Friday Ephemera (669)
I don’t want to rush you, but the ground is approaching. || Dissonant vibes. || Gritty crime drama. || Suboptimal scenario. (h/t, pst314) || A soap manufacturer speaks. || For those who dislike dusting. || Today’s word is inadvisable. || Throws like a girl. || How menfolk pass the time. || Crashing into the Moon. || With 47,000 amps and quite a big magnet. || You know, I’m not entirely sure what the plan was. || I didn’t know this was a job. || Also a job, it seems. || This is more of a hobby, possibly a sport. || Attention, all landlords, the tenant of your dreams. || Attention, all black men, a tempting offer. || Seen from inside. || Assorted rotating sandwiches. || And finally, good news for the big-footed transsexual.
Should you be tempted, you can follow me on Twitter.
Um, just testing the comment function…
You know, I’m not entirely sure what the plan was.
A commenter downthread there says (and gives a link that’s supposed to go to a documentary about it, though it seems to be some kind of spam site) that she’s a deaf-mute woman from a rural village, who had no idea how an elevator works.
I need to know what that’s from. 🙂
Morning, all.
It’s episode two of Pui Pui Molcar, a Japanese children’s stop-motion anime about, er, cars that are guinea pigs. Or guinea pigs that are cars: “Crisp eyes. Big, round buttocks. Short limbs running around.” Obviously.
Thanks. Just seen it’s on Netflix.
Why isn’t it automated?
I didn’t know this was a job.
C’mon, who wanted to just put their mouth under the nozzle?
[ Moves Julia’s bar stool closer to the gents. ]
For anyone who hasn’t seen this yet, a PSA of sorts.
“This is my shocked face” and etc.
[ Hands out tiny crutches to prop up fallen jaws. ]
Er, what?
Well, indeed. It’s hard to see how any significant change could occur, beyond what might be expected from, say, a diet. I was poking through some trans discussion boards and lost count of the dysmorphic men claiming to have had their feet shrink dramatically, by three shoe sizes. But then, these are, by definition, people whose perceptions of themselves are… somewhat unreliable.
Not entirely unrelated, a juxtaposition of note.
Band name or album title?
For some reason, it brought to mind those 1970s paperback ‘novelisations’ of Doctor Who stories – Doctor Who and the Planet of the Spiders; Doctor Who and the Terror of the Autons; that kind of thing.
Doctor Who and the Big-Footed Transsexual.
‘Band name or album title?’
New Harry Potter novel..?
But which Doctor?
Well, at first I thought Jon Pertwee. The dandy out-dandied, as it were. Also, that’s around the time the books were everywhere. But then there’s… William Hartnell.
Oh come on.
It’s not without… possibilities.
Or from a slightly older generation:-
Tintin and the adventure of the Big-Footed Transsexual.
Tempting offer
Thanking the gods I’m white
It’s hard to see how any significant change could occur…
It can’t, the only way those foot size dysphoria can have their identified foot size affirmed is the same way most every thing else is “affirmed”, bright lights and cold steel.
Over at Matt Walsh’s twits on the same video, it is hard to tell (as usual) if comments such as…
…are piss takes.
Many such cases.
A new unit of measurement.
It was a little through-the-looking-glass, seeing dysmorphic men assuring each other, quite emphatically, that a chap with size 11 feet could, thanks to heavy drugging with oestrogen and some ladylike walking, develop dainty size 8s.
Because that’s how feet work, apparently.
Is that like a small boulder the size of a large boulder?
It is, everywhere else. Funny, tho…
You know what they say about big feet….
(wait for it)
Must be a clown.
(looks down at size 12s. Channels Pagliacci)
Throwing things: one of the big leaps in human evolution was the change in our shoulder to allow throwing. Apes can’t really throw, just fling. In S Africa they found piles of round rocks that had been brought from elsewhere, near the coast, and associated with very old human remains. Not suitable for tools. Probably for throwing at seabird colonies. Little boys spend hours throwing rocks (in the good old days when they were let outside).
Menfolk passing the time: hilarious. I would play that.
It’s a bit silly, but I could immediately understand doing it. I’m now trying to think of a female equivalent. Maybe the ladies can shed some light.
trans having periods: a period occurs when the uterus sloughs off the lining because pregnancy did not occur. No uterus, no period. It is the uterus contracting to expel tissue that causes cramps. No uterus, no cramping. To say you get either of these symptoms is an admission of mendacity or delusion. Or both. Feet have bones, your feet cannot shrink due to hormones. Again, delusion.
As regards the hammer and beam sport – layers of hearing protection strongly recommended. It only takes once and you’ve got crickets chirping in your ears 24/7/365 for the rest of your life.
Assorted rotating sandwiches.
I’m hungry now…
For anyone who hasn’t seen this yet, a PSA of sorts.
I guess it’s a commentary on how much the culture has changed that “over-the-top flamboyant gay man” is no longer the attention-getting and/or controversial spectacle it once was. This is why I’m not convinced that any of the alphabet activist crowd actually want acceptance. Once the first bunch of letters mostly got acceptance the T’s strapped on their jackboots and the whole mess started accruing letters like a snowball rolling downhill.
No uterus, no period.
But but but … I’ve been told that a “period” is more than just bleeding and cuz women+ are on hormones they go through the EXACT SAME emotional swings as people with a uterus.
They don’t actually expect us to believe it … they expect us to shut up and act like it’s true
[ Slides free napkin, slightly used, to Darleen. ]
Also, maybe Darleen can tell us the ladies’ equivalent of the menfolk-filling-the-glass game, above.
Because the womenfolk appear to be guarding their secrets.
Submission, not agreement, it’s all about power with the left. You can tell by the fact that they are satisfied with submission even when they know there is no agreement.
The difference between mere delusion and hostile ambition.
The bra thing, kissing the wearer takes away the urgency of popping them out.
I didn’t know this was a job.
I see an opportunity for a modern, updated Lucy and Ethel working in the chocolate factory.
Also a job, it seems.
Sexist employer. I didn’t see a woman in that crew.
Will this be on the test…?
[ Fetches pencil, spiral-bound notepad. ]
I was blithely scrolling down the queue of sandwiches when I was TRIGGERED by the WRONG DIRECTION sandwich. I had to meditate for five minutes. But then, a few sandwiches later, there were more! !!!!!
Stunned, I staggered to the chaise longue to see if cuddling my puppy could recover my equilibrium.
It did not.
Now what?
Also ( since I live in California) I’m gonna sue.
I’ll bet that in most factories it is automated.
But here is a thought: There are people for whom that job matches their aptitude. We don’t want them all on the dole, right?
That’s perseverance.
I want to know what fraction of black Americans support this.
I’m not sure where this quote originated, but it’s apt, “Reparations are payments made by those who never owned slaves to those who never were slaves.”
Time for the Egyptians to do right by the Jews, the Romans (Italians?) to make good to the Greeks, the Barbary muslims to recompense coastal Britons and Europeans, the indigenous tribes to compensate other indigenous tribes, etc, etc, etc.
Why isn’t it automated?
Without knowing more, I can only guess this might be a small, independent ice cream maker. I know a couple very old candy shops that still create all their confections by hand.
Water glass: a game we played as teens was similar. Take a glass of water. Wet the rim and put a napkin over the glass–the water wets the napkin and holds it on. Put a penny in the middle. Take turns burning a hole with a cigarette. Eventually the penny falls in and you lose. (of course no one smokes anymore…) No girls played this game.
Jenga is similar and girls do play that.
Pitching pennies against a wall, similar. (do I date myself?) no girls play this
Scrolled right past the hotdog without a thought, eh? Racist.
In my day, we passed the time with traditional British fun-time activities, like Whose Shoes Are These?, Rattle The Box, and Jigger-Ma-Hoop.