- remaining alive
- learning
- being a fighty bitch
- spite
- being kind, when you can
- being nice to ghosts
7. Food
8. Music (Jewish/Israeli)
9. Holidays
holidays is just food
if I may:
- remaining alive
- subset:
(ง’̀-‘́)ง , as needed
- making sure others remain alive
- subset:
(ง’̀-‘́)ง , as needed
- learning
- subset:
(ง’̀-‘́)ง in an academic context, as needed
- being kind
- subset: you guessed it
- food
(ง’̀-‘́)ง over whose family recipe is better
- music
- we will find SOME WAY
spite is not listed here because it’s really just flavor text for all of the above
Tag: humans
Alien: You shouldn’t eat that.
Human: What?
Alien: That thing. Don’t you know it’s extremely acidic? Enough to cause eventual deterioration of your flesh?
Human: ….it’s a fucking pineapple.
Alien: But that thing contains bromelain, it’ll destroy your body’s proteins!
Human: Not if I digest the bromelain first.
Alien: Humans are insane!
“Not if I digest it first” is an official human motto, in close competition with “not if I pet it first”.

Inspired by a similar plan in Canada,
police in the UK gave out free lollipops
at the door of a nightclub to reduce
rowdiness after closing time. The idea
was that drunken, late-night clubbers
wouldn’t be inclined to shout or cause
a disturbance while they were sucking
on them. It worked. Source😀
A better story about peacekeeping.
Humans are Loyal if Properly Bonded
I was in charge of feeding the prisoners. This had been my task since the Queen had taken me and 2 dozen other Murania as hostages. The others had not survived long, but I adapted. Obeyed.
The Queen had taken a human. A rare being this far into the Deep, but one feared from one end of the galaxy to the other. According to the Encyclopedia of Sentient Beings Capable of Space Travel, humans needed a diet of roughly 2000 calories a sol served in traditional 3 portions a sol. Which meant that I had to approach the human three times a sol. I could not fail my duties.
The first attempt at feeding the large being ended with a tray thrown at my head with enough force that it would have caved my skull if I had not ducked in time. The human was raging, slamming their entire body against the containment bars with enough force to shake the floor and… and roaring. I cleaned the mess of nutrient paste as fast as I could and fled.
But five hours later found me trembling in front of the human’s cage with another tray of nutrient paste. The human had calmed and was glaring at me intently. I knew they did not speak Murania, but still I spoke my native language as I offered the food again. I did not get to speak it often and missed the sound. “Guria?”
The human tilted their head and to my shock, repeated the word, then repeated it again until they mimicked the sound perfectly, even with the slight whistle at the end.
I offered the tray. “Guria.”
They eyed it suspiciously so I tasted it, showing it to be safe. “Guria.”
They held their hand out and I gave them the tray, scuttling to a safe corner before they could attack me with it again.
They tilted their head again and scowled, then spoke in broken Common. “I thank”
I fled, claws scratching against the shiny floor.
Another five hours passed all too soon and I was back at the human’s cage with the final meal of the sol. They were moving slowly around the cage with their ear pressed to the wall, tapping with their knuckles. I watched them for a moment, confused at the erratic behaviour, but only managed a few seconds of observation before their head swiveled directly towards me and they stopped to face me.
I walked closer and offered the tray. “Guria.”
They took it. “How talk thank in you mouth talk?”
“Meesh Meesh.”
They opened their mouth and let out a loud, short bark, a laugh according to the ESBCST. (I studied it dutifully when they were brought aboard.) “Meesh Meesh!” They pointed to themselves. “Michael.”
My wings ruffled, the sound was so similar! I pointed to myself, “Mikel”
The human shook their head and pointed to themselves. “Me Michael.”
I jerked my head in an upward motion called a nod. “Yes, you,’ I pointed to them, “Michael.” I pointed to myself. “I, Mikel.”
They laughed again. “Michael, Mikel. Much same.”
I chittered. “Very similar, yes.”
Their eyes narrowed. “You work here?”
I bobbed sideways, a bit noncommittal, “As I must.”
“Must work?”
I searched for the simplest way to translate what I meant across the language barrier. “No work, in there.” I pointed to their cage. “Work, out here.” I hopped encouragingly. “You work soon, yes?”
The human bared their teeth and snarled. “No work. Fight.”
My wings flattened against my spine and I fled. Humans were so aggressive.
The next sol I completed my first duties and then found myself lingering outside the containment hall. I was apprehensive about what mood I would find the human in this time. I fluffed my wings out to convey confidence and clicked in with the human’s first meal.
“Mikel! Guria?” They were bouncing on the front part of their feet, hopping up and touching the ceiling, then dropping to the floor and pushing themselves up with their arms repeatedly.
“Yes. What are you doing?” I slid the tray to where they could reach and backed to a… well not safe but safer, distance.
“Work body. Stay strong.” They flopped over onto their back and turned their head to look at me. “Meesh Meesh.”
“Zuan.” I bobbed sideways before deciding to ask them the question I had been mulling over. “You’re Nice, mean, nice, mean.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah. Head bad.” They hooked their fingers like claws and shook them around their head. “Scare, tired, Fight.” They gestured to the bars and glared. “Not like.”
I nodded. “I know that feeling.” A chime sounded, signaling the Queen’s approach. I flattened myself to the floor and made way.
The Queen slithered in, her scaled body scraping against the floor with a sound that made my feathers stand up. She reared to her full two meter height and flicked her tongue out to taste the air.
“Human. You are mine now, you will serve the glory of me.”
Michael looked her up and down and whistled lowly then pronounced in exact Common. “Ugly. Mother. Fucker.”
I gaped at them in horror. They dared insult the Queen to her face?
The Queen hissed, but smugly coiled. “You will serve me, human. I know your kind. You are loyal. I feed you, I provide you shelter. I give you safety. You will love me.”
The human backed up, crouching into a fighting stance. “No love, mother fucker.”
The Queen wiggled and slid towards the exit. “You will serve me.” They paused to pat me on the head. “You have duties, tiny one.”
The next several sols passed in the same manner. I did my duties, I fed the human, we exchanged words. At night I tended my secret garden grown in glasses of water and composted nutrient paste from seeds and cuttings I snuck from the Queen’s hoard. The human was learning not only Common but Murania at a breathtaking pace. We could hold whole conversations now and I was no longer… completely apprehensive about approaching their cage. Michael had not acted aggressive towards me at all since the Queen’s visit.
The rare human plant called a “green bean” plant had fruited after several months of care and pollinating with the tip of my own feather. I was ecstatic over the first fruits of my secret labor and I felt that Michael would appreciate my excitement and maybe a taste of his home planet. Humans were said to be incredibly empathetic and sentimental.
That morning I secreted a pair of bean pods in my uniform and headed for Micheal’s cage. They seemed to notice something was different right away, peering at me with concern. “All okay, Mikel?”
I nodded and nervously whispered. “Secret, right?”
They lowered their voice and moved closer to the bars. “Yeah, secret.”
I showed him the beans. “I grew these. It’s the first harvest from the plant! It’s a huge secret, but I wanted you to have them.”
Michael stared at the beans with an expression I didn’t recognize for a long time before whispering, their voice strangely rough. “You get trouble for these?”
I nodded and tried to shove the beans into their hands. “Yes, a lot of trouble. Take them!”
They took them and smiled. “Meesh Meesh, Mikel. This…. This mean lot to me. I can’t say enough. Meesh Meesh.” They bit into one and grinned, crunching happily. “Very good! You do good!”
I chittered and ruffled my wings, pleased with the praise. “Zuan, Michael.” I gave them their tray of nutrient paste and fled.
The next day (human word for sol) I found a broken something in the Queen’s trash bin. It was silvery and had a lot of moving parts and made me think of Michael. I shoved it into my uniform and snuck it to Michael. They were overjoyed and immediately began fiddling (another human word I find pleasant to use) with it.
I found I enjoyed making Michael happy and kept my eyes out for things to gift them. A broken flute, a torn book, a shiny rock shard, a discarded pipe, a bit of string. It all was random junk, but Michael was still so happy for each item. It… was a pleasant feeling, almost like being back with my brood mates.
Then… Then the alarms sounded one morning and the ship rocked with an explosion. Frightened, I grabbed my precious green bean plant and rushed instinctively towards Michael’s cage.
Only to find they weren’t there. The bars were broken, bent outward and a piece of the wall was torn open, exposing sparking wires and smashed circuits. The lights were flickering and I could hear screaming. I decided to run for the escape pods and hoped that the Queen died in that explosion.
I had barely skittered into the hallway when I found Michael. They were fighting with a guard twice their size, but easily leaped around it’s bulk and stabbed it in the base of the skull with some sort of spear. A primitive weapon, but still deadly in the hands of the human. Michael rode the body of the guard down to the ground and leaped off, brandishing the spear at me.
Frozen in fear, I distantly realized the weapon was made from the shiny rock tied to a piece of pipe. I was to die from a weapon I provided then.
Except, Michael lowered the weapon and smiled. “Mikel! I find you! Come on! We get out of here!”
“Out… Escape?”
“Yeah! C’mon, I stole codes for ship!”
I followed them numbly, too scared and shocked to process that not only had a single human escaped a 1st class prison cell with just bits of junk, but had also destroyed the Pirate Queen’s ship, and was taking me with them.
It wasn’t until we were flying fast and far from the wreckage, headed towards a Trading Station, that I found my voice. “Why… Why would you save me? I…” I didn’t know how to express the fact that I was nothing, tiny, worth only for cleaning while the human was strong, big, and apparently a fearsome and brilliant warrior.
Michael glanced at me from the corner of their eyes. “We friends, Mikel. Friends no leave friends. Also, you trapped like me. On other side of bars, but trapped same.”
“Friends? But Queen provided for you, you were supposed to bond with her?!”
The human looked at me incredulously before laughing long and loud, his head thrown back with the effort of it. “No Bond with Queen, she put me in cage. You! You give me food, you talk, teach, you bring me presents. You good friend. Queen Piece of Shit.”
“Oh.” Michael had bonded with me. And.. I with them it seemed. And we were free. “Meesh meesh, Michael. You’re a good friend too.” I hugged my green bean plant. “What now?”
“I thinking I turn in Queen head for bounty, use money buy good ship again. After, you want go home or you want explore?”
My wings flared in excitement. “Can I have a garden room on our ship?”
Michael grinned and tossed his arm (gently) around my shoulders. “Yes, you have garden room. Grow lots plant in space. Explore! Garden! New Planet! New Seed!”
french recipes: if you’re not making this in paris then what’s the point. fuck you
italian recipes: use the left leg meat of a pig from one of three farms in this specific area of tuscany, or from this day my grandmother will begin manifesting physically in your house
american recipes: buy these three cans of stuff and put them in a pan congrats you cooked
chinese recipes, as handed down from mother to child: season it with a pinch of this and some of that. you want to know the exact amount? feel it in your heart. ask the stars. yell into the void.
English recipes: boil and salt it. Okay that’s it enjoy
Greek recipes: You followed all the right steps but this isn’t quite right. I don’t know what to tell you.
Australia recipes: chuck it on the barbie
Latinx recipes: you will never make it better than your abuela, face the facts
Filipino recipes: add rice and soy sauce and some more rice MORE RICE MORE RICE MORE
Serbian Recipes: everything is salad. Ajvar? Salad. A single whole hot pepper covered in oil? Salad. Cabbage? Salad. Kajmak? Salad.
Lebanese recipes: If you don’t have at least 3 family members cooking this dinner with you than you aren’t doing it right.
Indonesian recipes: have you added spices? Add some just in case. Eat with rice. It’s not a proper meal until there’s rice in it. You just had bread/burger/cake/pizza? Eat rice anyway or you’ll die of starvation
Bonus Javanese recipes: Have you added sugar? What do you mean it’s meant to be salty/sour/spicy/something else? ADD SUGAR.TO IT
Canadian recipes: Well part of the directions are in metric but you have imperial measuring cups. I hope you like math because we’re going to find out how many gallons in a litre and how many millimetres are in a cup.
Swedish recipes: Assemble all the beige items you have in your kitchen. Great. now add raw red onions, dill and salt and white pepper. if u prefer it blander, don’t do the last things. consider serving it with jam
Norwegian recipes: listen after three days skiing uphill you will eat anything so stop complaining.
Indian recipes: spend two weeks digging the required spices out of your cupboards. Chop onions until you cry. Fry onions with spices until evey pore in your body is open, let the fragrance seep into your skin, become one with the curry.
german recipes: this meal isn’t what you think it is. it has 164 different names in different regions. it’s either made of potatoes, served with potatoes, or it’s cake. there’s a 50% chance it’s actually austrian, but don’t tell anyone.
belarusian recipes: “cook over a slow fire until done”. how many degrees is a slow fire? when is “done”? what am i even cooking there’s no picture and the only ingredients are honey and cornflower
turkish recipes: “if you do this, there’s really -REALLY- good change that you’ll die because everything is too spicy or too sweet but here we go”
romanian recipes: if you don’t already know the ingredients and directions by heart then what are we doing here
Malay recipes: If it’s not spicy enough, it’s not worth it. You don’t have coconut milk? It’s doomed
Irish recipes: Potatoes. All potatoes. If it’s not potatoes it’s not food.
Estonian recipes: if it’s not brown, doesn’t look like turd and has no blood in it, you’ve failed
Lithuanian recipes: the main ingredient is potatoes. well, only potatoes. and eat it with half a loaf of rye bread
Item: whole-party motorcycle–just requires that nobody crit fails on Dex so they don’t fall off the log
Ya know, I’ve seen worse ideas. I think I’d recommend better seating and I definitely suggest helmets, but… sure! Why not?
calories in a cat
Mention to family that cat attempted to eat thyroid meds this morning, comment that human-sized dose of thyroid meds is probably not good for cats. Comment that human-sized dose of any meds probably not good for cats.
Brother puts forth the idea of food.
Wonder if a cat even contains 2000 calories.
Google many things including weight of chicken. Deduce that cat probably contains roughly as much food as large meat-breed chicken if not counting bones and organs. Deduce that small local cat therefore probably contains 1400 calories or so.
Brother notes that “how many calories are in a cat” and variations thereof only brings up search results for how many calories a cat should eat.
Point out that people who are eating cats are probably not in a mood to count calories. Also note that cats are not frequently eaten, likely due to the difficulty of catching and/or farming them. Proceed to defend this notion to snickering family, mostly pointing out that cats fight and are difficult to confine and handle.
Mom is writing a Facebook post about this whole conversation.
It’s always funny to see the gender-neutral words parents use for me when talking to their kids. “Go talk to that person,” instructs a mother, uncertain whether I am male or female but reasonably sure I am A Person.
Sometimes they will only refer to me as “A Worker”, which reminds me of bees.
