentially grief-inducing moments. But hark! There are three more stockings! That could very well be three more days. Lady Jordan would love to see the imp intruder in her stocking, along with, say, vodka? Yeah, she likes vodka. And Superdog would dig it if he were to show up in hers next to, ah yes! Something she always begs me for - leftover pizza! Perfect! As for me, well, this isn't really about me but if I'm to tend to this shithead as much as I do, why not treat myself and set the stage for him to gift me some Johnny Walker Blue? Mmmmm. We're already down to 12 days and if I can pull this off, we're into the single digits with plenty of creativity left in the reserve tank. Note to self: Boy 1 is looking more and more suspicious by the day. He is wise indeed. Perhaps it is time to distract him with fear and confusion. Would he believe the Russians hacked his elementary school, forcing an uptick in homework? That seems to be a popular play these days and it just might work. Operation: Borscht shall commence in the am. And looky, looky! It's now midnight! 11 days, just like that! We can do this. Ohhhhh, yes. We shall overcome.
Vol 12:
Rats once spread the Bubonic Plague. Prince Prospero's hubris allowed the Red Death to infiltrate his castellated abbeys, according to E.A. Poe. And I say these little elves carry their own special pandemic - a yuletide malady that flips the universe onto its head and turns otherwise relatively well-behaved children into distracted, exhausted malcontents, spewing tidings of discomfort and misery on adults the world over. It makes no sense. At a time when conventional wisdom would dictate that they walk the straight and narrow like never before, the little ones have truly gone mad. Under the watchful eye of the hellion in the red hat, I always expect that Boy 1 and Boy 2 would adopt model citizenship - and for small spurts, they do. For instance, Boy 1's cleaning dog poop from the backyard last Sunday was completely out of character and Boy 2's strong run of eight consecutive "good citizen" statuses (already chronicled in a previous volume, as well as his subsequent fall from grace) was quite a feat! (Suddenly, I'm reminded that I did not ask for details on the dog doo cleaning duty - nor can I say for sure if they showered that night... Nonetheless, the past is the past.) But these exceptions have not become the rule. instead... It took 47 utterances of the elder Jordan child's name tonight just to get him to come to the table to do his homework, when normally, it would only take 3-5. And that was just the beginning of the battle. "Math with Mom" may sound like a fun game show of sorts but in reality, it's quite torturous. Eating dinner in short order once that was finally complete, a necessary rush on an evening when baseball practice beckons, drew moans and whines and pouts and eventually, claims of complete disinterest in our national pastime - a sin, certainly, but more importantly, a lie, as proven instantly upon arriving at the field, where free-spirited fun commenced. (I noticed there, too, that it is not just my own children who have figuratively tooted the Christmas cocaine of late. Everyone's offspring is mental at the moment, it appears. We're all in this together, people.) As for Boy 2, well, that run of eight straight school days by which he was judged all chivalrous and what not has been followed by quite the struggle. Warnings and consequences and nastygrams from the teacher are the new trend. (Note to Teacher: I feel ya, girl. I mean, I ain't never did kindergarten and shit but I did teach at muthafuckin' Hillsborough High School for a hot minute. And you trippin' if you think students clownin' in December is only for the jits. Teenage fools be whack AF.) But we have reached the magic number of 10 and with that, I see the light. Alas, I am stupid enough to crank this sonofabitch waaaaaaaaaay past 10 on the Holly-Jolly-Christmas-o-Meter tomorrow night, as we venture to what some might call the happiest place on Earth (whereas I call it, "Whythehellcan'twedrinkhereagainland") for Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party. We'll see how very merry it is this time, kids. Just keep up the shenanigans and maybe I'll tell you the story of the crazy Christmas kid who got left with the elephants on the Jungle Cruise back in 1984. Look for him, Reggie, I think... Yeah, he's in there, somewhere. Keep looking... Ah, but that's tomorrow night... Tonight, I'll resist the urge to send the elf into the garbage can, no matter how easy to pull off the narrative of "Hey, kids. Yeah, sorry... He must have really wanted that last piece of chocolate," might be. Single digits are afoot!
Vol 13:
As if Christmas madness wasn't already enough to make even the most level-headed parents consider sending their normally well-adjusted children to some sort of juvenile rehab, we went and introduced the idea of this all-powerful elf and sent things into hyperdrive. And then you have idiots like myself, who facilitate the special kind of speedball that is Christmas and Disney World to launch the youngsters into a stratosphere of holiday intoxication that would appeal to Belushi- and Farley-types the world over. I've spent enough time at the House of Mouse in the last seven years or so to know that on any random Tuesday, you can do some serious people-watching but on a designated Friday night in December, at something they jam down your throat as a "Very Merry" Christmas party, young bucks and grandmas alike are off the rails right from the jump. It's marketing, I get it, but shouldn't it be up to me to decide how to describe the levels of joy and/or merriment I get from a party to which I'm invited (and certainly one I've paid for?) I'm not going to throw a pool party in a couple of months, invite a bunch of you people, and call it "Jon's Super Enjoyable and Relaxing Pool Party." I might assist in the temporary adjustments of your dopamine and serotonin levels as best I can but I'll leave it up to you to determine what sort of accolades you bestow upon my event. Anyway, free from the eyes of the elf (theoretically, anyway) the children were a bit wild on the journey to WDW but I've found that any car ride longer than 20 minutes or so has the potential to become the clearest manifestation of their best friends/worst enemies style of relationship at this phase of their lives. One minute, they're sharing books and the next, someone's finger is in someone else's eye. I tried my best to sing Christmas songs to myself (no, really, I do try to get into it here and there) but my soul-soothing would have to come in the form of a bunch of junk food at the park and a ride or two. The kids had free reign to try and off each other in the interim. As evenings go, one could really do far worse, honestly. As I've said a million times, it would be tremendous if adults could wander around the Magic Kingdom with a beer but I get it. It's a kids' park. And I suppose that isn't appropriate EVERYWHERE, after all. Plus, there are fleeting moments on these nights that we just aren't going to get anywhere else - like Boy 2 cuddling with his mom or Boy 1 beaming from the front row of a parade route or both of them, giggling with laughter (and maybe a little hint of fear) as we whirl around on some roller coaster or other. Those are sights and sounds I'm tattooing into my brain for sure. But by the time it's all over, we have reached full-fledged juvenile Christmas drunkenness, where, just like your overserved adult friend, conversations ramble on making very little sense, emotions are high and the expression of as much can go from "I love yous" to crying in an instant. There is slurring, overindulgence on late night snacks and then, ultimately, they just pass out. And while one big difference between your friend, Drunky the Bear, and your overtired, cranky Christmas kid is that you usually don't have to worry about the latter throwing up, another is that you can't just leave them where they fall out. So, in my case, you're forced to scoop and carry the now 70-ish pound, increasingly long 8-year-old for miles into boats and trams and finally to the car. While waiting for said tram, I surveyed my surrounding area and confirmed my suspicions that, yes, out of the 500 or so people I could see in my immediate vicinity, Boy 1 was definitely the biggest human sleeping in another human’s arms at that point. But again... Special moments, I suppose, if I'm being honest. (And honestly, between that and multiple shoulder hoistings throughout the evening, holy shit is my back messed up! Thanks again, lady who rear-ended me a few years back to kickstart that now-lifelong pleasantry.) As for the elf, the vile, heinous, intrusive being that he is, he's joined forces with an Angry Bird and Sven from Frozen, and has taken up residence in the boys' bathroom - which is definitely a little weird and creepy, now that I re-think my most recent placement strategy but hey, can't touch him again until tomorrow now. And besides, weird and creepy suits him just fine. ONE WEEK.
Vol 14:
Creativity has ceased. There are no more ideas. The focus has shifted, solely, to survival. Christmas intoxication has run amok and both children are perpetually drunk in turn. I have not yet found the proper means to detox them, although I believe, once that bag of chocolate-covered pretzels was stolen and consumed, only time was to be my ally. Boy 2 turned emotional once more last night, expressing his desire to "go home." Since he was sitting in his bed as he proclaimed this, a deeper inquiry revealed that he wanted to go back to our old house, which we left roughly 18 months ago, because he missed his friends. Total bullhonk, of course, since he couldn't identify a single "friend" by name, other than the old neighbor's dog, aptly named Jordan, which weakens his argument even further. Boy 1 arose at 6 am today, reportedly uttering some nonsense about starting a band. (I cannot confirm this directly, as I was in the midst of a dream starring myself, Wolf Blitzer and Jennifer Lawrence, all scouring the planet for "the lost relics." But the reporting of my wife person is to be trusted, more often than not.) His level of Yuletide inebriation has manifested itself in a phenomenon known as "Low Eyes Syndrome" and whether you choose to admit it or not, you've all been there. Just look through photos in which you've been tagged by others - specifically anything after midnight, at weddings or taken by your most obnoxious friends. On the positive side, we've reached the 5-day mark and are just two days shy of relocating this clan to the other coast, where the grandparent folks can assist in keeping us all alive. The inherent danger of said grandparent folks inadvertently contributing to Christmas chaos matters not, for there is strength in numbers and reinforcements at this point are sorely needed. The elf is spooning with a San Francisco 49ers Christmas ornament today and I think I will say no more to that end. "Take a look around here, Ellen. We're at the threshold of hell!" - Clark W. Griswold, Jr.
Vol 15:
The day is nigh. The elf has been bagged in preparation for the cross-state trek. Part of me wanted that to happen legit abduction-style - little potato sack thrown over his head, a swat of a tiny baseball bat to the dome... A garrote, probably, would have been overkill but I wouldn't have ruled it out. Anyway, he's MIA - and of course, that means we'll have to lie to the children once more as to why he's disappeared. "I don't know, kids. I walked around the corner and he just wasn't there anymore!" Then, tomorrow morning when he shows up at La Casa de Jordan 1.0, I'll be ogling Boy 1 to see if there is any further hint of suspicion in his eye. Surely, Boy 2 will wake up some time between 3 and 5 am tomorrow as the excitement percolates. (I will not.) There will be no attempts to peer deeply into his eyes, mostly out of fear that they've turned black by now, undoubtedly the evildoing of you-know-who. The good news is that I believe all is reparable, once he is gone for good - or at least until next year. In my experience, Christmasitis usually takes a couple of weeks to fade away and then some semblance of normalcy returns. This year, I'm hoping that comes with a newfound affinity for sleeping in. I was never very good at that as a young kid and didn't master it until college, really - an achievement aided at that time by, well, let's just call them PEDs. But I know it is possible for even an 8-year-old to sleep until 9, 10 or 11, even, because I saw my pal Jeremy do it with my own eyes. Sleeping over at his house was great the night before amidst our usual hijinks but I could only describe the following mornings as, uh, educational, as in I seized the opportunity to read every single book on his bookshelf and watch every movie he owned, killing time until he finally woke up. (What the hell were my parents doing anyway, that they couldn't pick me up early, as I often asked? Actually... Don't answer that.) So, again, the hope is that Boy 1 takes after Uncle Berm and learns to hibernate (at least a little.) There is no hope for the other one to that end. He continues to remind us that he never sleeps and only relaxes. "Sometimes," he says, "I don't mean to but I accidentally go to sleep automatically." Clearly, he isn't to be trusted with this intentionally perplexing narrative of his but I believe he has convinced himself that it is all true. That, in and of itself, surely leads to the unique circadian rhythm he's adopted. He sure is cute, though. I imagine that'll keep earning him a pass, no matter how many times he fires a soccer ball directly into my nether regions. Perhaps only one or two more entries into these chronicles shall be necessary from this point forward. I should say that I'm pleased with the response so far, as it seems most of the free world can relate in one way or another, but the goal from the beginning was simply to document the daily deeds of our ignominious, inanimate, annual invader and their impact on our everyday lives. Plus, if I should meet my demise during his stay, surely this will aid law enforcement officials. As far as that goes, one only needs to buy one vowel to solve this puzzle, and that is the "E" to kick off "E.L.F." You see, although we are still in the pre-Christmas phase of my intensive study, I have learned enough to commit to the conclusion that it is indeed an acronym, standing for Evil Little Fucker, as some of you may have already ascertained. It is but one piece but a vital one indeed. I've got you now, you hellion. It is only a matter of time. Deportation is but three days away!
Vol 16:
He is everywhere and he takes on many forms. The shape-shifting shithead has obviously meandered about my home for weeks but also invaded my tree, in the form of a Christmas ornament, and now, as I've taken up temporary residence at my parents' house, he is present as a children's nightlight in the bathroom, staring, peering, judging as people partake in their most private and personal moments. He truly is a sick sonofabitch. He is also in my brain at this point, as evidenced by the masterful mindfuck he pulled on me on Thursday evening. I am a man of many talents but perhaps my most important task as the husband, father and clearly established second-in-command of our family is to handle all packing duties for out-of-town adventures. At Christmastime, this can get tricky, what with an overabundance of presents to account for, in addition to our regular haul. But, always up to the challenge, I gathered up all of the important items and successfully played the game of Tetris that is fitting all of them into the dadmobile, née Honda Pilot. All of them, you see, except for my own suitcase, left perfectly packed and wide open on my bedroom floor, only to be revealed at the most impactful moment from a psychological perspective, as we crossed the Brevard County line, all according to "Its" diabolical plan. I have no clothes. I have no toiletries. As a broken man at this point, I also have no soul. And now I seek redemption. A Christmas angel has aided my efforts to thwart this hostile takeover and my suitcase has been successfully recovered, here, two days later, so brushing my teeth and replacing the loin cloth I've adopted in the interim is but hours away. But the damage has been done. The little fucker has clearly won a round. His reign of terror ends for the season after tomorrow but does that give me time to recover my soul before he is banished once more? Clearly, his excommunication is more important than my return to human form so if sacrifice is required, I must remain committed to the cause. In the event of Christmas catastrophe, I offer warmest regards and eternal gratitude to all that have followed these chronicles. As I forge forward, know that I am acting not on my own behalf but for all that is good in this world. The final showdown is nearly upon us and with any luck - and the guidance of Lord Zeus, Ra the sun god, sweet baby Jesus, John Cougar, John Deere and John 3:16 - when it's all said and done, I aim to look the elf straight in the eye and tell him what a cheap, lying, no good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?
Vol 17:
It is all over. Since I am writing this, it needs not be clarified that the side of righteousness prevailed in the end but this was not always a foregone conclusion. The red devil was a formidable foe and I can say with near-certainty that we will do battle at least once more, as Boy 1 and Boy 2 will probably still be buying what he's selling. It cannot go undocumented that Hermie took one last pound of flesh as he exited, to the tune of me waking up in a panic at 5 am to remove him from sight and complete this festive ruse. Just as he had on Day 1 this year, he ruined my slumber and that cheeky little smile stretched ever so slightly. It did feel good, under the cover of darkness, to jam the little prick into my suitcase pocket and zip it up. I hope it's hot in your own personal hell, you heathen. And now, we pick up the pieces. I am in need of repair, inside and out. Tired, tattered, full of torment... But mostly tired. Is there no vacation from Christmas vacation? It's become clear to me that, despite my ultimate victory, this experience will haunt me for years to come. And in ensuing years, likely, it will be worse. So, when is a win actually a loss? Perhaps it is now. Perhaps it is more than just a pound of flesh the evil elf has taken with him. There is, it turns out, slight discomfort in my liver area, you see. That's either from the traditional holiday excess or, if you believe the ancient Navajo legend, that's where the soul is located and clearly, mine is gone. Back to our happy little lives? Sure - I can play that game. It is a beautiful existence. But he has broken me indeed. "And Darkness and Decay and The Red Death held illimitable dominion over all."
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