If you live in the US, you should not be freaking out about nuclear war with North Korea in a “we’re all going to die” way. DPRK has one rocket that can reach the continental US, it’s barely gotten functional, and they have no warheads small enough to be carried by that rocket. They can theoretically hit Hawaii and Alaska, but Hawaii is a small, long-range target and Alaska has very low population density, so attacks there would likely be ineffective.
That’s not to say that you shouldn’t be freaking out about nuclear war with North Korea. It’s to say that you should stop being so fucking self-centered about it.
We’re not going to die. If we nuke North Korea, we’ll wipe out thousands of noncombatants, just like we did in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Even in an “ideal” outcome for that first strike, where Kim goes down immediately, his military apparatus will retaliate — against South Korea and probably Japan. This hypothetical nuclear exchange will kill millions of civilians who, surprise surprise, live far away and look sort of not-European. Then we’ll spend the rest of our long, non-incinerated lives bickering with each other over whether it was cool of us to start that fight.
If you want to speak out against Trump’s nuclear bullshittery, don’t bleat “we’re all going to die.” Yell “no atrocities in our name.”
Rubbed on balls every night for three years straight and I still ended up with over twenty kids. This stuff does not work.
“
“I got a free cat in the box with this purchase but I’m not sure if I should open it to see if the cat is ok.”
“
I left this product next to my pet lizard, unfortunately now he’s 350ft tall now and is currently destroying Tokyo, Japan”
“If I opt for air mail does it get delivered by Amazone Prime Air or CIA drones?“
“I want to turn my pet iguana into a 400 foot tall kaiju with radioactive breath. How many should I buy?”
“Oh, so on re-reading the book, it’s nitrogen, phosphorus, and POTASSIUM in garden fertiliser. Not Uranium. My bad, great product, and I’m now off to take the tomato plant for its walk.”
“Would rate zero stars if I could! I guess the super powers you receive from this product are completely random. My power was colon cancer and the ability to smell colors. How am I supposed to fight crime with that?! Do not buy!”
“
Relabeled it liverwurst and left it in the break room fridge. Of course it was gone the next day. Turned of the lights in our office and as expected, Peter from accounting was the only one glowing in the dark. No wonder he never brought lunch to work.”
“This stuff works great as hair removal. Take the rock and crush it into your shampoo. All of your hair will fall out, and give your head a nice glow so you can read without any lights on.”
Alzu and Almul inspect a corpse, Almul takes out some frustration on said corpse. Warning: messy. Descriptions of a corpse being messily taken apart and inspected. Also- it’s not technically cannibalism because they aren’t the same species, but Alzu is an opportunistic carnivore faced with a body made of meat. His response is unsurprising.
“What- you wanna know why that works?”
Alzu kicked lightly at the corpse of someone who had
formerly been a rather nasty rapist, turning the body over to look down at the
severely burned face. “Yeah, actually- not a bad question. See- clearly dead,
but you only burned ‘is face. Got all choke-y, though. Bet he couldn’t breathe,
but- yeah, might as well, let’s figure ‘er out. Gonn’ make a mess o’ the guy
anyway, may as well learn.”
Hefting the corpse, Alzu tossed it over one shoulder and set
off, tail wagging slightly as he watched Almul following. Almul got an energy
boost from being near something that was dying, so they were now trotting
happily, almost seeming to whistle as thin lines of smoke wafted up from their
frame. If Alzu were to open Almul’s chest, their life-flame would be visible
and burning bright.
Once they were well away from the road, Alzu dropped the
corpse and pulled a large hunting knife from its spot alongside his pack,
crouching to inspect it. “A’ight- let’s see if I can open this wi’out makin’ a
mess.”
Almul sat down nearby and rested both hands on the ground,
watching intently as fragile human hide parted under the knife, and didn’t
bother trying to hide their satisfaction at the noise it made. Ugh- smooth
skin. They had nothing against humans, really, but the squishy things still had
such an awful texture. And, after so
long feeling that inside them, unable
to see properly or focus on anything else, there was something viscerally
satisfying about watching-
Wait, now… it didn’t have to just be watching. Rumbling
softly, Almul reached out with one hand and slowly dragged it down the man’s
leg, watching the cloth part, then repeated the motion- this time tearing
through skin. And he was right- it was satisfying.
So very, very satisfying. Enough that he repeated the motion, then again- with
both hands this time, clawtips sharp as possible, ripping pale skin to shreds.
Then further through skin, into and through muscle, shredding in further until
the still blood started to cake their hands-
“Woah, hey- Almul, you wanna mess ‘im up, I got no
complaints, bu’ you might be gettin’ kinda- hey now, easy, shh. Catharsis is
all well an’ good, jus’ no good makin’ yerself more upset while ya do it. Easy-
shift t’ th’ other leg now, gonn’ get blood all up in yer hands. Yeah? There we
go.” Alzu purred, pausing in his careful parting of the skin and muscle to
watch Almul for a moment. “Tha’s better.”
He had to crack the ribcage rather carefully to get to the
lungs intact, but it worked, though he had to pull a few large chunks of rib
out. And, of course, pop them into his mouth to chew on. “Now-“ *crunch* “-what
we have here arrrre- lookit, tha’s a heart, you know ‘bout them. Now, these’re
lungs. You also know ‘bout them, yeah? We got heart here- pushes blood ‘round.
Lungs, they get air in ‘em. People really need air in ‘em or they die, you
figured tha’ out. This, here- diaphragm. Real strong hunk o’ muscle. This-
pretty sure it pulls down an’ helps open th’ lungs. Ain’t no good for eatin’,
not bad fer jus’ chewin’ on. Anyway- lungs. They got air in ‘em. All th’ way up- that’s th’ windpipe. Gonn’ cut that
through, an’-“
A few deft cuts and nicks with his claws, and he lifted the
lungs out of the human’s chest, splaying them grotesquely across the relatively
intact stomach. The hunting knife, next- slicing down the windpipe, then into
and across one of the lungs. When he spread them open, thick burns were
revealed all down the windpipe and into the lungs, scorching them almost beyond
recognition. “Well. There’s yer problem.”
Pausing to point out the issue, Alzu aimed a tongue-lolling
grin at Almul, prodding at a particularly bad spot. “Lookit this mess, Almul-
that ain’t good! Okay, look- I dunno how lungs really work, but I doubt they can do it when they’re
all burnt up. Tha’s why ‘e’s dead. You gotta have lungs t’ be a workin’ human,
an’ they gotta work, an’ you made ‘is lungs not work. Nasty. But- mmph-“
Clearly he had to
see what those tasted like. And they fit in his mouth in two nice bites.
“-like a lotta nasty things, tasty.”
Almul had mostly been ignoring Alzu’s work in favor of
clawing up the corpse’s other leg, stripping long ribbons of skin free and
hissing in satisfaction with every long stroke, but they stopped to look the
organ over before Alzu, once again, ate their anatomy lesson. Chirping quietly,
they shook their head and flicked both hands, peeling loose the bits of gore,
and leaned over to look down at the exposed organs. Humans were complicated.
What did all this do, again? They only knew about the bits that could make
someone dead if you damaged them right. So, making the noise that they’d
established with Alzu as meaning “please explain”, they indicated something
that was in the “this will eventually kill someone but not right away” section,
wanting to know what some of those things did.
“Wha? Ah- let’s see. Okay. That, there, tha’s a liver. Real
tasty, lotsa meaty flavor. Not certain wha’ it does, bu’ I know people who
drink a lot got real messed-up ones, an’ there’s some diseases that’ll do it.
Makes people ge’ yellow eyes, an’ they get real sick when they got messed-up
livers, so I think it does somethin’ like blood-cleanin’? Now- this, in here,
dunno. Uh- tha’ thing? Tha’s a kidney. Lookit- you follow th’ string down, goes
t’ the bladder. Tha’s where piss stays. I figure kidneys’re wha’ make it. Dunno
why, sorry, y’d need a doctor. Uh- you punch someone in their back, o’r th’
kidneys, they start screamin’. Don’ taste good, either. Now- I am gonn’ eat
this liver.”
Alzu then proceeded to eat the liver, tail wagging
vigorously, before just driving both hands into the corpse’s innards and
ripping. Standard contract deal- make a horrific mess of someone’s innards,
hang them up as a warning, write whatever they did on something nearby.
In this case, a cliff.
Almul sat back and watched, fascinated as always by the way
flesh tore under proper force, and kneaded their claws in the leaf litter to
clean the worst of the blood away. As Alzu continued to work, they edged over
and grabbed the pack, pulling out a length of rope, and fastened it around the
corpse’s ankles. The knot was not neat, they were still learning how all that
worked, but it held well enough, and they had the end of the rope in their
hands as Alzu stood up.
“Yeah- there we go, yer learnin’ how ta make knots.” Alzu
declared, tail waving a bit harder, and hoisted the corpse in both hands so
that the end of the rope could be tossed over the branch. A quick pull and
another knot later, and the corpse was suspended from the tree by both ankles
and one arm- thoroughly undignified, plus it showed off all the damage. Alzu padded
over to the cliff nearby for just long enough to paint “RAPIST” in messy
letters across it, using the blood all over his hands, then shook himself and
scooped the pack up as he padded away. “Startin’ ta leak gut contents
everywhere. C’mon- let’s get a river.”
Churring in agreement, Almul followed Alzu and snagged a
cloth from the pack to clean their hands off, quiet and satisfied. Okay. That…
that had felt nice.
Maybe they could do this with the next target. It wasn’t as
if the average rapist deserved any respect, after all- might as well use them
for something helpful.
I wore a Captain America t-shirt the other day, a shirt I got at Gamestop on sale. It features a vintage cover of a Cap comic and it’s one of my favorite shirts. I wore it to work and then needed to go to Micro Center (local computer store) to buy a new video card for my PC.
So I’m walking around Micro Center with my husband, who is infinitely smarter about computers than I am (considering I work in IT) and we’re trying to find a better, but cost effective video card and this guy, who looks like he walked out of King of the Hill and who, I kid you not, somehow smelled of pizza and Mountain Dew, glances over at me and with a stupid smirk on his face says, “Bet you can’t name one Golden Age Captain America title.”
Now, don’t get me wrong. I know the rampant trends of shaming female comic book and video game fans are a real thing but I have been wearing DC and Marvel shirts for a very long time and never had someone actually call me on it, least of all in public. My first reaction was to roll my eyes and ignore him. My husband turned his head and said, “Excuse me?” in a rather loud voice, but I decided to embrace this “teaching moment” and turned to him.
I smiled politely and nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” I told him. “I’ll name five Golden Age titles if you can tell me, in a clear and concise way, how to find a woman’s G-spot.”
The look on his face would have been enough to make me turn around, satisfied that I’d shut him up, but I wanted to drive my point home, because fuck that guy, right?
So I stepped toward him and said, “Can you?”
By now, a store employee had stepped into the aisle to pull something from the shelves and overheard my licentious question. Mr. Mountain Dew gaped silently, like a fish out of water and I waited patiently, the same smile on my face. After a minute of silence, I said, “Nothing?”
Mountain Dew finally found his voice and said, “What the hell does that have to do with Captain America?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” I said. “First, I want you to clarify something. Do you like women?”
Once again, he was speechless but eventually said, “Yes,” in a defiant, indignant tone.
“Interesting,” I said. “Now correct me if I’m wrong, but your demand that I name a Captain America title was intended to prove that I was somehow impersonating a comic book fan by daring to wear this shirt in broad daylight, am I right?”
Silence. So I continued.
“But if I apply the same logic to you, it could be said that you’re impersonating a heterosexual male, because after all, why should you be allowed to fuck women if you don’t know how to do it properly?”
I didn’t wait for him to answer. I grabbed my video card, paid, and left and now, I wear that Cap shirt with a sense of victory I didn’t have before.
Moral of the story, kids: Don’t be a dick to people who wear their fandoms or interests on their clothes if you can’t handle the clapback.
Hail to the queen!
You don’t owe anyone an answer but damn was that a great one
Holy. My Queen. I’m always scared to wear my fandom shirts because of this but now…well 👐👐👐
damn
Steve Rogers would SO approve
DAAAAYYYUMMMMM YOU SLAYED
I salute you!
forget the burn ward, go straight to the mortuary because that man was just cremated.
I picture that exchange went very similar to this:
Cooking Personality Test – the recipe you’re making calls for six ounces of tomato paste, but you can only get tomato paste in 5.5oz cans. You:
Crack open a second can and skim 10% off the top
Use one can and adjust the proportions of everything else accordingly
Use one can and don’t adjust the rest because it’s really not that critical
Find the least common multiple between 5.5 and 6 and make eleven batches at once
Give up and order pizza
Depending on the recipe, probably just don’t adjust it. If it’s for anything other than baked goods, it’s probably not that important to have exactly the right ratio.
If you are considering meeting up with someone online use this trick identify who really are who they claim to be:
1. Ask them to Skype 2. If they refuse or can’t for some reason ask for a current selfie 3. If they also refuse or can’t do not meet up with them 4. If they provide one ask them to send another with them holding 3 fingers up 5. If they refuse read step 3 6. If they provide a selfie where they show 3 fingers they are probably for real
(If you’re still unconvinced try again with them drawing something in their hand)
I SAY THIS FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY please spread this message as more and more young people are lured out into situations where they get kidnapped because they weren’t 100% sure the person they were talking to was real.
ALSO IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 MAKE SURE YOU STATE THE FOLLOWING:
“My [fill in trusted adult here] wants to come too. [pronoun] said we can do our own thing and [pronoun] will just sort of grab [pronoun] own table, but I wanted to let you know. Hey, if you have an adult coming too they could sit together!”
If hearing this freaks the other person out and they decline, TERMINATE ALL CONTACT. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to block. I’m 26 years old and if you tell me you’re coming with a friend or parent for your own safety, I will automatically say “hey, cool. Y’know, if you’re nervous we can just do Starbucks or something, I’m okay meeting in a busy place. That way your [adult/friend] can hang out, too, and they don’t have to pay for [admission, a movie ticket, whatever].” Your safety and comfort is important to me, and is important to any good person you meet online who wants to meet up IRL. In the early 2000s when I first started seeing online safety PSAs, this was a widely-spread tip. Use it.
And for the record, you can use this over the age of 18, too. I still won’t meet people from online except in public places. You never know–that person holding up three fingers and drawing a Pokemon on their palm could be some pervert’s child, niece, nephew, family friend’s kid who was encouraged to take some silly pictures. Always voice-verify and always meet in public, with another person if possible.
Be smart and stay safe, kiddos. Nina loves you.
This is all so important for everyone and especially my younger followers.
Anyone who is being upfront with who they are and who you can trust will do whatever they need to do to make you and your parents/guardians comfortable. Hence why I am constantly requesting to too-busy-dancing13 to FaceTime her mom…
Please please please listen to this. Not everyone out there can be trusted.
And don’t just use three finger selfies that’s used a lot. Mix it up ask for the person holding a fork or a paper with a certain word written on it. Stay safe ppl
Another important one I feel the need to mention cause it wasn’t covered; If you’re under 18 as well and the person advises against you talking about them to their parents or guardians, get the fuck out of there. They’ll try and convince you otherwise, but trust me; anyone who is against you telling your parents about them is bad fucking news.
If you live in the US, you should not be freaking out about nuclear war with North Korea in a “we’re all going to die” way. DPRK has one rocket that can reach the continental US, it’s barely gotten functional, and they have no warheads small enough to be carried by that rocket. They can theoretically hit Hawaii and Alaska, but Hawaii is a small, long-range target and Alaska has very low population density, so attacks there would likely be ineffective.
That’s not to say that you shouldn’t be freaking out about nuclear war with North Korea. It’s to say that you should stop being so fucking self-centered about it.
We’re not going to die. If we nuke North Korea, we’ll wipe out thousands of noncombatants, just like we did in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Even in an “ideal” outcome for that first strike, where Kim goes down immediately, his military apparatus will retaliate — against South Korea and probably Japan. This hypothetical nuclear exchange will kill millions of civilians who, surprise surprise, live far away and look sort of not-European. Then we’ll spend the rest of our long, non-incinerated lives bickering with each other over whether it was cool of us to start that fight.
If you want to speak out against Trump’s nuclear bullshittery, don’t bleat “we’re all going to die.” Yell “no atrocities in our name.”
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