timeisjustasocialconstruct

[timeisjustasocialconstruct]

The notes are broken. This is what tumblr is all about apparently.

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Vimes: I hate the rich, and nobility are pretty much just scum

Vetinari: let me be real funny for a moment

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“He wanted to go home. He wanted it so much that he trembled at the thought. But if the price of that was selling good men to the night, if the price was filling those graves, if the price was not fighting with every trick he knew … then it was too high.”

— Terry Pratchett - Night Watch

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To Explain the Glorious 25th of May

For those of my followers who are confused, here’s a brief explanation.

In the Discworld book Night Watch, the 25th of May is the anniversary of the Revolution of Treacle Mine Road, otherwise known as the Glorious 25th of May. This was a relatively minor skirmish in the city’s great history, a struggle for power, a liberation that removed a madman from the throne to replace him with a different madman. But it was the city fighting back against oppression and cruelty and torture.

And in the fighting seven men died. Seven graves in the cemetery. And those who were there wear the lilac to remember them.

Discworld fans use this date as a convenient date to honour Sir Terry Pratchett and to remember his work.

Because there truly are no books like them. They are so amazing, with Pratchett having an amazing insight into fantasy, as well as the depths of the human condition.

Night Watch especially shows this. It’s dark, it’s funny, it’s grim, it’s silly. It’s a book about inevitably, it’s a book about change. It’s terrifying, it’s bleak, it’s hopeful, it’s warm! It’s about a man reliving the worst days of his past, but he still strives to protect those he knows are lost. Because they’re not lost yet. They’re in front of him and he does the job in front of him.

Where, as civilians riot against the cruelty of the law, a man defends his watch house by sitting out front with a cup of lukewarm cocoa in one hand and a cigar in the other, telling the rioters he’s on break.

A book where a man must mentor his own child self. A book where he must walk his own past through the horrors he witnessed.

Where he gets so close to changing fate, before fate spins round with a haymaker.

And it’s also a book where the chant of the revolution is “Truth, Justice, Freedom, Reasonably Priced Love, and a Hardboiled Egg.”

Where there is an old soldiers song about angels sticking their arses in the air, that just might make you weep.

We love you, Sir Terry Pratchett.

How do they rise up?

GNU Sir Pterry.

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Damn! Damn! Damn! Every year he forgot. Well, no. He never forgot. He just put the memories away like old silverware that you didn’t want to tarnish. And every year they came back, sharp and sparkling, and stabbed him in the heart.

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How do they rise up?

(Source: https://www.discworldstampcatalogue.co.uk/shs0310.php)

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@Stupid_Lynx 's and mine take on how this priceless dialog happened on the old cemetery of Ankh Morpork one glorious 25th of May

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Truth! Justice! Freedom! Reasonably Priced Love! And a Hard-Boiled Egg!

How do they rise up, rise up high?

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“And so the children of the revolution were faced with the age-old problem: it wasn't that you had the wrong kind of government, which was obvious, but that you had the wrong kind of people.  As soon as you saw people as things to be measured, they didn't measure up.”

May your 25th of May be glorious. May your lilac be sweetly scented. May your egg be hard-boiled.

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I found this on Pinterest I’m cackling

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happy glorious 25th of may

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hey guys i made the tumblr default pfps but they're looking directly at you

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When author Andy Mirror wakes up to a furious call from his publishing agent, he’s not sure what to make of it. Apparently, the Chicago Sun-Times has announced a new book that this agent was not a part of negotiating. It’s called The Last Algorithm.

There’s just one problem: The Last Algorithm is not a real Andy Mirror book.

Now Andy is struggling to unravel this mystery, headed to The Chicago Sun-Times building that is bafflingly empty, save for a few machines rolling around. When Andy encounters the physical manifestation of this fake book he is shocked, and strangely aroused, these feelings culminating in a hardcore pounding that will reshape journalism forever.

This erotic tale is 4,200 words of sizzling human on fake AI generated book action, including anal, blowjobs, rough sex, and The Last Algorithm love.

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please enjoy new tingler THE LAST ALGORITHM: POUNDED BY THE FAKE BOOK THAT AN AI CLAIMED I WROTE AND THEN THE CHICAGO SUN-TIMES PRINTED AS FACT out now on amazon and all patreon tiers

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no sorry i dont really use instagram, i can contact you via ouija board, spirit box, fluctuations in temperature, flickering lights, and certain rituals. i am also on tumblr.

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as a child being told "the moon controls the tides" with no additional explanation was like. oh okay. you want me to believe in magic? you're talking about magic right now? okay. fine