Friday Ephemera (797)
When Karens collide. || Carelessness. || He’s a butterfly. || I’m sure the blue hair is entirely unrelated. || A breakthrough in butter spreading. (h/t, Elephants Gerald) || A philosopher speaks. || Hair salon scenes. || Ladies, she will take him. || “It’s so amazing to buy tampons,” says he. || She can’t get her doctor to put on a mask. || Meat. || Mortified. || Coin operated mortuary automaton. || The contraptions of Dr Kellogg. || I have questions. || He works in a gas station. || Incoming. || Incoming 2. || The little, little kids. || It’s scholarly and profound, but you mustn’t look at it. || Also scholarly – and taxpayer funded. || 69p. || Parking is hard. || He teleported. || A preference for tidiness. || To put you in a festive mood. || The years just fell away. || Less effort than walking. || And when an outside loo just won’t do, 1967.
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Renaissance man.
It’s not like there weren’t warning signs.
What? It’s Friday already?
Blue hair: red flag.
On reflection, I cannot recall anyone I personally knew who had such hair who was not a walking collection of dysfunctions.
North Pole dancer?
David, you should get #8 for your Correction Booth.
Helpful and informative map.
Indeed.
Should be kept far, far away.
That’s not icing.
Didn’t work.
3DD billboard
Obama’s Death Star flak tower is more functional than I thought.
Fetal alcohol syndrome. If her eyes were any further apart, they’d be on the back of her head.
Fatherhood.
“When Karens collide. “
https://youtu.be/NocoxyMuXg8?si=VhOpVSCikjcptKPg
Just want I want. More hassle and something else to wash every time I use it.
Morning, all.
Tell me about it.
You’d think. And yet.
Yes, it is a tad fiddlesome. I tend to think the buttering of things – say, toast in the morning – should be as faff-free as possible.
Suboptimal situation.
[ Slurps coffee. ]
faff-free…?
Faff, i.e., to engage in a needlessly fiddlesome and complicated task. Generally, one in which the effort doesn’t result in any commensurate achievement. Activity with little payoff. A rigmarole.
As in, to faff about. To achieve very little despite lots of ostensible activity.
Faffing can also mean to fuss over unimportant details in an ineffective and time-consuming way.
It’s a good word.
I learned something today. 🙂
I was told there would be no . . . never mind.
I suppose that counts as mathematical faffing. A concept I hadn’t considered until this moment.
It reminded me of a chili corer I ordered, rather optimistically, a few months ago. I had girlish dreams of effortless seed removal. Turned out to be an enormous faff and much more time-consuming, and hazardous, than just using a sharp knife.
And in activism news.
No, don’t thank me. All part of the service.
Right forecast, wrong island. It’s for the one just to the left – in more ways than geographic – of Britain.
Actual women don’t get excited about buying tampons.
I’m exhausted just getting through them all.
It does seem rather unlikely. Still, it’s interesting to watch mentally ill men gathering what they see as the accoutrements of womanhood, despite their fundamental uselessness, as if they were building a decorated nest. Like a bower bird, but with tampons and tarty clothes.
No slacking. There’ll be a test afterwards.
Coin operated mortuary automaton
Sold for just over $13,000? Reasonable. I’d hand a guest a coin everytime they step in.
I’m just going to leave this here.
Because I can, that’s why.
Actual women don’t get excited about buying tampons.
True story:
Growing up there were three women in the home: me, older sister, and Mom. My parents went to the local grocery store to buy, among other things, feminine hygiene products. We each had our own preferences as to brand and type. My father, being a man, figured buying in bulk would be economical and besides, they were having a sale. At the checkout, the girl is ringing through box after box of tampons and napkins while this middle-aged man stood by, silently watching her. She glanced up at my dad. My father looked at her and with a straight face said, “I get heavy nose bleeds.”
I miss that guy.
I read somewhere that they can be useful first aid for trauma wounds.
Wow… this is still within living memory and the media have still managed to demonize Margaret Thatcher? How?
As a wee seedling, I remember visiting my grandad, whose downstairs toilet was in the porch, by the back door.
Bit draughty in winter.
Today in ITEOTWAWKI: Why trans users are hit hardest
“I think it is, and I want it to be, therefore it is”, academia at its finest.
Poisonous bint detected.
Poisonous bint detected.
Also from the world of guilty ytes… (language in the video)
One more time:
In short, you can’t demand that strangers – all of them, everywhere – perceive you in a certain way, or demand that they pretend not to see reality.
“I use this to help people.”
As so often, I wonder what it must be like to be that guy, or any of his peers. To be the one whose loud moral pronouncements are utterly risible, unconvincing and in no way load-bearing. Such that they can be reduced to farcical rubble in seconds, with one sentence.
The kind of guy who has to endure humiliations like the one above before making the same contemptible pronouncements somewhere else, to a different crowd, presumably while hoping that the same thing doesn’t happen.
I mean, it’s not a great way to live.
Masks: it is understandable that someone with a weak immune system or who has the flu might wear a mask these days, but I still see people driving their car, alone, wearing a mask. Walking their dog, alone, wearing a mask. Covid now enables the germ phobic or the crazy to fit in better. yay?
gas station: looks like kiddo got into the magic markers again.
If only.
“I use this to help people.”
Assuming the video to be unfaked, it’s not clear what the relationship is of the white presenter, the black interviewee, and that charming group of cheeky and irrepressible teens. The presenter seems to think he’s in control of the situation, telling the black to take the phone, and telling the camera that he doesn’t actually want the autistic young white man to be robbed, that “we’re not going to let these kids rob him”.
Who’s “we”, and is he sure how much “we” are in control of the situation? Do the blacks fully share his understanding that we’re only dealing with hypotheticals here, we’re unleashing black menace only for educational purposes, we’re only going to go far enough to make a point – if so, they’re doing a pretty good acting job of “don’t talk to us about counterfactuals and second order effects, white boy, just give us your money”.
Whites siccing blacks on other whites for whatever reason they think is justified, believing in their own skill at provoking blacks but keeping them managed, that’s historically been a cause and not a solution to racial problems, as the history of Minneapolis itself shows.
Note the the soy-boy’s t-shirt: Nenookaasi Healing Camp, a lunatic leftist organization which is fond of setting up “encampments”.
Their “homeless” “encampment” which was rightfully demolished.
I can say that I got paid ti be in a test jury for a lawsuit where one of the other “jurists” had blue or purple streaks in her hair. A person maybe early 40’s. At first I thought…oh no…this isn’t going to go well. But as it turned out she was actually one of the more thoughtful and rational people of those who spoke up. The longer we tolerate such weirdness, the more it will become mainstream and the less useful it will become.