tannertan36
Misplaced Lens Cap
styofa doing anything
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Kiana Khansmith
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Cosmic Funnies
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
almost home
RMH
#extradirty
Andulka
Cosimo Galluzzi
dirt enthusiast
Sade Olutola
Origami Around
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@meatfumes
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MESSAGE OF THE DAY: Welcome to my brog. :)
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"unlike us monsters, human funerals are sad affairs because they don't explode into a pile of loot on death, and thus all the relatives and friends cry from disappointment"
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red sonic the hedgehog
when her military husband didn't make it
lets get the circulating for the fourth of garbage
I HATE THE UNITED STATES I HATE THE UNITED STATES I HATE THE UNITED STATES 250 YEARS OF BLOODSHED AND CRUELTY FUCK THE UNITED STATES FUCK THE USA
The thing about American "leftist" comedians is that they aren't actually leftist, they are the Imperial Court Jesters. They stand on a stage, point directly at the blood-soaked gears of the war machine, make a little tee-hee noise, and the crowd erupts. Not because they are critiquing the machine, but because the laughter is a pressure release valve for the people inside it. Take the video of that stand-up asking the defense contractor if she helped Trump bomb those 160 Iranian school girls, and everyone laughing, including the contractor herself. That laughter is ritual absolution. The contractor laughs because she knows she will never face a tribunal. The audience laughs because they get to feel "self-aware" without having to actually stop anything. The joke doesn't condemn the contractor; it humanizes her, turns her into a lovable scamp who just happens to have a job graphing the velocity of shrapnel through children's bodies. By making it a punchline, the comedian sanitizes the atrocity. The blood is scrubbed off the stage. The audience gets to say "wow, we are so edgy for talking about it" while the person who builds the bombs gets to chuckle and order another drink. It is not satire, it is a team-building exercise for the empire.
Then there is the YouTuber talking about Transformers, casually dropping the "Iraq war aesthetic" like it's a color palette. Desert punk. Military core. A vibe. This is what happens when your country hasn't had a war on its own soil in living memory; the violence becomes media, a backdrop for childhood toys. The explosions are no longer the sound of mothers screaming; they are cool action sequences. They are digesting the visual debris of massacre as a nostalgic fashion choice, scraping the trauma off and compressing it into a genre for their retro-futurist fantasies. The apocalypse becomes a mood board.
And finally, the girl recounting celebrity love triangles from her childhood, flippantly mentioning how the U.S. was "busy with the Iraq war or whatever." Or whatever. That single phrase is the thesis statement of American innocence. Over a million dead, a region destabilized for a century, an endless river of grief; and for her, it was the commercial break between pop culture segments. It didn't raise her rent. It didn't stop her Wi-Fi. The violence is geo-locked to brown skin and distant deserts, just background noise like a refrigerator humming. She has the luxury of forgetting because the machine doesn't eat her children, it eats yours.
Americans don't hate the machine; they love the output. They hate the mess of it. So they turn it into jokes, into aesthetic, into "whatever." Because if they stopped laughing, if they stopped scrolling, if they actually looked at the 4K drone footage of the aftermath instead of the cool explosion CGI in their movies, they would have to realize that the lithium in their phones, the gas in their tanks, and the comfort of their suburban cul-de-sacs are all greased with the fat of foreign children. And they can't handle that. So they laugh. They turn it into a vibe. They call it "the Iraq war or whatever." You can't deconstruct the master's house with the master's jokes, especially when the punchline is the corpses holding up the floorboards.
im still work shopping my oc but this is them so far
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if you are celebrating the fourth of july today then know that your time is rapidly approaching
This is shit writing
as a kid i constantly watched roadrunner and coyote cartoons and i’d play roadrunner and coyote with my dad which involved me running loops in my house bc the rooms made a circle while he tied a couch cushion over a beam to fall on me like an ACME anvil
happy fathers day
I had a dream I invented a little toy or two…
washington post fact checkers have given this post three out of five pinocchios
girl what the fuck
this book I’m reading on female evolution for some reason uses bill and hillary clinton as examples of the typical differences between male and female vocal structures and the author is like “imagine if bill clinton had a throat sac like an ape which caused his voice to resonate” don’t say that? I don’t want to imagine that?
billiam clinton saying his famous line “I did not have sexual relations with that woman” in a booming voice that can be heard up to two miles away and everyone starts hooting like monkeys and banging their fists on their chests
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Humans evolved cuteness aggression as a trait because cute things deserve to die
i did not think i would have to say this but can all children please unfollow my blog
