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I had a dream that there was this magic meteor coming to destroy the planet and the only way to stop it was to do an evil alien blood transfusion on this teenage girl to give her meteor-controlling powers. She was hesitant about this because she thought her crush might not like her back if she had evil alien blood and that it would be more romantic to die hand-in-hand with him as the world exploded.

But that was a problem for another dream—first we had to get the evil alien blood. The evil alien was this huge scary radioactive slime creature. It might have actually just been Alolan Muk the Pokemon, actually. There was no way it was going to give up its blood voluntarily, so someone had to make nice with it and get close enough to siphon some off. I didn’t so much draw the short straw as get instantly drafted into the role. “Go hench for the radioactive slime monster, you’ll be so good at it.”

And lads? I was so good at it. Maybe too good. I did a whole fucking creepy Igor voice and said stuff like “very good, your sliminess” and it became so attached to me that it wanted to hold my hand and cuddle constantly. The only reason this didn’t immediately kill me is because it has a glowing golden orb it could regurgitate that would heal all wounds in the vicinity and reverse radiation damage. Getting its blood was easy. Escaping less so—I tried to kill it by mixing up some slimes for it to absorb that would theoretically have an explosive reaction. No dice. Trying to trap it in the basement didn’t work—it just oozed up out of the floorboards (it lived in my grandparents’ old house, for some reason.)

And to be clear, it was evil. It was not a nice person. Being its friend and teaching it about the power of friendship was not going to work. It killed and ate organic life for fun and liked to make me sit uncomfortably close to it on the couch to watch Jerry Springer and laugh and laugh and laugh.

I finally snuck out for long enough to make contact with my teammates and get them the blood. By this point, other, smaller meteors were already striking the Earth. When the girl initially refused the transfusion I decided I didn’t want to spend my last hours on Earth hanging out with a really mean slime monster, so I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, booked a room in a nice hotel, took a luxurious bath, and ate nothing but croissants and raspberries until I looked outside and saw the slime monster standing in the rain holding a boombox above its head. It wasn’t playing music or anything, it just knew that this was the cultural symbol of Please Come Back.

The dream ended with a POV shift to the girl’s crush, who told her he’d love her even if she were part slime monster and helped her do the transfusion. No word on what happened to me.

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Cum is the 5th humor and brother, I'm about to start acting hilarious

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fights I would pay to see: sigmund “everyone is attracted to someone” freud vs John “sexual desire is evil and cereal can and will fix it” Kellogg

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You can only reblog this today or until the next Monday, June 19th, 2028.

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i love sluts i love perverts i love dykes i love faggots i love aromantics i love freaks i love librarians i love ibuprofen

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Governor Josh Green has signed legislation boosting the tax on hotel rooms and vacation rentals as Hawaii seeks to raise money to help address the potential ramifications of climate change.

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We all have that one mutual that doesn't follow us

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I had a dream that there was this magic meteor coming to destroy the planet and the only way to stop it was to do an evil alien blood transfusion on this teenage girl to give her meteor-controlling powers. She was hesitant about this because she thought her crush might not like her back if she had evil alien blood and that it would be more romantic to die hand-in-hand with him as the world exploded.

But that was a problem for another dream—first we had to get the evil alien blood. The evil alien was this huge scary radioactive slime creature. It might have actually just been Alolan Muk the Pokemon, actually. There was no way it was going to give up its blood voluntarily, so someone had to make nice with it and get close enough to siphon some off. I didn’t so much draw the short straw as get instantly drafted into the role. “Go hench for the radioactive slime monster, you’ll be so good at it.”

And lads? I was so good at it. Maybe too good. I did a whole fucking creepy Igor voice and said stuff like “very good, your sliminess” and it became so attached to me that it wanted to hold my hand and cuddle constantly. The only reason this didn’t immediately kill me is because it has a glowing golden orb it could regurgitate that would heal all wounds in the vicinity and reverse radiation damage. Getting its blood was easy. Escaping less so—I tried to kill it by mixing up some slimes for it to absorb that would theoretically have an explosive reaction. No dice. Trying to trap it in the basement didn’t work—it just oozed up out of the floorboards (it lived in my grandparents’ old house, for some reason.)

And to be clear, it was evil. It was not a nice person. Being its friend and teaching it about the power of friendship was not going to work. It killed and ate organic life for fun and liked to make me sit uncomfortably close to it on the couch to watch Jerry Springer and laugh and laugh and laugh.

I finally snuck out for long enough to make contact with my teammates and get them the blood. By this point, other, smaller meteors were already striking the Earth. When the girl initially refused the transfusion I decided I didn’t want to spend my last hours on Earth hanging out with a really mean slime monster, so I ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, booked a room in a nice hotel, took a luxurious bath, and ate nothing but croissants and raspberries until I looked outside and saw the slime monster standing in the rain holding a boombox above its head. It wasn’t playing music or anything, it just knew that this was the cultural symbol of Please Come Back.

The dream ended with a POV shift to the girl’s crush, who told her he’d love her even if she were part slime monster and helped her do the transfusion. No word on what happened to me.

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We had an interaction assignment, and GUESS WHAT I DID!!!

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again that rat man thing wheres the fucking post

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happy pride month

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a very gentle PSA that a writer is not a short-order cook, please do not try to order off the menu

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Over The Waves by Setsuko Matsushima

art quilt

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The American housing crisis is a theft, not a shortage

Economics From the Top Down: Since Reagan, the US has been on a massive policy of redistributing wealth from the poor to the rich.

By returning this stolen money, the US housing crisis would evaporate. No, I’m not kidding. If the United States were to undo its experiment with rampant inequality and return the distribution of income to the levels found in 1970, the housing crisis would disappear.

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