The last ride of Paul Revere
biblically accurate angel
Mike Driver
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
Not today Justin
taylor price

Discoholic đŞŠ

@theartofmadeline

izzy's playlists!
styofa doing anything

blake kathryn

Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
noise dept.
tumblr dot com

Origami Around
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
ojovivo
Three Goblin Art
trying on a metaphor

seen from Pakistan

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@camelotoking
The last ride of Paul Revere
biblically accurate angel

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Hi, this is a new board game project called High Noon Showdown. It was made by a team of three friends and originally started as a Fun project during the pandemic.
It has about 3 days left to get enough funding and it is so close. It was made with no backing other than their own funds and they are very passionate about it. The link below goes to their kickstarter page with more info and the opportunity to support them by reserving a copy of the game. Please help them get the support they need to get to production!
life is just one ibuprofen after the other
the next ibuprofen will fix me
Hawta Mahmood
I feel this.

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Iâm not even kidding when I say I wish I had a friend that wanted to buy a house w me
Everyone is waiting for a romantic partner and Iâm thinking, or we could stop speaking in hypotheticals and plan for the future together? Donât we love each other? Donât we care for one another? Arenât we bound by the shared agreement that our lives may intertwine indefinitely? Sign a mortgage agreement w me!
For the love of God, sound on.
rediscovered chicken smoothie today so thatâs a trip. What a website.
Also closed on a house but thatâs less breaking news.

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LGBT+ Identity in the Time of Mindless Self Indulgence
Mindless Self Indulgence isnât an act that could have flourished at any other time. The emo/pop punk wave was gathering steam; hip hop was still a novelty one could distinguish themselves from the flock by cribbing. âRandomâ Invader Zim-style humor was in the decline, while âedgyâ no-limits humor was skyrocketing. Nerds hadnât become the dominant force they are today, but due to the internet and the rise in manga and anime sales in the United States, they were able to access nerdy content much more easily. Youtube was taking off, music piracy was booming, and reliance on both radio and local record-store gatekeepers was at a low for young music fans.
Perhaps most critically, our national understanding of politics and identity at the time, particularly LGBT+ identities, was in a different stage of development than it is today. âPunching upâ vs. âpunching downâ was not a concept that most people considered in their comedy. âItâs just a jokeâ was more widely accepted as an excuse for transgressive entertainment than it is today. âIâm an equal opportunity haterâ was a common refrain.
Early in their career, the band released multiple tracks where Jimmy Urine, a man who was certainly not black, used the n-word. The âPantyshotâ cassingle was a treasured possession among MSI fans, featuring an early song that supposedly lost them a record deal due to being about lusting over a 5 year-old. Little Jimmy Urine sold kisses for a dollar to fans after shows, including to the teenagers. As a whole, the band made punchlines of racial and sexual slurs, rape and child abuse, school shootings, prostitution, drug use, incest, and just about every other taboo under the sun.
The understanding was that none of it was real and that none of it had any real consequences. Calling someone a faggot didnât matter if we were all in on the joke, that homophobia was stupid. Words were just words. The identity of the speaker didnât matter so long as their ideology was clear. It was something of an inversion of the way we publicly navigate comedy now, in that their identity determines where on the ladder they are to punch up or down, and the contents of their ideology is of minimal consequence compared to the text of their words. The context of a joke is not a matter of what the audience believes, but of the many complexities of hierarchy that society as a whole believes.
âWho cares?â asks 2008. âItâs just words.â
âHow could it not matter?â answers 2018. âWords create culture.â
So LGBT+ identity in the era of Mindless Self Indulgence.
Describing the difference between 2005 and 2018 to young queer people is a source of anxiety for me, because I feel like the old woman talking about how she walked uphill both ways to the library if she wanted to read a book. Itâs difficult, however, to put in perspective how quickly the culture around LGBT+ identities has changed. As dangerous as it is for queer kids today, they have much freer access to information about their resources and history than we did, and far greater representation in all forms of media.
When I was a teenager, I was the first person openly LGBT at my school, and my only point of reference for LGBT identities were Rosie OâDonnell and Elton John. There was no âBorn This Wayâ yet, no Halsey and Hayley Kiyoko and Ellen Page, no Troye Sivan and Adam Lambert and Frank Ocean, no Miley Cyrus, no Laverne Cox. There were no empowerment ballads.
Which was fine, because I didnât want empowerment ballads anyway. I felt disgusting. In reckoning with my LGBT+ identity, I felt small, broken, repulsive, confused, discarded and doomed. I was sickened in my own skin and filled with self-loathing because of my sexual orientation. Sometimes I still am. When I was 15, I drew a map of my heart, and in between the âfields of sexual insecurityâ and âpossibly irreparable damageâ I had written âguilt!â several times and underlined it.
âYouâre beautifulâ didnât only feel false, it felt invalidating. I was fiercely defensive of my self-hatred. I was working so hard at it, spending so much time and energy convincing myself I deserved the beating I was giving myself. To this day the barriers Iâve put up against generic bromides persist, and songs like âScars to Your Beautifulâ or âRoarâ make me cringe. Maybe someone gets something out of them, but I can only think of the teenagers like me who used that sort of sentiment as fuel for their own self-abuse. I remember once bursting into tears at a âJesus Loves Youâ sticker because it served as proof that the whole world was playing a joke on me, telling me that someone so unlovable should have some hope.
It was impossible to internalize that queerness was not dirty, unnatural and loathsome. Any attempt to break that association was drown out by the rest of the messaging we were receiving and our own tried-and-true mental gymnastics. Reassurance could not reach us at the bottom of the well.
At the time, I was obsessed with Mindless Self Indulgence with the kind of all-consuming adoration that only teenagers can possess. I aped frontman Little Jimmy Urineâs fashion, writing slogans across my coats with white tape. âWhat Do They Knowâ and âCocaine and Toupeesâ were my ringtones, much to my motherâs chagrin. I had catalogues of bootlegs, lovingly sorted and pressed to CD. Mindless Self Indulgence populated my artwork, both in classroom doodles and in art pieces for my portfolio that I labored on for weeks. They were the subject of my college application essay. I met my first love on an MSI forum (which I moderated) and lost a few romantic relationships over my inability to talk about anything else. I owned every shirt. When I was hired on at Barnes & Nobleâs music section, I would nominate Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy for the staff recommendation shelf every single week, and whenever it inevitably got recalled to the warehouse for lack of sales, Iâd order it right back.
Sometimes my friends and I would go to the mall parking lot at night and blast Mindless Self Indulgence from my car, dancing around the empty lot with our striped stockings, fingerless gloves and Hot Topic trip pants.
This band kept me from killing myself.
âIâm filthy, disgusting, horrible, irredeemable,â weâd say. âPeople tell us weâre beautiful and we know theyâre lying. Iâm a freak.â
âYeah, youâre fucking ugly,â the music said. âSo what? Soâs everything else. Have some fun with it.â
Despite the fact that Jimmy Urine has never publicly labeled himself with an LGBT identity, we young LGBT MSI fans claimed him as our own. We enshrined the article where he described being sexually attracted to anyone regardless of gender. We imitated and revered his gender fuckery onstage, the skirts, the pink suits and tutus, the eyeliner, his yelping falsetto leaping up from the masculine shouting, the way he danced. We pored over lyrics - that we transcribed ourselves in many cases, through multiple listens and endless debate - for those nuggets of same-sex attraction and gender ambiguity.
âI make a good girl but I make a terrible boy,â went one song. âThese things in my pants that weâre all waiting for, I never really knew what that thing down there was used for,â went another. And the most sacred text of all was âFaggotâ, off Frankenstein Girls Will Seem Strangely Sexy, the most beloved record of the vast majority of hardcore MSI fans.
âI played that shit straight / blowing suckas to the side hopinâ I get laid / now everybody knows / no way in hell I can ever live it downâ.
Shit was a revelation.
Kitty, the drummer of Mindless Self Indulgence, once said of the bandâs LGBT fans that listening to MSIâs music was like vomiting: it hurts at the time, but then you feel better. You got it out. And the band always cultivated their relationship with their LGBT fans. Gay marriage was one of the few political issues they openly took a stance on, in a time when states like my own were amending constitutions to protect themselves from Massachusettsâ same-sex marriages.
Thus, we had a place where we felt simultaneously seen and valued by the band, and unseen amongst the chaos surrounding us. The irreverent humor of the band created a safe space where homosexuality could be disgusting, but so was everything else. There was no shame at an MSI concert. You were listening to a man famed for drinking his own urine sing about whipping his meat out, who cared if you liked to kiss girls? Thatâs old news. Weâre all freaks down here at the bottom of the well.
Iâm 28 now, and I donât know if the kids these days have an equivalent band. I donât know if thereâs a market for it anymore; Iâm sure there will always be queer kids who have internalized the awful message that they are inherently unlovable, but Iâm not sure if they canât find more accessible and more inherently positive panaceas. I see mutations of the same style of humor in Willam from RuPaulâs Drag Race and in some of the undercurrents of Tumblrâs teen humor. âWeâre goblins, trash, garbage babies.â
âYeah,â my inner child says. âI fucking feel that.â
The paradigm of humor has changed since 2008, at least in my circles, and the reasons for that are manifold, political, social, capitalistic. In many ways, itâs been a good thing: bigotry can be exposed rather than cloaked in excuses. A basic understanding of social inequality is presumed of most audiences. People are responsible for the impact of their words, not the intent. âEqual opportunity haterâ is seem for what it is: intellectually lazy and blinkered, the refuge of white guys who donât want to own up to the fact that some jokes arenât funny.
But Iâll always have a place in my heart for comedy that meets people where theyâre at. Where weâre at isnât always beautiful or acceptable or healthy, but sometimes itâs the place where we need the laugh most.
honestly thank you so much for writing this because the whole thing resonates when, lately, when i put msi on in the car i feel weird and judged by my Woke Straight friends who donât Get It. because they werenât there in the trenches with me in 2005. they werenât even thinking about it in 2005.Â
but msi was and i was and this is so formative to me.Â
lol Iâm always so afraid of what my Woke Straight friends would think of something like âFaggotâ or âPantyshotâ
forget zodiac forget mbtiâŚ. the real personality indicator is what u pretended to be while u were swimmingâŚ. for me personally it was an otter
homosexual tendencies t-shirt
Your mom finding her friend at a store is like unskippable cutscenes

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âitâs just a parking lotâ
exactly. thereâs nothing there. not a statue. not a plaque. nothing.
[drives over hitlerâs death site]
Bloody amazing.
And you know whatâs right next to it?
Thatâs right, the Denkmal fĂźr die ermordeten Juden, which translates to the Memorial for the murdered jews.
So if you wanna go have a look at the monument commemorating the victims of Hitlerâs regime, you can park your car right on the spot he died and walk there.
Makes ya think, doesnât it?
Germany: *has a literal parking lot over Hitlerâs death site and has the memorial for the murdered Jews right next to it*
America: *has statues and museums dedicated to people who believed slavery was so amazing and good they decided to make their own country and murder anyone who disagreed*
Women, the streets near the car park are named after:
Gertrud Kolmar - German Jewish poet murdered in Auschwitz
Hannah Arendt - famous German Jewish philosopher and author, her works on totalitarianism, authority and the nature of power, who fled Nazi Germany in 1933
Cora Berliner - German Jewish economist and social scientist murdered in Trostinets extermination camp
reblog this foreverÂ
Itâs funny too cause people argue that you âcanât erase historyâ and thatâs true. You can, however; choose how you commemorate it.
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