So, last November, I was driving to Denver with my sister, when she told me she identified as Asexual and felt that I should know. I think she was expecting me to ask a bunch of weird questions because she literally pulled out notes, but I got to be “Nah, it’s all good and I’m glad you feel safe enough to some out.” and since there wasn’t much more to say, we went back to swearing at the shitty drivers on I-25.
Two exits later, it occurred to me that I hadn’t actually seen my sister for a year prior and might have forgotten to come out to her when I was doing it last March. “Just to be clear- you know I’m Bi, right?”
“OH MY GOD.” she howls, making me almost plow into a pickup in surprise. “YOU’RE EITHER AND I’M NEITHER.”
I had to pull over I started laughing to hard.
***
I bring this up because 1. She just publicly came out and 2. SHE MADE US MATCHING SHIRTS FOR THE NEXT PRIDE. I LOVE IT.
Quick reboggle because Update:
Sister has found herself an Ace Girlfriend and we’re all thrilled for her.
In the interest on Gender Inclusiveness we’ve decided to to change the banner to “All Or Nothing”
Mom went to FoCo pride this year with Bi/Pan/Ace/Queer swag and pamphlets and she had crying teenagers hug her because they were so fucking happy to have someone in their corner. So we’re doing it again next year, but with like, 500% more stuff because it ran out FAST.
Been shaking a lot of TERFs and pro-Aphobia blogs out of my followers this week and This is your Decidedly Unfriendly Reminder that if you see fit to harass anyone about their sexuality or gender you can meet me in the fucking pit.
me when offered soda: yes. love the bübblés
me when offered water: yes! a fresh and sexy beverage
me when offered sparkling water: Why Are You Trying To Murder Me Under The Guise Of Hospitality
I’m gonna keep saying it: sparkling water is Angry Water and I do not need that kind of negativity in my life
Sparkling water is like sprite except instead of sugar they use hatred and sadness
Terry Pratchett makes a cameo at the end of Going Postal (2010).
In over 70 books, Terry enriched the planet like few before him. As all who read him know, Discworld was his vehicle to satirize this world: He did so brilliantly, with great skill, enormous humour and constant invention.
Terry faced his Alzheimer’s disease (an ‘embuggerance’, as he called it) publicly and bravely. Over the last few years, it was his writing that sustained him. His legacy will endure for decades to come.
I feel like the reason there aren’t any ‘Jewish hero fights the Fair Folk’ stories is because we’d easily get out of that situation.
Like, put Hershel of Ostropol in any situation involving the Fair Folk and bro would talk his way out.
This is why I’m not really scared of paranormal beasties. But yes, I’d enjoy reading this happen.
Names have power? Give them your secular name and not your Hebrew one.
If you eat their food you’re trapped? It’s not kosher anyways.
They speak in riddles? What, and you didn’t grow up answering a question with a question?
Confuse the Fair Folk with impossible halachic questions: if a man falls off a roof and onto a woman and as a result she becomes pregnant, is he obligated to marry her and is the child a mamzer? If meat is grown in a laboratory from a mix of various animal cells is it kosher, and is it even meat, and what bracha would you even say on it? Is a unicorn permitted to cleanse a poisoned stream on Shabbat using the innate purifying powers of its horn or does it count as work? Can it be justified as pikuach nefesh? Can necromancy be justified as pikuach nefesh, if one approaches necromancy with the understanding that it is just delayed medical assistance?
And if all else fails, you can always get out a fleischig pan, kick ass and take names, and don’t forget to say the blessing for fucking someone’s day up:
I’m going to save up for a new motorcycle by running a scam where I bet straight dudes at bars twenty bucks that I can get a girl’s number in under five minutes and then politely walk up her and say, “I just bet that asshole twenty bucks that I could get your number. I’ll split it with you if you pretend to laugh like I just said a good pick up line and then write a fake number on my hand.”
Like, I never understood those kind of bets in those shitty teen movies. Everybody loves being part of a scheme, man. Use your head.
If anyone ever does this to me I’ll call them out on being a con artist.
Joke’s on you, buddy. That’ll only have consequences the first, what, couple dozen times? I can take a punch.
But then eventually, I’ll have money for the bike, and whenever I get called out, I’ll just speed off, and, sure, maybe I crash and die in a gutter and the police can’t figure out why I have hundreds of fake phone numbers stuffed in my jacket and it launches a huge investigation that becomes sort of a local legend, but you know whose problem that is? Not fucking mine.
Because I’m a slutty motorcycle ghost, and who’s gonna’ stop me then? The ghost cops? Nice try. Everybody knows cops can’t become ghosts because they just go straight to hell. It’s basic math.
Moral of the story, don’t be a con artist or you will die in a horrible accident and become a lonely ghost.
First of all, don’t you ever accuse me of having morals, narrative or otherwise, ever again.
And second, where did I say I’d be lonely? I’d be a ghost on a motorcycle. That’s the sexiest thing that there is. You look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn’t bone Ghostrider. Look me in the goddamn eyes.
theclumsiestninja 