depressive goblin nightmare boy

what I've learned from having other people edit my work is that I have a sick addiction to commas

there have been four editing passes on my spider sex book, and each time they take away so many commas. no fresh commas are being added, this is just a continued culling. if you see a comma in the final book please understand that it survived so much

TV Tropes calls this the Weird Al effect, named for the number of kids who don't recognize certain older pop songs, but do their Weird Al parodies. Another very famous example is Cervantes's "Don Quixote", which is a parody of a genre of chivalric romances that no one but mediaevalists really read anymore.

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free:  pouring river water in your socks

why would i do that lmao

it’s quick, it’s easy and it’s free

#i put this in my queue every time i see it #because it’s quick it’s easy and it’s free (via @majestictortoise)

i’m so thirsty… won’t you use /water to water me?

/water

Mulder and Scully are sitting in their car and they're both thinking "am I a lesbian" and neither of them will say it. Mulder stays in the egg zone because being a woman "seems like a lot of effort," failing to realize that trans women can be butch & Scully likes to pretend she's simply career driven with no time for a man. But there's still that inexplicable longing. Their weird little tension. X files is yuri to me

the secret truth is that men and women are literally exactly the same

people have suddenly started reblogging this post of mine from february 8th, 2012. great bit everybody

all the rights that come with marriage you should be able to have without marriage btw. you should be able to designate a person who can visit you in the hospital regardless of your relationship to that person.

one time I went over to a friend's house and their housemate was making paper in the living room, and we saw this big tub full of water they were using to dissolve old scrap paper into a slurry, and everyone was immediately like "oh, you need scrap paper?" and started turning out their jacket pockets and producing expired coupons and bus tickets and crumpled receipts and old shopping lists and whatever else they'd been carrying round with them for no good reason, and passing it all to the paper-making housemate to make sure it was suitable before it got torn up and dropped into the tub, while people took turns stirring the slurry with a big wooden stick. it was strangely ritualistic, like presenting an offering to some kind of temple elder for inspection before placing it in a watery shrine to be devoured and reformed. pulp for the pulp god.