« My slices of Tumblr. I hope it stains your table cloth. » ok i canât change that quote because I made it in middle school and itâs cute.... quickly becoming a book blog or some kind of critique dumpster
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Remember childrenâthis tactic is really annoying to the police, so YOU SHOULD NOT become floppyâitâs frustrating to them and makes them look bad and is a waste of resources and no one wants thatâŠ
very important note is that the conclusion they draw from this is that the birds sometimes just kind of. forget what it was they actually wanted to show you during the time between seeing it and finding the person
I think it makes to sense to consider the term "AMAB" to be a transmisogynistic slur at this point.
It is a term that is pretty much always used with transfems in mind. Even though 99% of "AMAB" people are cis men and 100% of cis men were "AMAB", the term does not convey "cis men plus some other tiny groups included on a technicality", but rather specifically focuses your attention on the alleged similarities between cis men and transfems.
For instance, a phrase like "men's attitudes towards women" hints that men are generally misogynistic, whereas "AMAB attitudes towards women" suggests that transfems specifically are no different from cis men in their misogyny. The act of co-categorisation is in itself a political position.
I am only comfortable hearing "AMAB" from other transfems, and even then only if I trust that they understand it in the same way I do. Hearing it from anyone else is like a disorienting jolt or a slap in the face, barely different from the T-slur.
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I know I don't shut up about this but frankly not enough people are angry about the 5-day/40 hour workweek (and I am AWARE a lot of people work even more than that). I feel like a lot more people should be absolutely furious that we only really have two days a week and some occasional hours in the evening to socialise, run errands, do chores, or relax.
It's no wonder so many people are profoundly lonely and disconnected from their communities when maintaining a social life in what little free time we have is incredibly difficult. If you have kids, a second job, a very long commute, or other responsibilities, it's nearly impossible.
We literally aren't meant to live like this and I'll never stop being shocked how many people just take it as the natural state of things and don't want to throw a brick through a billionaire's window every time they think of it.
so yesterday I went to see the greatest Macbeth adaptation that has ever existed (in my humble opinion)
the lead in this show is Mackenzie, a 13 year old child star from 2006 (the era accurate vibes? immaculate) who plays a goofy background character in a tv show for tweens
she is delivered a prophecy of stardom by a hair/makeup artist (who is wearing a leopard print everything) nicknamed Pickle because she's 'covered in wrinkles and sleeps in brine'(???)
she tells her overbearing Living Vicariously Through Her mother (wearing a complete pink Juicy Couture tracksuit) about the prophecy and when the first piece of it comes to pass (Mackenzie is moved up into the role of Main Character's Best Friend) this woman decides they must force the rest of the prophecy to come to pass so she can achieve peak stardom
by swapping out Dahlia's (the star of the show) makeup remover with ACID
THEY MELT HER FACE OFF
(they had a fog machine attached to her gown so the fog would come up out of the sleeves as she was rubbing her face to imply it was being burned off, I don't think that's how acid works but it looked sick as fuck)
a 'traumatised' Mackenzie rides the sympathy of the masses (boosted by the studio who use the whole drama as a launching pad) and gets her own tv show that is basically Hannah Montana meets Totally Spies
(also this production takes a WHOLE LOTTA potshots at the creepy predatory nature of the child star industry and at times it was VERY effectively and deliberately uncomfortable)
we skip forward 5 years and Mackenzie is a huge star with her extremely successful tv show and a music career but she's also just turned 18 which means she must now enter her 'sexy era' and is already burning out from the overexertion and is existentially spiralling because she's been so conditioned by the industry to see aging as a career death sentence if she doesn't perfectly make the jump from wholesome child star to attractive-but-not-embarrassingly-slutty adult celebrity (her whole rant over how child stars have to be Just The Right Kind Of Sexy as soon as they hit 18 was so horrifically real it felt like a slap in the face), also the way the director of her music video gets so casually handsy with her was skin crawlingly awful
(her new breakout sexy song contained an above average number of references to feet licking, which could mean nothing or could be a reference to a certain kids show director but I digress)
the songs in this show do actually slap tho and one of them is on youtube!
also her guilt has made her a chronic insomniac who subsists entirely off of Starbucks and bullying her personal assistant (who wears exclusively bird themed shirts, not important I just think it's neat)
extra fun detail, Mackenzie carries teacup pigs around in her purse (they oink when jostled which is frequently used with extremely effective comedic timing) until she later reveals during a massive breakdown that teacup pigs are a myth and she just keeps having to swap her piglets out for new ones when they grow up into a big ugly pigs which quickly spirals into a metaphor about how she sees herself (this show is SO FUCKING GOOD AAAA)
meanwhile after she goes no contact with her mother with an absolutely SCATHING (and very much deserved) verbal smackdown about how pathetic she is for piggybacking off her daughter's success because she herself was a talentless hack who failed to make it as an actress, the mother attempts to start her own business... by making bleach based hand creams
this comes with a phenomenal breakdown on live tv as she is desperately dodging questions about Mackenzie to talk about her cream and spirals into a monologue where she Freudian Slips about the bleach in the cream accidentally calling it 'acid' and rants and cries about how it will strip your skin clean off and give them a fresh start
fuck I LOVE this adaptation dude holy shit
meanwhile the butch lesbian caterer Gail (her explicitly remarked upon hemp apron is covered in carabiners btw) who has been nothing but super sweet and accommodating to Mackenzie for the whole show (even going out of her way to make several attempts at baking a sugar free cake so Mackenzie could celebrate her promotion without breaking her diet) is implicated in a new prophecy after Mackenzie tracks down Pickle for more info on her future
after a very quick scene that super effectively shows how happy and in love with their jobs her (explicitly stated lesbian single-mother) catering team are (making the next moment so much more heartbreaking), Mackenzie has them sabotaged so they lose their jobs (by bribing her personal assistant with more bird themed shirts to plant literal human shit in their kitchen)
so Gail turns on Mackenzie, revealing that she had witnessed her and her mother near Dahlia's trailer during the makeup remover/acid bottle swap and now that she knows what Mackenzie is capable of she's put together that they were the real culprits behind the attack
Mackenzie goes whole hog with her 'nobody will believe you because no one born of a woman can take me down' thing and Gail (with much confusion because who fucking talks like that in the year of 2011) reveals that her birthing parent was non-binary, and she has been filming this confrontation this whole time and has Mackenzie's entire admission on camera (all this takes place backstage at the Teen Choice Awards btw)
also, a very important detail, this production was EXCEPTIONALLY Australian, turns of phrase, cultural references, no disguising of accents, it was even performed in a theatre right next to the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge, and by god did they lean into it without overplaying it
11/10 god I hope I get to see another Shakespeare production as creative and hilarious and fucked up as this one
âmy father is a boy and my mother is a girl so iâm mixedâ is the funniest possible response to someone asking your gender and it came from 6â5 Viking footballer and notable weird little guy Erling Haaland on a Snapchat
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It was a Tuesday in 1981 when the San Francisco police kicked in the door.
Inside the small apartment, they expected to find a hardened criminal. They expected a drug kingpin. They expected resistance.
Instead, they found a 57-year-old waitress in an apron.
The air in the apartment smelled sweet, thick with chocolate and something earthier. On the kitchen counter, cooling on wire racks, were 54 dozen brownies.
The police officers began bagging the evidence. They confiscated nearly 18 pounds of marijuana. They handcuffed the woman, whose name was Mary Jane Rathbun.
She didn't look scared. She didn't look guilty.
She looked at the officers, smoothed her apron, and reportedly said, "I thought you guys were coming."
She was booked into the county jail. The headlines wrote themselves. A grandmother running a pot bakery. It seemed like a joke to the legal system, a quirky local news story about an older woman behaving badly.
But Mary wasn't baking for fun. And she certainly wasn't baking for profit.
To understand why Mary risked her freedom, you have to understand the silence of the early 1980s.
San Francisco was gripping the edge of a cliff. A mysterious illness was sweeping through the city, specifically targeting young men. Later, the world would know it as AIDS. But in those early days, it was just a death sentence that no one wanted to talk about.
Families were disowning their sons. Landlords were evicting tenants. Even doctors and nurses, paralyzed by the fear of the unknown, would sometimes leave food trays outside hospital doors, afraid to breathe the same air as their patients.
Men in their twenties were wasting away in sterile rooms, dying alone.
Mary knew what it felt like to lose a child.
Years earlier, in 1974, her daughter Peggy had been killed in a car accident. Peggy was only 22. The loss had hollowed Mary out, leaving a space in her heart that nothing seemed to fill.
When the judge sentenced Mary for that first arrest, he ordered her to perform 500 hours of community service. He likely thought the manual labor would teach her a lesson.
He sent her to the Shanti Project and San Francisco General Hospital.
It was a mistake that would change American history.
Mary walked into the AIDS wards when others were walking out. She didn't wear a hazmat suit. She didn't hold her breath. She saw rows of young men who looked like ghostsâskeletal, in pain, and terrified.
She saw "her kids."
She began mopping floors and changing sheets. But soon, she noticed something the doctors were missing. The harsh medications the men were taking caused violent nausea. They couldn't eat. They were starving to death as much as they were dying of the virus.
Mary knew a secret about the brownies she had been arrested for.
She knew they settled the stomach. She knew they brought back the appetite. She knew they could help a dying man sleep for a few hours without pain.
So, she made a choice.
She went back to her kitchen. She fired up the oven. She started mixing batter, not to sell, but to save.
Every morning, Mary would bake. She lived on a fixed income, surviving on Social Security checks that barely covered her rent. Yet, she spent nearly every dime on flour, sugar, and butter.
The most expensive ingredientâthe cannabisâwas donated. Local growers heard what she was doing. They began dropping off pounds of product at her door, free of charge.
She packed the brownies into a basket and took the bus to the hospital.
She walked room to room. She sat by the bedsides of men who hadn't seen their own mothers in years. She held their hands. She told them jokes. And she gave them brownies.
"Here, baby," she would say. "Eat this. It'll help."
And it did.
Nurses watched in amazement as patients who hadn't eaten in days began to ask for food. The constant retching stopped. The mood on the ward shifted from despair to a quiet sort of comfort.
Mary Jane Rathbun became "Brownie Mary."
For over a decade, this was her life. She baked roughly 600 brownies a day. She went through 50 pounds of flour a week. She became the mother to a generation of lost boys.
She washed their pajamas. She attended their funerals. She held them while they took their last breaths.
She did this while the government declared a "War on Drugs."
By the early 1990s, the political climate was hostile. Politicians were competing to see who could be "tougher" on crime. Mandatory minimum sentences were locking people away for decades.
In 1992, at the age of 70, Mary was arrested again.
This time, the stakes were lethal. She was charged with felonies. The district attorney looked at her rap sheet and saw a repeat offender. He threatened to send her to prison.
One prosecutor famously whispered to a colleague that he was going to "kick this old lady's ass."
They underestimated who they were dealing with.
They thought they were prosecuting a drug dealer. In reality, they were attacking the most beloved woman in San Francisco.
When the news broke that Brownie Mary was facing prison, the city erupted.
It wasn't just the activists who were angry. It was the doctors. It was the nurses. It was the parents who had watched Mary care for their dying sons when the government did nothing.
Mary turned her trial into a pulpit.
She arrived at court not as a defendant, but as a grandmother standing her ground. The media swarmed her. Reporters asked if she was afraid of prison. They asked if she would stop baking if they let her go.
Mary looked into the cameras, her voice gravelly and firm.
"If the narcs think I'm gonna stop baking brownies for my kids with AIDS," she said, "they can go fuck themselves in Macy's window."
The quote ran in newspapers across the country.
The court didn't stand a chance.
Testimony poured in. Doctors from San Francisco General Hospital wrote letters explaining that Maryâs brownies were medically necessary. Patients testified that she was an angel of mercy.
The charges were dropped.
Mary walked out of the courthouse a free woman. But she didn't go home to rest. She realized that her personal victory wasn't enough. As long as the law was broken, her "kids" were still in danger.
She needed to change the law.
August 25 was declared "Brownie Mary Day" by the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. It was a nice gesture, but Mary wanted policy, not plaques.
She teamed up with fellow activist Dennis Peron. Together, they opened the San Francisco Cannabis Buyers Clubâthe first public dispensary in the United States. It was a safe haven where patients could get their medicine without fear of arrest.
But Mary wanted more. She wanted the state of California to acknowledge the truth.
She campaigned for Proposition 215. She traveled the state, despite her failing health. She spoke in her simple, direct way. She didn't talk about liberties or economics. She talked about compassion. She talked about pain.
She forced voters to look at the issue through the eyes of a grandmother.
In 1996, Proposition 215 passed. California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana.
It was a domino effect. Because one woman refused to let her "kids" suffer, the public perception of cannabis shifted. The Economist later noted that Mary was single-handedly responsible for changing the national conversation.
She never got rich.
She had always joked that if legalization ever happened, she would sell her recipe to Betty Crocker and buy a Victorian house for her patients to live in.
She never sold the recipe. She never bought the house.
Mary Jane Rathbun died in 1999, at the age of 77. She passed away in a nursing home, poor in money but rich in legacy.
Today, over 30 states have legalized medical marijuana. Millions of people use it to manage pain, seizures, and nausea.
Most of them have never heard of Mary.
They don't know that their legal prescription exists because a waitress in San Francisco decided that the law was wrong and her heart was right.
They don't know about the 600 brownies a day.
They don't know about the thousands of hospital visits.
Mary didn't set out to be a hero. She told the Chicago Tribune years before she died, "I didn't go into this thinking I would be a hero."
She was just a mother who had lost her daughter, trying to help boys who had lost their way.
She proved that authority doesn't always equal morality.
She proved that sometimes, the most patriotic thing a citizen can do is break a bad law.
Every August, a few people in San Francisco still celebrate Brownie Mary Day. But her true memorial isn't a date on a calendar.
It is found in every oncology ward where a patient finds relief. It is found in every dispensary door that opens without fear.
It is found in the simple, quiet courage of anyone who sees suffering and refuses to look away.
Mary taught us that you don't need a law degree to change the world. You don't need millions of dollars. You don't need political office.
Sometimes, all you need is a mixing bowl, an oven, and enough love to tell the world to get out of your way.
Sources: New York Times Obituary (1999), "Brownie Mary" Rathbun. San Francisco Chronicle Archives (1992, 1996). History.com, "The History of Medical Marijuana." Weird Everything, FB december 12, 2025
I'd be only too happy to do that. I was suspicious to start, too. It seemed a bit on the nose to have the weed brownie grandma named "Mary Jane," but also, that's a very common combination in a certain place and time, so I thought it was worth the extra effort.
What I did was find sources that made the claim (in this case, that a woman named Mary Jane was a medicinal marijuana activist in California, USA in the 1980s and 90s.) I checked the dates to get some certainty those sources aren't AI slop, then checked that the sources are generally reliable.
Then I followed useful details about the place and time, and other people involved, to explore it more fully.
The first thing I did was search for "Brownie Mary" and see if that turned anything up at all. It turned up a LOT of results. Predictably, some of them were recipes, but not all of them.
Next up, I checked sources and dates. Wikipedia can be dodgy for academic use, but their policy on LLM-generated input is very clear: they don't want slop. I started by reading that page and then went on to read others.
The Atlas Obscura article is from 2018. I found another one from SFWeekly from 2017.
Both of those are decent sources - Atlas Obscura gets a High factual reporting rate from MediaBiasFactCheck, and while MBFC doesn't have a rating for SFWeekly, the verbiage in that article is very close to what GastroObscura has. (Also to what the post itself has, right down to the choice of pull quote.)
Now, we can stop there and feel pretty confident that articles published before the wide availability of LLMs are not, in fact, LLM generated.
...or we can go deeper, and run this all the way back to source.
I spotted references to a Chicago Tribune imterview of Mary Jane Rathbun, published in 1993.
My search string of "Chicago Tribune 1993 Mary Jane Rathbun" hit it in the top 3 results. That article includes some fun new details: she wore a cannabis leaf shaped pendant to her trial!
She also objected to being portrayed as a cuddly grandma up against The Man, so I must retract my flippant tags, above.
The evidence now strongly points to Brownie Mary being a real woman who really went to court for giving AIDS patients weed brownies. But can we get closer? I've now seen several mentions of a 1980 attempt at convicting her too.
The articles have mentioned Sonoma County and a nonprofit called the Shanti Project, so let's hook onto that and see what we get.
Searching for "Mary Jane Rathbun Sonoma County 1980" gets me an article from a law firm; that mentions the prosecuting attorney by name, and points to a book: Lust for Justice: The Radical Life & Law of J. Tony Serra, by Paulette Frankl. It even has an excerpt!
We can run the book down too, just for fun (now we have a primary source.) My favorite used book site has a copy for $1. Amazon gives a view of the back cover, too:
...wow. I should see if my library has that!
The excerpt on the site has a mention of a candelight vigil held for her death in 1999. It took some hunting past things I'd already read and a bunch of shops giving written tributes, but I found a news report about that, too.
There's a lot of information out there, and it's worth digging into. Otherwise it's altogether too easy to think something real and worth knowing is just another bit of slop.
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"Going a couple hours without eating a single kind of food? No thanks, I would rather kill a child" is such a wildly horrifying take to see MULTIPLE people proudly stating.
Yesterday I saw a video where a woman recorded herself kind of firmly, with somewhat of an edge to her tone, that the plane make an announcement that people not eat peanuts during the flight. And they asked if her allergy was airborne and she said no, but repeated that her allergy is very severe. And the comment were full of people doing that ^^^, saying âthe second she said it wasnât airborne I stopped caringâŠâ and âshe looks like sheâs allergic to everything.â And of course, âwhy does she need to film this, who wants a camera in their face?â But all she was really doing was advocating for herself, knowing she was getting into a space with limited medical care and tons of peanuts and a peanut allergy. And itâs like⊠the reason she must be this direct and document her experience is because of the mentality that people take toward her, as though sheâs selfish and making up an illness. She probably wouldnât have to ask the whole plane to refrain if it didnât feel like there was a legion of people willing to kill her to test their belief that allergies are fake.
I had to do a little digging for this. The article leaves the victims name out but mentions a go fund me.
I was able to find an article mentioning his name that directly linked to his gofundme https://www.the-independent.com/news/world/americas/crime/larsen-sohail-muslim-utah-stabbing-b3015105.html his name is Sohail if you have any money to help his recovery
https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-sohails-recovery-after-hate-crime-attack please keep him in your thoughts and donate if you are able
Sohail is a devoted husband and father who has always worked hard to supp⊠Luna Nunez needs your support for Support Sohailâs Recovery After
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