#suburban scum

[hate5sixofficial]

Suburban Scum 2023-08-05 Franklin Music Hall Philadelphia, PA

[crocodiledeathspin]

[saltlakehardcoreflyers]

[nadinediary]

The 7 Dating Bare Minimums from 𝒩adine

1. Shared Values + Belief

Values are prioritised characteristics that build who we are as individuals and our belief is what forms our world view and lifestyle. I find it easier to build a relationship with someone when your values and beliefs align. I cannot envision a relationship or even casually date someone who I can't see eye-to-eye on the core attributes that form my life and character.

I can understand being lenient on religious and political beliefs when casually dating although for long term relationships, I need to be on the same topic about religion, politics, children, cheating, etc.

2. Romantic (Considerate)

I personally can not be in a relationship or date a person who can’t exhibit romance. Romance to myself isn’t the flowers (not saying I don’t adore flowers), or the chivalrous actions shown in the rom-coms.

Romance is the small intimate actions that show you’ve been paying close attention to your loved one wants and needs. It’s the considerate small things that may take a little more time but are worth it.

3. Chivalrous

Talking about chivary, don’t get it confused, I love a chivalrous man. The door opening, pulling the seat out, making sure I’ve gotten home safe, I’m quite old fashion when it comes to dating. I love it all.

I find it charming when someone is chivalrous to everyone not just when it pertains to myself. If they see someone needing help and step in, I think that's a great trait to have. I don't want someone who just does things out of attraction but rather because of kindness.

4. Well groomed

Personally a man is most attractive when they are well groomed, actively upkeep themselves and pay great attention to their hygiene. This idea that only women get manicures and pedicures is ridiculous. I know plenty of men that like keeping their cuticle healthy.

Every man that has had the honor of taking me on a date or more, has had a skincare routine (even if it's just a three step routine). They’ve all had beautiful nails and I could tell they cared about cleanliness.

5. Adaptable + Resilient

I‘m a first-generation immigrant who has seen poverty and wealth, I’ve gone from living in the scums of rural Nirobei to the upper class Australian suburban area. This is all because of God’s blessing and my family’s resilience.

I need a partner who is both resilient and adaptable when in situations less than ideal. I’m a strong minded individual and hope the same for my partner.

6. Communicative

We’ve all heard about the importance of communication in relationships but not all communication is healthy.

It's important for your partner to be open to hearing you, a lot of people lack listening skills so it's precious when you find someone who really listens and respects you. Trauma can cause people to close up but there are many different ways to communicate from written to spoken, as long as my partner shows they are communicative I don't care.

7. Generous

I come from a generous family, I’m surrounded by generous people and I myself am always ready to give if someone needs. I could not envision any relationship, friendship or romantic relationship with someone who wasn’t as giving.

Generosity isn’t neglecting yourself for other, it's lifting each other up, know when to say no while being kind to others situations. I don't want a pushover, I want a generous partner.

Sincerely,

𝒩adine.

[octuscle]

My boss has been giving me shit ever since I got this job. If I could just put him in his place for one day…

Your boss's day is off to a great start. Power cut. And the Tesla is not charged. The only way to get to the office is by bus and suburban train. He hates public transport. But what should he do? At the bus stop, he pulls out his cell phone to buy his ticket. All around him are schoolchildren and wetbacks on their way to work. Damn, did he pocket the cell phone of his cleaning lady from Colombia? All in Spanish. And the phone far from his own brand new show-off model. And already has a few scratches too... Maldita sea! Why can't he buy a ticket now? Tarjeta bloqueada. That's all he needs. His not-so-clean trousers hang low on his narrow hips. The waistband of his fake Calvin Klein briefs is clearly visible. When the bus arrives, he rummages in his deep trouser pockets for a few dollars. Just enough to buy a ticket.

When your boss changes trains, he realizes that his briefcase is gone. Where the hell did the hip bag come from instead? He looks inside. Tobacco, cigarette papers, a few crumpled dollar bills, some weed. And condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. His gaze falls on his reflection in the window pane. Mierda, soy un espalda mojada. ¡Un sucio y apestoso espalda mojada! Instead of his spotless white shirt, he wears a dirty wifebeater. And the jacket has become a sleeveless open plaid shirt. Not entirely clean either. His feet are in dirty biker boots. A couple of silver chains around his neck. Shit, something's not going well. When he arrives at the station, he walks towards the toilets. He needs a mirror. Sporty and dynamic, he jumps over the turnstile at the entrance. He has no more money to use the toilets. There are the mirrors. And that's no longer your boss. Okay, the other hustlers at the station all call Juan "jefe" because he has the biggest cock. But apart from that, he's nothing but a well-trained wetback hustler.

One of the other hustlers comes up to jefe and asks for a fag. Juan panics. Should he be nice to the scum? Juan will probably need help. On the other hand, the mere presence of this gay trash makes him nauseous. At least he speaks English. Juan decides to be friendly. And he tries to reply that they can share a fag. He replies in broken English with a heavy Spanish accent. The other hustler thanks him with a fist bump. He doesn't seem surprised by the language. Juan builds a cigarette, takes a first drag and passes the fag on. While they smoke in a corner of the train toilet, a punter wanders around them. Juan doesn't think much about it. He needs money. And it can't get much worse than this. His eyes and those of the punter meet. The rest happens without a word. A few minutes later, Juan kneels on the piss-strewn floor of the toilet and swallows the cum of a strange man. And he's a pro, he gets a hard-on even though the punter is rather disgusting.

It gets quieter from 10:00 onwards. The rush hour is over. There's nothing to do at the station until 16:00. Juan counts his takings. 120 dollars. Not bad. He joins the other hustlers at the kiosk in front of the station, smokes a cigarette and drinks a beer. He needs to get rid of that damn taste of cum from old fat white men. Then Juan has to go to the wholesale market and clean the market halls. He's definitely no longer the boss here. The job is also badly paid, but he has to prove he has a regular job so as not to lose his residence permit. And there are showers for the employees. If he goes back to the station sweaty and dirty, he can forget about good sales.

Juan is just getting out of the shower when a regular customer contacts him via Facetime. He asks how his favorite slut is doing. Juan poses a little in front of the cell phone camera. He doesn't understand English very well, but he knows that his customer gets horny when he shows off his hairy armpits. And the customer pays well. Most of the time, Juan even gets a bit to eat. And if he's lucky, he can even spend the night with the client and doesn't have to go to the dirty dormitory where Juan has currently rented a bed. But if he's not lucky, at least he knows where his place is.

Pic of your jefe found @marechais 

[silamander]

hello!!!!1!

This is a free pass for you to talk about anything you want, as much as you want! Exposit! Lore dump! Rant about your interests, or something that irks you! Whatever it is, use this as an excuse! Someone out there is interested in what you have to say (it's us. We're the someone)

...you know what that means gang.

More random Hatchetfield headcanons

- Ted spends a lot of time emailing Pete instead of working because a part of him is paranoid Pete might get hurt at high school.

- Miss Holloway spends a lot of time birdwatching in the mornings.

- Max failed his driver's test twice so he just drives without a license.

- Grace sleeps with a stuffed pink bunny.

- Tom was on the football team with Max’s dad. He was scum and Tom never liked him, he could never explain why but he just rubbed him the wrong way.

- Paul likes iced caramel frappes. He just orders black coffee because it’s easier for Emma.

- Richie is an energy drink junkie.

- Charlotte does yarn crafts (like knitting and crochet and cross stitch and shit) to get her anger out because stabby stabby.

- Barry Swift has ADHD and OCD.

- Gary Goldstein decorates his house like a suburban white mom, those rustic white letters in the kitchen, everything labeled in slightly stretched text, that type of thing.

- Stacy is Becky's niece, and Stacy looks up to her a lot so she became a cheerleader to follow in her aunt's footsteps.

- Ethan actually believes the hat works because he was wearing it the day he met Lex and since then nothing had has happened to him when he wore it

- The people of Hatchetfield hate Clivesdale because Mayor Lauter was born and raised there, and hated it there so much that he convinced the whole town to hate it as well.

- Hailey spends a lot of time watching animal and dinosaur documentaries. She gets attached to the animals quickly and gets really upset when they die. (No this is not me self projecting).

- In human form, Wiggly’s nose scrunches up when he’s angry.

- Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her.

- Hailey and Trevor (Jon’s barbecue monologue’s character from Nerdy Prudes) are cousins. Very random but I think it fits.

- Hailey admires Trevor and his natural talent for performing. In a way, it makes her feel more insecure of herself, seeing her younger cousin be so good at performing, and she sees it as her still not being good enough.

- Wiggly sleeps in sand like a squid. Like literally just buries himself in there, completely submerged.

- Richie can and will ramble about Naruto to some random person on the street if they're willing to listen.

- Grace is secretly a hazbin hotel/helluva boss junkie, she only watches it on library computers though because she wouldn’t be caught dead watching it at home. (Pete caught her watching it once and he had to pinky promise to never tell anyone. They're siblings, your honor).

- No one in Hatchetfield ever said anything about the workin boys being in a gay interracial polycule, not because it was a secret, but because they were football players, and hatred for clivesdale is exponentially more powerful than homophobia.

- Since Lex and Ethan also went to Hatchetfield High, Max would have definitely tried to get it on with Lex, mirroring his thing with Grace but this time the forbidden fruit is that she's a senior and she genuinely doesn't give a flying fuck about him. Imagine a younger, less jacked Max Jägerman in his sophomore year constantly getting his shit rocked by Lex and Ethan every time he tried to shoot his shot.

- Karen Chasity was secretly the most rebellious and incorrigible party girl on the planet. She started dating Mark and her viewpoint changed. She now denies everything she did in highschool.

- Paul and Ted once accidentally kissed at an office party after getting a slight bit too drunk. They have both agreed never to speak of the incident ever again (the one thing they ever agreed on).

- Pete loves horror movies because he’s a special effects geek and Steph lies and says she likes horror movies so she still looks cool but is actually not a fan and the scares almost always get her.

- If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp, in that she barely has a filter. If she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

- No one at CCRP ever knows what to get Paul for work holiday parties so now he owns a bunch of gifted mugs and he's starting to run out of cabinet space because he doesn't want to get rid of anything that was gifted to him.

- Gary unironically refers to Facebook as "the book of faces”

[yandere-paramour]

Heyyyyy. So I wanted to know how it will be if Atalanta and Vivien met darling’s parents, and the parents were like “ yes my daughter has told us everything about you” . And I mean like EVERYTHING like darling said told their parents everything about them( including how they treat darling) but you don’t have to add that if you don’t want to. Hope you’re doing well btw ☺️

Vivien is sweating bullets. In my version of the story, Darling has no idea about his murders because he generally only eliminates the scum of society or people who hurt/upset Darling. However, Vivien will immediately freak out and think that everyone knows what he did. His eyes are wide, he's sweating, he's fidgeting, he is literally doing everything to make himself seem more suspicious. And he worked so hard too! He put on a nice shirt and combed his hair all nice, AND he brought Darling's parents a cake he baked. He wanted to make a good impression so bad and now everything is ruined! He doubts Darling will visit him in the maximum-security prison he is definitely getting put in. Vivien's thoughts are spiraling when Darling's Dad says "She told us all about the fresh strawberries you grew for her :D She says you're such a great horticulturist". He just stares for a second, then he snaps back to his regular easy-going personality. But late that night he's lying awake in bed thinking that he needs to calm down and probably not commit any murders for a while. Just in case.

Atalanta brought a very expensive bottle of wine to meet Darling's parents. As the day grew closer, she researched them extensively, trying to discover anything they might bring up. She wants to make sure she seems perfect, and everything seems to be going okay, but the situation has an unidentifiable weird vibe. They all sit down to dinner and open the bottle of wine. I doubt Darling would actually say out loud what Atalanta has done; I think there's a higher chance the parents would read between the lines or make up their own terrible conclusions. When they say this, Darling freezes and Atalanta's carefully constructed smile drops off her face.

After a full 30 seconds of tense silence, Atalanta speaks, setting down her fork, "Darling, I believe I heard Abebe call for me. Could you go see what he wants?"

"But-"

"Darling." Atalanta shoots her eyes to the side, giving Darling a look.

Darling blanches, hurrying up from her seat to go check on the guards stationed outside the suburban home. When she leaves, Atalanta turns her attention back to her in-laws. She expertly picks up her wine glass, swirling the golden liquid a little.

"Now, I truly believe I heard you wrong. What was that you said?" One could never say Atalanta wasn't kind; here she was giving them a second chance.

"I'm going to the police about what you've done with my daughter," Your father hisses, standing out of his seat, "You won't get away with this, you bitch."

Atalanta takes a sip of white wine, the corners of her mouth turning up into a small smirk, "Oh Richard... Who's going to believe you?"

Your father turns an angry red and your mother tries to pull him back down, looking between him and Atalanta in fear.

"Thank you for having me in your lovely home," Atalanta stands up, inclining her head in respect to her elders, "I'll send my precious Darling in to say goodbye. I suggest you stay quiet, if only for your own self-interest. I am extraordinarily lenient with my Darling, but that benevolence does not extend much farther. I'd hate to have to arrange some sort of "accident". I expect Y/N to be back in the car in five minutes.

She smiles, showing off her perfect teeth, "Please have a good night and a pleasant tomorrow."

Atalanta walks away, leaving your terrified and fuming parents in her wake.

[omgthatdress]

I’m assuming Maryellen’s Vacation Playsuit is meant to go with her Airstream trailer, campfire cook set, and hiking accessories, even though it looks like it’s much more suited to playing at the beach instead of a rugged hike through the woods. Would really like to see a proper hiking ensemble for her, but the playsuit is fucking adorable so I’m just gonna love it.

And her airstream. OMFG WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT. LOOK AT HOW FUCKING ENORMOUS IT IS.

Trailers, campers, RVs, and mobile homes were popularized in the 1950s as outdoorsy home-away-from-homes for the middle class. You could tow one behind your car and have a way to travel and go camping that didn’t involve actually experiencing discomfort.

People figure out pretty quick that they made for decent living spaces, and they were actually advertised as being a mortgage-free way to own a home.

Anyone who grew up in America knows that “trailer” quickly became synonymous with “trash.” To show how the mobile home went from an object of middle-class luxury to one primarily associated with poverty, I’m going to trace the history of what was once the skankiest trailer park in Seffner: the Scarab Trailer Park.

The property was bought in 1951 back before Seffner suburbanized, and it was primarily orange groves and scrubland. It had several trailers permanently parked there, as well as a couple of small office buildings. It rented trailers for the week, so families living in Tampa who wanted to get away for the weekend could come out and enjoy nature.

By all accounts, it was a really nice place, and had it been preserved, the trailers there would have been excellent relics of mid-century design. Along with vacationing families, the single-week rentals made the trailers popular abodes for the migrant farm workers who came in to work the orange groves.

Soon, Seffner went from being out in the boonies to being the suburbs. Two strip shopping centers were built on either side of the park. Families didn’t want to vacation here any more. The week-long rentals meant that the park was now primarily being occupied by the very poor and transient. In the 1970s, the property was sold to a new owner who was very uninterested in keeping the park the nice place it once was. One of the other things about living in trailers is that they weren’t built to last like a proper home is. They started falling apart, and their tenants didn’t have the money to make repairs. By the 90s, the Scarab Trailer Park was fucking gross.

In 2004, the property was once again sold, and the new owner evicted the tenants on very short notice, leaving them effectively homeless.

The trailers were torn down, and today the property is a Tractor Supply Store. Landlords are scum of the fucking earth. Capitalism must be destroyed.

[asukaskerian]

monthly word count - february

TOTAL: 7 422 words. progress! thank u meme friends.

POSTED: ( !! there is something for once!!!!) -Foretold by the Gods Scum villain's self-saving system - mobei-jun/shang qinghua arranged marriage (1 899 words) -To End a War - grimmichihime arranged marriage AU (2 089 words)

IN PROGRESS -cherry wine (2 783 words) (damn tobi, it was supposed to be a SNIPPET) -bleach suburban ot4 (651 words)

I am. Satisfied. It's still not a huge wordcount but lots of progress on cherry wine and TWO oneshots posted!!! gasp.

-- cherry wine -- A very small price for building trust with the Uchiha, he reminded himself. Hashirama was going to be so annoyingly happy at him.

"No. Don't tell me. Go tell the target."

Hanazura looked troubled. "Ah... Hairball guy?"

-- Note to self, do not choke. "... Yes."

"Uh. Hm. Hmmmm. Okay, that's another mission though. For the shooting the messenger aspect and other difficulties."

"You already negotiated for risks associated with the -- hm. Hairball clan."

It was very good that Muneharu-kun did not report directly to his brother. Hgh. Embarrassing.

"Yeah," Hanazura said, and then nothing else. Her dog looked up and said laconically, "One more mission."

... Tobirama really wanted to know what they had found out.

He had already decided not to ask, though. "A small mission."

"... Uuuugh. Hrm. Fine. I already fleeced you with the initial price anyway. Customer service!"

Muneharu-kun looked more incredulous with every passing second. Tobirama snorted at them both. Ridiculous children. "Fine. Sold." He took a kunai stamped with the Senju crest from his pouch and passed it to her. "For his and his brother's ears only. Tell them who hired you. I'll be seeing your clan head when you're done."

"Yessir, going straight away! Ooh boy. Fun. If I die my mom will have your liver for a snack, okay?"

"Fair. Go."

-- suburban ot4 --

"They're being weird, right."

Nelliel's whisper is as quiet as she can make it, coming out from the corner of her smiling mouth. Hime is buckling the kid into his booster seat and Ichigo fussing with the futon mattress to fit into the trunk, and they're not exactly not speaking, but--

"No idea what you're talking about," Grimmjow deadpans, and goes digging into his ear with his pinky, eyelids bored-low. Yeah, he's lying. She elbows him; he narrows his eyes. "Dibs on the front seat."

"Dickhead. Dibs on Hime's lap, so there." It wasn't even a serious contest; he's too tall to share the backseat unless Hime sits on his lap, and she might combust first.

It'd be cute, mind. Orihime gets so flustered. Grimmjow making his smoldering bedroom eyes at her with his chin hooked on her shoulder, hands on Hime's -- ooookay, the random pangs of horny can fuck off to the same place the random vomit crises and pee emergencies have been going, actually. Barring full on military campaigns her crotch is out of reach under Planet Baby Bump and it can stop sending her updates any day now.

Grimmjow folds himself into the front seat without ever replying to her, which is only one more clue that she is right and things are weird.

[hate5sixofficial]

Suburban Scum 2023-10-14 Salty's Beach Bar Lake Como, NJ

[saintsenara]

written for day 13 of @remadoramicrofics, for the prompt bones.

There was whisky in the sideboard.

It was Muggle whisky. Dad’s. From some distillery in the middle of nowhere in the Outer Hebrides, sold in Harrods and delivered by Uncle Tony every Christmas in wrapping paper printed with snowmen scrabbled from the bargain bin at Woolworth’s.

It was used exclusively for celebration. For the days you wanted to preserve in amber; the days when dad was pink-cheeked and roaring with laughter, and mum was tipsy and willing to regale them both with ridiculous stories from her childhood, instead of keeping all of it locked up in some secret place they could never reach from their little suburban house. It was whisky you toasted with, and tossed back on New Year’s Eve, and looked the other way about when your daughter and her best mate got pissed as newts on it the day their OWL results came, and Jade was sick in the bin and she was sick in mum’s hydrangeas.

It was whisky for joy.

That was, perhaps, why it hadn’t been opened the day she’d announced she was married.

There was stubble on Remus’ chin, its brown - mousy, rather than wolfy - flecked with grey. His face was growing sharper; he was no giddy newlywed, content to grow fat on his loving wife’s cooking now he’d left his bachelor days behind him. His wife could cook nothing more sophisticated than supernoodles, could do nothing more than press kisses to hollowing cheeks, to the angular juncture where the jawbone meets the neck, as if to say, let me warm you up, since I cannot make you any fatter, I can at least make you warm.

‘Did you find him?’ she asked, and it shocked her to hear that her voice was so small, as if something of it had been left in the night skies, caught by a Death Eater’s curse.

Remus shook his head. His temples were grey too, and she cursed herself for not being able to coax colour back into them. Love should have done that. It had for her, had turned her back into the rainbow-lustered creature who looked so wrong in mum’s neat living room, with its doilies and its aspidistra. Her childhood had been one of scolding, for chocolatey fingers on the chintzy arms of chairs and the coffee table broken when she tripped and fell over it.

‘Hagrid upended the entire lounge,’ mum had sniffed, when she’d returned - shaking and weary-eyed - from the Burrow. That could be easily translated, provided you were fluent in Andromeda Tonks, to Nymphadora, I’m so frightened.

‘Yeah, well, he’s massive, isn’t he?’ she had replied. That meant your sister tried to kill me. You have the same eyes.

And then she had sat in the dark, a mug of tea untouched before her, the milk turning to scum as it cooled. Her thoughts were nothing more coherent than flashes. Of green light. Of the set of Bill’s jaw, knotty scars running down it. Of Muggle towns twinkling below her like stars. Of the wobble in Mad-Eye’s jowls they all used to tease him about - on the easy days in the office, before there had been a war on - formed by the ready supply of chocolate biscuits in the staff kitchen. Of the way his face had been clenched - in the way you had to know him well to notice, but which, if you did, you knew meant he was worried - just before they’d risen from the ground into armageddon.

Almost as if he’d been expecting it.

She had sat, a picture-reel flickering in her mind, and waited for the scrape of a key in the door and the weary trudge of a man who should have been too young to be weary. Who should have bounced across the threshold to meet her, a bridegroom desperate to get home to his bride.

‘Did you find him?’

Remus shook his head. He was thin. When they lay in bed together, she could run her fingers up each bump in his spine, across each rib, along the hollows of his hip bones. Like an explorer, searching for something lovely in a wasteland, for a place where the sun shone upon pale stone. For a place where she could be the sun. Let me warm you up.

‘No,’ he said, and his voice was hoarse. He had obviously used up all the vigour he possessed to yell at Harry.

He walked to the sideboard and took out the whisky. Because he didn’t know that it wasn't the time to drink it, that it wasn't the booze they brought out in times of mourning. Because he was a stranger to the house, and that was why there was tension in every bone of mum’s hands when she passed him his morning coffee at their sunny little breakfast table, and that was why she looked at Tonks as though she had brought doom into their perfect world.

That’s vampires, mum. You don’t have to worry about inviting werewolves in, she had thought. What she had said was, ‘stop being so fucking prejudiced.’

‘Your father is making plans to flee,’ mum had replied, matter-of-factly, as if she said such things every day. ‘When the Dark Lord takes over. It will not be safe for him to remain here, not when there will be two wanted paramilitaries living in the house.’ She stirred a spoon through her tea, clinking it against the side of the mug. ‘We were left alone by him last time, of course. We kept our heads down. But you and Remus have put paid to that.’

And, for once, there had been no second meaning.

‘No,’ he said. He poured the whisky into a glass, his thin fingers tight around it, as though he was hoping it would shatter and rip through his flesh to the bone. He tossed his drink back. ‘No. The Death Eaters probably got there first.’

‘Oh.’

A muscle ticked in his jaw. She wanted to kiss him, to cup his face with her hands, to graze her teeth across his stubble and make him forget. She wanted to make him warm, to make him say that he loved her, to lie down with him and count the ladder of his vertebrae, and ignore for a few tender hours the fact that their days were running out. She wanted to pretend that their number had not become one fewer that night.

‘I’m going to bed,’ he said.

He pressed a kiss - lips closed and tight - to her cheekbone. And his skin was cold from his futile toil in the night air.

[marmorada]

It's obscene how short-sighted and brutish so many online leftists are. Anything these people don't directly relate to from their urban/suburban upbringing magically just doesn't deserve the analysis or class consciousness they otherwise enforce and it's disgusting.

A city dwelling McDonalds employee needs a living wage? Sure! The fact that they work for a shitty corporation typically blamed for the obesity epidemic doesn't factor into the discussion. They are human beings and they deserve rights.

A former miner living in the decaying rural coal belt is quoted in an article where he raises concerns about local environmental and animal cruelty issues? Fuck him!!!!! How DARE he pretend to care about these things when his poverty forced him to work for a similar large corporation at the cost of his health!!!! Shiteating redneck hypocritical scum!!!!

Like. Don't you get tired of being a vicious, hypocritical piece of shit.

[runthepockets]

Most of my experiences with emo subculture (as young kid in the late 2000s - now) was seeing a bunch of white people with admittedly cool hair and nice shoes who were sad about society and me as a black dude being like "hey, me too! Lets hang out!" and then immediately getting treated like scum of the Earth cus those little cocksuckers were not only just sad about not being able to be ignorant little kids with no responsibility forever rather than, like, being mad about poverty or world hunger or anything, but also because my presence as a black dude shook them from their lame delusions that they had it worse than anyone else in the room at any given time. Even the few black emo kids I knew (I was best friends with an emo black girl in middle school, we watched anime together and I read her chibi yaoi comics cus I like seeing black girls happy and successful even when I don't fully understand / relate) were always seen as lower on the caste, just completely expendable, cus they were easy and acceptable targets in a crew full of what was otherwise cookie cutter carbon copies of white fragility.

So yeah when I say I hate emo subculture it's not cus I'm a wet blanket who hates gender expression or vulnerability or whatever, I understand that that aspect was important and formative for a lot of people, I just know for a fact it's all encompassing of white American Protestant circlejerk that I'm always on the receiving end of it. And I single them out over most other white people because these environments foster this kind of attitude. It's a very insular, consumerist, cliquey subculture that prioritizes perpetual victimhood over self advocation, and white people eat that shit up. Emo subculture is, by nature, nothing but a huge circlejerk over who has it harder and then getting scared of outsiders on sight, cus, ykno, white people and perpetual victimhood.

Also, most of the music just plain fucking sucks. There are a couple of emo bands I cape for, but the genre as a whole is not good enough to be caping this hard for and probably never will be. I don't understand the hype, it's all fully grown men just complaining about their ex girlfriends, getting gassed up over their Metal and Hardcore and Punk counterparts via being less "barbaric" cus the former group is made up of suburban college kids who whine instead of being pissed off? They made Pete Wentz straight his fucking afro to be more accessible to white teenagers, dude. Like what the fuck. Is this classist, racist culture that's integral to these outfits only ok because the racism and bigotry is more "passive" than other music subcultures? Cus the people enforcing it went to college and have nice families in nice white picket fence neighborhoods? Cus that's whack as shit.

[remix-of-your-guts]

i cannot even lie i'm so stoked about kamala picking tim waltz like holy shit there could not be a more perfect choice for courting the white working + middle class especially in the rust belt. and the fact that you just KNOW every establishment democrat was saying she had absolutely no choice but to pick shapiro (conservative zionist scum), but she went with a strong progressive who grew up on a fucking farm in the midwest, was a public schoolteacher for years, was able to go to college thanks to the GI bill (just like me!! :D), and named his daughter hope because she was conceived with IVF. especially when contrasted with fucking jd vance who wrote an entire book shitting on working folks in appalachia. that line in his big speech recently where he said "like all regular people i grew up with in the heartland, jd studied at yale, had his career funded by silicon valley billionaires, then wrote a bestseller trashing that community (appalachia)." ‼️‼️‼️ LIKE IM SCREAMING HE FUCKING WIPED THE FLOOR WITH THAT BITCH. idk it's been a long time since ive seen any politician above the local level that actually feels like someone who understands rural/suburban working america.

in terms of foreign policy im sure he'll mostly stick with party lines, though in minnesota he has a huge muslim and somali constituency that he's worked very hard to listen to, being one of the rare dems to speak to the council on american islamic relations, and directly acknowledging the 20% uncommitted vote in the primaries in his state (and he's not shapiro 🔥🔥). there's also a lot of rightful critique of him for deploying the national guard against blm protesters in 2020, but at the same time he's been ruthlessly attacked by conservatives because he did hesitate to deploy the national guard and only did so once the cops started escalating the protests to legitimately dangerous and violent levels, and iirc he did actually implement police reform bills.

anyways midwesterners i love yall you deserve this W

[stephensmithuk]

The Man with the Twisted Lip

There were probably a couple of opium dens in London, but they were far common in France or the western United States.

London Bridge was the easternmost fixed crossing a vehicle could use in 1889. Tower Bridge was under construction and the Thames Tunnel was used by trains by this point. The latter still is, part of the London Overground. So, it was ferries east of that.

The wharves and docks stretched (mostly) on the north of the river east of London Bridge to Beckton. There were some smaller older quays to the west, like the now Hays Galleria shopping area. The docks at Tilbury also existed and they would take over as ships got bigger, leading to the gradual closure of the old docks, deprivation and then gentrification.

London's Chinatown consisted of less than a thousand residents and was in Limehouse. It is now in Soho, an area that was historically a red-light district but is mostly gentrified now, with a somewhat larger population due to immigration from Hong Kong.

The East End had a reputation as "a wretched hive of scum and villainy" fuelled by stories like this (also the Ripper murders of 1888), but was mainly just very poor. Slum clearance efforts were beginning, but not in any coordinated or effective manner at this point.

Threadneedle Street, in the City of London, is best known as the location of the Bank of England.

Lee was a middle-class suburb that sat on the edge of London in 1889; it had just been taken from Kent and incorporated into the new County of London. But suburban residents in London will still frequently identify with traditional counties.

However, the massive expansion of the city in the first half of the 20th century put Lee in inner London and it today sits in Zone 3 for public transport fares. Indeed, the opening of the railway station in 1866 is what made Lee a desirable area and it still is.

Bow Street police station was a famous police station in London, sharing the building with an equally famous magistrate's court - the building was pretty new, finished in 1881, but the Bow Street Runners before that (set up in 1749 by judge and author of Tom Jones Henry Fielding) were the first effective law enforcement force in London. The former closed in 1992, the latter in 2006 and there is now a museum on site.

"Hugh Boone" would have been charged and fined for breaking the Vagrancy Act of 1824, a piece of Georgian-era legislation enacted because the British government decided that the best way to deal with a surge in poverty and homelessness after the Napoleonic Wars, along with a massive internal influx of economic migrants, was to make rough sleeping and begging illegal, with a maximum sentence of a month's hard labour. This act also covered prostitution, but was in practice mostly used against gay men.

The act remains on the statute books, albeit heavily amended - and somtimes used against homeless people; with 114 people charged in Greater London in 2019-2020. The currently Tory government has pledged to repeal the act and passed legislation in 2022 that will allow for that once a replacement act is enacted to cover some of the other offences in the still-extant text, like hiring children as beggars.

[byronsmuse]

What Pulp had in common most of all with the lineage outlined at the start of this introduction was a certain vengeful self-creation; the sense that they, like Bowie, Bryan Ferry, Siouxsie Sioux, David Sylvian, Morrissey, Richey Edwards or countless legions of bored suburban stars who never made it into the spotlight, had spent their lives transforming themselves into characters, with countless hours in their terrace, semi or tower-block bedrooms devoted to achieving the exact conjunction that would make them unique, and that they could then use as a weapon against a world that had already wronged them beyond forgiveness. Usually, this involves deliberately exacerbating what are seen as flaws in the outside world; overemphasising to the point of either absurdity or charisma particular defects of figure, appearance and manner, whether an effeminate flounce or a doleful murmur. With some, this phase of creation lasted a couple of years, meaning that once they had achieved that perfect look, that impregnable aesthetic, it was fixed forever, and they were doomed to the perpetual, if lucrative, self-parody that Morrissey or Ferry’s careers devolved into. Pulp avoided that fate largely because that phase had lasted so long for them – over a decade, in their case, of considering yourself a star while the rest of the world considers you scum. It meant also that when they had their moment, in the fifteen minutes they had allotted, they were especially gleeful in their revenge.

Owen Hatherley, Uncommon