me

at no point in time is this post to ever be construed as an invitation to tell me anything, show me anything, correct me on anything, or teach me about anything - and i do mean ANYTHING - even remotely related to the subject matter of this post.

i am not a hater of the subject matter of the post. i am not a fan of the subject matter of this post. my feelings towards it are similar to how a duck feels about an ice cream cone: largely indifferent about the main event, but i kind of enjoy the crumbs that i occasionally discover while i’m looking for the internet equivalent of whatever ducks eat. Do I know what the crumb really is? Nah! Do I have any context for the crumb or why it’s there? Don’t need it! Would i swoop at you while furiously squawking and trying to poop on your windbreaker if you started throwing unsolicited crumbs at me while telling me that i need to try it because it’s sooooo good? That once i ate about 500 crumbs, i’d think it was incredible? No. I would not swoop at you and poop on your windbreaker. I would do much, much worse.

sometimes when i establish ground rules like this, people assume i’m joking and go ahead and do the thing i said not to do. It is never a joke.

Do not try to teach me about the thing.

Okay.

Here we go.

For a brief moment yesterday, I couldn’t remember the name of the dude who wrote Homestuck, and the only thing that came to mind was the name “Dave Spiz.”

Ha ha! We’ve had a lot of laughs just now! Dave Spiz!

If you try to tell me anything about Homestuck, with god as my witness, I will find out where you sleep, and I will fill your ear canal to the fucking brim with gunk that i have scraped off of the grand central station elevator handrail. I will do it, and I will smile. I will leave your home with a lock of your hair, your cat in my arms and a clear conscience. He will become my cat, and I will rename him after a professional athlete from a city you dislike who is famous for playing a sport that you dislike.

I will make my cat a wildly successful instagram, and I will use the sponsorship money to hire a skywriter to write a top ten list of your most humiliating and shameful moments in the sky above your wedding ceremony, followed by a graphic mid-air depiction of your former cat pooping on your windbreaker.

I will befriend your spouse under the guise of being shocked that anyone would do such a thing, and then I will convince them that the best way to make money, given your tarnished reputation in the community at large, is to join a multilevel marketing company dealing in essential oils.

I will ensure that your spouse’s upline in the oil company is a veteran dance mom with a forced and brittle smile, and twins - both named Jayden - who have recently recieved in-school suspension for vaping during homeroom and dumping Mountain Dew Code Red into the bio teacher’s beloved saltwater aquarium, respectively. The upline will have a tattoo of the phrase “Live, Laugh, Love” on the back of her neck, just slightly off-center.

Before everything crumbles, she will convince you both to invest what remains of your meager savings in her soon-to-open Christian doggy nail salon, which she will subsequently burn down for the insurance money. The arson squad will suspect you, because I have left your hair in the smoldering wreckage. The insurance company will deny the claim, and one year later your spouse’s essential oil upline will drive a rider mower through your sliding glass door while holding an oversized glass of white wine and screaming that she could have been a singer if she hadn’t gotten bogged down in your bullshit.

When the bank forecloses on your house after you sink into an inescapable pit of oil debt, I will seek custody of your infant son, and I will win.

i was not kidding.

I mean, it isn’t at all like I had a sudden yearning to subtly devastate some lives over the course of the next few decades. I certainly didn’t devise a barely concealed talent search for truly deserving candidates.

And the safety briefing included the question “So if you’re pregnant, do you want to know or not?”

Turns out there had been a bit of an awkward situation once where the keepers had casually mentioned a woman’s pregnancy in a group, and she herself didn’t even know yet. Turns out the wolves are excellent at telling if you’re pregnant and the keepers can tell based on their body language.  They get all odd and careful around pregnancy. (Even wolves knows that you have to take care of pregnant people.)

So they definitely knew she was pregnant.

And if I remember my BBC documentaries right, a wolf will leave the pack to give birth and introduce the cubs to the pack once she feels ready for it. And maternity leave is flexible but often around 6 months so they’re going “YOU WERE GONE FOREVER! WE WERE SO WORRIED! WHERE ARE THE CUBS?? WE HAVE TO GREET THE CUBS!!“ 

English Surnames

Dutch Surnames

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Scandinavian Surnames

Welsh Surnames

Jewish Surnames

Surnames By Ethnicity

Most Common Surnames in the USA

Most Common Surnames in Great Britan

We call him Liver or

Shadow Gremlin of the 9th Realm, Guardian of the Stairs, Bringer of Terror and Nose Boops

Gaze upon him and tremble but also bring him Cheerios please

They used to cross the road, probably, no definitely, without looking left and right. And they got squished.

Environmentalists had a hell of a job, keeping them in their lane. Traffic would have to be blocked for the duration.

But now, they have a lovely bridge, and no one has to ask: Why did the Christmas Island Crab cross the road, if they’re just gonna get squished?

Answer: They want to hit the beach. Because that’s where they like to have sex. And because the mummy crabs like to throw their eggs into the ocean after they’ve spawned them in the burrows that the daddy crab so kindly digs on the beach.

Look at them scurrying over their bridge, the smell of the ocean in their noses, the thought of copulation driving them on…

Whew! Finally, made it to the beach…now The Sex can begin!

Mission accomplished… And a few weeks later after a float in the ocean…

Back come the ankle biters…to the rainforest where they live.

Well then, let me show you, because that’s what I do for a living.

Right now, it’s this time of the year, and the little ones have just freshly hatched:

You’ll notice they’re still blind and naked when they hatch. So I make them little coats to keep them warm during their first winter:

See how they happily line up to put them on:

See? Better. Now they’re ready to go and explore the world.

And if they make it through the winter and we take good care of them, they will grow up to be strong and wise like their older fellows: