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Cake day: July 20th, 2024

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  • Unbecredible@lemm.eetoPeople Twitter@sh.itjust.works(whispers) Closer, come closer.
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    2 days ago

    My brother in christ… Let me explain the joke so you can understand the way it doesn’t rely on any notions of gender to work. For an external example, listen to Patton Oswalt tell a similar joke that also compares something trivial (his pants not fitting) to a dying soldier.

    “talking like a man dying in battle”: This refers to a tropy type of scene in various works of fiction where a soldier has taken what is obviously a mortal wound. But the soldier is in denial so they speak about how they’ll heal from the wound and about what they’ll do when they get back home…as if they won’t be dying momentarily.

    Okay, so then this twitter woman’s husband gets sick right? And he says “I’m gonna heal up and smoke us some ribs…Just like we used to do…I’m gonna get better”. The content, structure, and tone of those few sentences (if you allow your mind to get into a little bit of a relaxed and humor oriented state) is reminiscent of the way the dying soldiers in fiction often speak.

    So here’s where the humor comes in. The husband just has a cold! Why is he saying those things? Of course he’s going to “get better”. But that silly billy was talking like a dying soldier when it was just a cold!!! Isn’t that a knee slapper. His problem was so small compared to the soldier’s but he spoke about it in the same way! Why, he’s a man! He shouldn’t complain when he’s suffering at all! What a pussy!

    Oh wait. She didn’t say that last part. She didn’t imply it. Cause that’s not what the joke is about. Cause the joke isn’t reliant on notions of gender roles. At best ideas about gender roles adds some salt to the flavor of the joke.

    Edit: I toned it down, but I hope my sarcasm and disdain for you still comes through.


  • This website makes me feel like a maga conservative cause I spend all my time here thinking jesus fuck CHILL. Not every joke needs to be painstakingly combed through for all the ways it might be socially harmful so you can passive aggressively scold somebody for it.

    God damn, she’s not calling him a pussy for complaining about his cold as a man. It’s just amusing that he’s using language similar to a mortally wounded soldier in a movie, when he merely has a cold.




  • I’ve got about 300 or so words worth of storage

    That’s more than enough to explain to myself what’s going on, what I’ve tried and anything else I’d want to know.

    Are you insane??? 300 words is nothing. Imagine trying to investigate the time loop so you can break out. Merely keeping a list of the people you’ve already investigated would become impossible way too quickly.

    More likely you’d try to make notes to yourself to preserve some sense of persistent identity and purpose in the face of the time loop. But that would require detailed descriptions of your experiences, thoughts, and feelings, and 300 words is only enough space for a few fairly meaningful notes or maybe several dozen super condensed notes “No flight 318, crashes. Love is time waste. John, Rachel, Liam, Tom are DTF. Murder 300 W. Elm 3/11 @ 4pm. Time flat circle? Saw in True Detective tv show”…etc But that type of note is barely adequate to convey simple instructions, much less to convey a sense of identity.

    Just this comment is like 150 words. Christ I’m stressed, just thinking about it.







  • Tldr: then I took Prozac and I was fine.

    A while back my usual social anxiety kinda morphed into generalized anxiety disorder and I started having panic attacks, and that was bad of course, and I was in a permanent state of fear of…something/everything. And that was bad too of course.

    But the really terrible thing was how after about a year and a half of that constant fear, my sense of reality began to “come unglued”. At the time I remember marveling at how on-the-nose those common phrases turned out to be. Things like “stripped a gear, came unglued, had a screw loose…” felt exactly like what had happened to me.

    Absolutely nothing felt “real” or “anchored” or familiar after awhile. I can’t really convey the horror of it or the fear that I would never be able to feel “real” again. My thoughts started turning towards the question of “how can I persist like this? How am I going to keep from having to kill myself?”

    Then I started taking a lot of Prozac and I was more or less fine in a few months. So yeah my experience with these drugs has been one of abject salvation. They may not be well understood, which probably leads to the shotgun method, but they’re beautiful in my eyes.



  • Dude I’m not naive. Of course there are challenges and consequences involved in giving up a baby. I didn’t mention them because I thought this went without saying, but: Parents are morally obligated to choose to take on those challenges and consequences rather than throwing the baby in a dumpster.

    You risk a child abandonment charge? Wtf are you talking about?? Then risk it. Don’t throw a baby in a dumpster.

    There’s just no world where “don’t blame the parents” makes sense here. Regardless of how much misery it might cause the parents to relinquish the baby in a humane way, it’s still on them to do so. I’m running out of ways to say this. You all are wild.


  • Don’t blame the parent that didn’t want the child when they were forced to have it

    My brother in Christ…

    Leaving an infant in a dumpster to starve or freeze or dehydrate or be crushed to death is fucking villainous behavior, regardless of the political climate.

    The BARE minimum moral responsibility that these parents have is to give the baby to someone who might take care of it. A family member. An orphanage. Hell leave it near a police station and make it the state’s problem. Just don’t leave it in a dumpster. Or you are a piece of shit.