Are you sure you know what you’re asking of me? Are you sure? Well, okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. This post is long and contains description of genital injury.
So as you’ll know, I worked three and a half long, hilarious years at an NHS sexual health and contraception clinic. I loved that job, and packed it in because the Tory cuts to the service meant running it became hideously untenably stressful, but that’s a story for another time.
One of my duties at the clinic was to take phone calls. Patients liked me on the phone because I have a nice voice and I’m basically completely unflappable, and they felt happy to tell me things. A vital skill in the wang biz.
One day, a man called. This was not unusual. “Hello,” he said. “I need to see one of your nurses about my, er, my chap.”
“Righty-oh sir,” I said, “are you experiencing any symptoms that you’re concerned about? It’s just a yes or no kind of question.”
“Well,” he said, and I instantly felt a dark and terrible energy pulsate down the phone. “Well… sort of. But, uh, it’s not symptoms of anything, it’s just…”
I would come to regret what I said next. “Is everything all right, sir?”
“Well.” There was a pause. I heard fidgeting. “I got a yeast infection.”
Phew, easy peasy. Yeasties are easy to fix. I sounded reassuring and buoyant. “Well that’s nothing to worry about, sir - if you don’t want to get anything over the counter from the chemist, we can-”
“No, no, that’s not the problem. Listen -” he sounded serious. “Listen, I’ll just tell you what’s the matter, and you’ll see what I mean.”
This is where, whenever I tell this story, I like to ask the listener to play a little game with me. The game is “Where Would You Tap Out?” I’d have already tapped out by going to the chemist and getting some Canestan.
“I didn’t want any chemicals on my chap, so I decided to go for a home remedy. Internet said garlic was good for yeast infections, and I’ve got a lot of garlic, so I figured that’d be all right.”
I made sympathetic noises. Home remedies for yeast infections are normal, and garlic is actually quite effective. “Oh good,” I said.
“I wasn’t sure how much to use, but I figured, I have a lot of garlic usually, so I minced a whole bulb.”
The dark energy wafting down the phone intensified.
“I packed it all over my, you know, knob, made a poultice. Packed it all over the head, like a hat. But, uh, I wasn’t sure how to keep it on..”
I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want to scare him off by sounding judgemental.
“..so I just duct taped it all on. Wrapped duct tape all round it.”
Still with us? Tapped out yet?
“So er, that worked, kept it on nice and tight, and I left it on over night.”
Over night. All night with your cock mummified in garlic paste like some sort of fiendish chicken kiev.
“But, uh, when I took it off the next morning, well… garlic is…”
“Caustic,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Garlic is caustic.”
“Yeah! Yeah, it is!” he said, sounding cheerful that I, too, understood the Way of Garlic. “So I unwrapped my dick and, well, it looked kind of like… melted.”
I sat, silent, on the phone. Already I’d missed 6 other calls, watching them sail by on the other line while this saga unfolded.
“So I figured,” he continued, the terrible juggernaut barrelling unstoppably through this phallic disaster, “I should probably exfoliate it.”
“Exfoliate,” I echoed weakly.
“Yeah,” said this abject human disaster, misinterpreting my echolalic expression of horror as hearty encouragement. “So I had a look around the kitchen -” he was in the kitchen for all this “- for anything I could use and got my brillo pad-”
For anyone not in the UK, that’s what we call one of these:
I must have betrayed myself and given a gasp of horror at that point, because he quickly reassured me - “No, no, no, it’s okay - it was a new one!” before going on to describe scrubbing the affected area to remove the alkaline chemical burn that he’d inflicted on his poor, blameless cock.
“So you want to come in because of… this?” I said, assuming he would want a new dick by this point.
“Oh no, no -” he said, jovial again. “No, it’s all fine - it just, my knob’s gone all… well, it kind of looks camo print now. I was wondering if you could do anything about it looking camo print.”
No, sir. No, neither we nor anyone else can do anything about your camo print garlic cock mistake.
i just did a dramatic reading of this post to Darcy and they fell over with horrified laughter
One of the worse aspects of tumblr discourse is the separation of gayness from innate gender nonconformity
Gay people have a long and weird historical relationship with gender that’s been completely wiped away with identity politics
The assumption that any deviation from cis-ness is trans-ness is separating gay people from a historical relationship that gay culture grew around.
This isn’t to say that us cis lgb people aren’t cis/don’t have cis privilege because that’s not true.
What I’m saying is that the history is more complicated than that and attempting to remove an important aspect of gayness from gay people is dangerous for gay youth especially because our connections to our history are so thin at the tail end of the AIDS crisis.
So ,I’m a music teacher and every year we have what are called “walk through observations”. Basically, this means that 4 times a year the principal or vice principal comes into my class to assess my teaching. Fine. Sure. No problem.
Well, today I was doing an activity with my 1st graders called “Musical Groceries”. Basically, they make up a fake shopping list and then together we figure out what the rhythm of the words on the list is. To do that, a small group of students plays the beat on the conga drum while the rest of the students move around the room while chanting the word. It sounds weird but it’s a great way for the kids to figure out the relationship between syllables and rhythm.
They quickly get bored of walking the rhythm so I let them come up with their own ways of moving around the room.( skipping, hopping, etc) One student suggested they hop around the room like frogs, way down low to the ground. Okay fine.
Or it was fine until my vice principal walked in to do my observation only to find 20 seven year olds hopping around the room like a hoard of little hob-goblins, rhythmically chanting “BREAD! BREAD! BREAD!” while five other kids played ominous beats in a drum circle.
I have never seen anyone look so confused in my life and I really don’t want to know the rating I got on my observation.
GIVE THE FROG CHILDREN BREAD!!!!! ! ! !
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
The neural network has weird ideas about what humans like to eat
There’s a creativity variable I can set when the network is generating new recipes, and when I set it low, it comes up with its best guess at the most quintessential recipe titles:
When I tell it to get creative, things get even weirder.
Beef Soup With Swamp Peef And Cheese Chocolate Chops & Chocolate Chips Crimm Grunk Garlic Cleas Beasy Mist Export Bean Spoons In Pie-Shell, Top If Spoon and Whip The Mustard Chocolate Pickle Sauce Whole Chicken Cookies Salmon Beef Style Chicken Bottom Star * Cover Meats Out Of Meat Completely Meat Circle Completely Meat Chocolate Pie Cabbage Pot Cookies Artichoke Gelatin Dogs Crockpot Cold Water
ONE COMPLETE MEAT CIRCLE AND A CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CHOCOLATE CAKE PLEASE
I don’t think people in the US got this as much as we did over here in Europe and the rest of the football (as opposed to hand-egg) loving world. But this:
is a vuvuzela. The football loving (or just tolerating, or culturally affected by) world met these things en masse during the 2010 World Cup in South Africa. They were mass produced, they were fucking everywhere. They sound like this:
Over wide open terrain, perfect to summon your people for say, village council, which was what the original instrument was apparently used for. The plastic mass produced thing, in close terrain, is perfect to make it impossible for anybody to hear themselves think, let alone speak. Could it be perfect to disrupt a nazi, for instance if you are not able, for whatever reason, to punch him in the face? My friends, it just might be. Because these things were so heavily mass produced, at one point they couldn’t give them away. There is almost certainly still bunches of them sitting around waiting for the opportune moment, and the opportune moment is now.
If you’re someplace where nazis come to hate speechify (campus etc) get one. You don’t have to be super close for these things to be super effective, which is helpful if you’re not willing/able to get close up in somebody’s face - the damn things are just as disruptive from ten metres away.
It’s Vuvuzela revival time.
(Alternatively, I’ve seen collapsible ones on ebay and aliexpress for $2.50 and free shipping. Just saying)
look i want to be clear that i have no problem with this but it still is, on a conceptual level, a very funny image that seems very particular to the time and place we are at right now and i needed everyone else to see it. antifa furries, you have my full support.
I want to see Richard Spencer get decked in the fucking jaw by someone in a fursuit
Fine by me
When I was in The Furry Fandom back in the day, hawking commissions for Cold Hard Furry Cash (that got me through my undergrad degree! furries know the value of art, my friends) I came across the Furry Nazis. All them Doberman and German Shepherd and Wolf fursonas, and you know what? They called themselves Furzis. You know what a Furz is in German? It’s a fart. They essentially unknowingly called themselves the infantile diminutive for a fart in German.
tbh the most unrealistic thing in harry potter is when mrs weasley in the first book asks “now what’s the platform number?”
like this woman has been going to that school for seven years and then dropped kids off on the same place for nearly ten like why on earth would she forget the platform number
I still have the headcanon that Molly BAMF Weasley saw a scrawny underfed child with an owl who had no idea where he was going and looked lost and confused and was like, “Ah, yep, new son.” but didn’t want to scare him by outright approaching and asking if he needed help so she was just like, “MUGGLES, MUGGLES EVERYWHERE! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE PLATFORM NUMBER TO WIZARD SCHOOL IS? WHAT’S THAT? NINE AND THREE QUARTERS? OH, YES, THAT’S RIGHT. THE PLATFORM NUMBER IS N I N E A N D T H R E E Q U A R T E R S!”
Of course seeing as how Harry isn’t the most observant bloke, she probably ushered her kids past him fifty times as different ones screamed the platform number until they finally got his attention.
tumblr user, drinking a bottle of uncontaminated water in post apocalyptic america: i love this?? this is so pure omg
tumblr user, finding a miraculously untouched packet of frozen pastries in post-apocalyptic america: beautiful cinnamon roll too good for this world, too pure
tumblr user, succumbing to dehydration in the wilderness of post-apocalyptic america: my hands are literally shaking as I type this
tumblr edgelord, to a booby-trap in post-apocalyptic america, an arrow embedded deep in their chest: i’m sorry, are you triggered?
tumblr user, attempting to reestablish a pony express mail service across the shattered remnants of post-apocalyptic america: this post is important
tumblr user, standing behind thousands of other refugees from post-apocalyptic america, straining to hear the instructions of the volunteer who is giving them their floor space assignments: say it louder for the people in the back
tumblr user, handing out vials —filled with a cure for the plague which has devastated the world— to the remaining people of post-apocalyptic america: spread this like wildfire
tumblr user, checking the post-apocalyptic town’s notice board for information important to rebuilding: why doesn’t this have more notes??
tumblr user, about to venture out into a dangerous part of the post-apocalyptic world with a small group of volunteers for whom they care for dearly and are concerned about the mental wellbeing of and the impact the adventure could have on them: if you don’t like this unfollow me right now
tumblr user, watching a boy be dragged into the stocks of a post-apocalyptic settlement for the crime of stealing a crust of bread: FREE HIM
Post post modernism
tumblr user, trekking on foot across the burned out plains of post-apocalyptic america in search of refuge for what seems like forever: Is Canada even real?
tumblr user, being offered bark tea to fend off against scurvy in post-apocalyptic america: This tea is HOT!
tumblr user, alone and searching for the warmth and comfort of other humans and being jumped by a group of post-apocalyptic american vigilantes: I came out to have a good time and i’m honestly feeling so attacked right now
tumblr user, caring for a nursery of small children, the last children born into this broken, dying world, gently feeding them watery broth: take a fuckin’ sip babes
tumblr user, taste testing a piece of hard-won, possibly ill-gotten, grain-based food: i lik the bred
