I ♡ Pan[da]cakes!

most likely umby pumby is la la’s kid and duggle dee is po’s. Yellow and red make orange, so Po and La La got together to have Ruru. 

Nin is purple, so that one is Tinky Winky’s. Dipsy’s is Daa daa because they’re both green. but look at daa daa’s antenna. seems a bit similar to la la’s no? la la and dipsy had some shit on the side.  

po, that other cheating fuck, had ping with tinky winky because ping is pink and that’s suspiciously similar to red and purple. also check out that fucking antenna. same as tinky winky’s. can’t hide the facts. po and la la were cheating on each other and now they have a shit ton of kids to pretend aren’t theirs. 

tinky winky and dipsy also aren’t innocent in this. the actual color of mi mi is an aqua green. green and blue. dipsy and tinky winky had mi mi AND they probably had Baa too. they had TWO KIDS and they’re off getting some tubby custard on the side. 

*Stares*

I have an older brother, Jake, who was seven; then me, Hellen, age five, then Seth, age three, and my little sister Gin would have been one. It was late August, and we were at our nanny’s house, though she was gone for the day. Bob was in charge.

Bob should probably not have been in charge.

Bob tried keeping us entertained with board games and tag and movies. Gin took a nap. Eventually he decided to get creative, and sat us down in the living room with a game and vanished into the garage. There was a smashing sound. And then some saw noises. And then some hammering. And then we saw him going around the house to the back yard through the windows, though we were too short to see what he was doing. And finally, he yelled to us to come out into the driveway. 

Jake and Seth and I trooped out. Bob had both hands behind his back. He stepped up to Jake and revealed what he had in his right hand. 

It was a wooden sword. It was clearly made from what appeared to be parts of a chair’s legs, cut down and nailed together. He presented this, and announced, “You are Sir Jake, the strongest knight!” 

He stepped up to Seth and presented what was in his left hand. It was another wooden sword, smaller than the first, also crudely made out of chair legs. He announced, “You are Sir Seth, the bravest knight!”

At this point, I was practically vibrating in place, waiting eagerly for my sword so I could use it to whale on my brothers, as god intended me to do. I was therefore understandably disappointed to be presented with the business end of a garden hose and told, “You are Miss Hellen, the Water Fairy!”

“No,” I said. “I want a sword.”

Bob was confused. “But you get water magic! Magic’s great!”

“No.” I repeated, holding the hose. It had a spray nozzle set to jet. “I want a sword.”

“Magic’s great. Magic’s better than a sword.” Bob insisted. “You’ll see. Wait here a moment.”

And then Bob ran around the side of house and vanished. 

We stood in the driveway. Jake and Seth poked each other with their swords. I spritzed them idly with the hose, trying to decide which of them would be easier to steal a sword from. 

And then we heard a quiet wooshing noise, and smelled smoke. 

We turned. As we watched, a line of fire rushed around the corner of the house, consuming a path of gasoline poured into the dry August grass. 

We paused and considered this for a few moments. I raised the hose and sprayed a jet of water at the fire. It went out. We glanced at each other. Then we took off running, following the trail of fire, spraying as we went. 

The fire led in a path around the house to the back yard. As we turned the corner, we saw Bob, clad in a bathrobe and holding a curtain rod, standing in the center of a large ring of burning grass. He cackled manically. “I am the FIRE WIZARD! Your puny swords are useless! Nothing but water magic can defeat me!”

I promptly blasted him with the hose. He spluttered. The fire did not go out. 

I turned the hose on the fire itself, spraying a section close to us so that it would extinguish. As soon as there was enough room, Jake charged forward, brandishing his chair leg sword with a battle cry. Seth, always happy to be included, followed. They ran into the circle and began beating Bob around the kneecaps with their swords. I kept spraying. 

Eventually, Bob the Fire Wizard was brought down and all the fire was extinguished. Seth and Jake continued to work on bruising Bob’s shins, and I quickly discarded the hose to lend my fists and extremely pointy elbows to the cause. Bob lay in the smoldering grass, probably regretting using such sturdy chair legs. 

Once we’d all tired ourselves out and lay panting in a heap, Bob decided it was time for the moral of the story. “You see, a sword is nothing compared to the power of a little girl with **magic**.” 

We thought about this for a few moments. Bob nodded wisely. Jake and Seth nodded back. 

“Where was Gin?” She was sleeping in a crib on the sunporch. We did this a lot–played outside while she napped–because we could hear her if she woke up and started crying, but were less likely to wake her up. She slept through the whole thing and was totally fine.

“You can’t put out a gasoline fire with water.” At the time, my little kid brain assumed that any flammable liquid was gas, but in retrospect it could have been almost anything. It very well may have been something other than gasoline. All I know is I could extinguish it with a garden hose.

“What did your parents say?” A lot of swear words at a very high volume.

“Did you get a sword?” Yes. Lots.  Here are a couple of them, and also my pet ringneck dove, Arson. You can see how this all may have had some lasting effect on me.

Arson lives her life constantly wishing she had opposable thumbs so she could light fires.

Bob continued to babysit occasionally; no one involved learned from any mistakes that were made on this day. At one point later that summer, Bob decided to play croquet with us in the yard. He was not aware of the fact that croquet was the only outdoor game my grandparents had, and we had been playing it our whole lives. We were all very, very good at croquet. 

Bob got his ass kicked. You can’t be a grown man and genuinely lose at croquet to a group of children under the age of seven; it’s too undignified. So he took the much more dignified route and tried to cheat. 

We were the spawn of two lawyers. We knew all the rules. There would be no cheating. 

Bob tried sneaking extra hits. This was against the rules, and not allowed.

Bob tried rolling the ball with his foot. This was unacceptable interference, and not allowed. 

Bob tried mashing the grass with his mallet in the path he wanted the ball to take. This was not correct use of the mallet, and not allowed. 

Bob continued to lose. He told us to wait a moment and went into the garage. Strange noises ensued. As I’m sure you recall from the story above: this was not a good sign. 

Bob emerged with a weed whacker.

There are no rules in croquet about weed whackers.

Bob used his weed whacker to dig trenches in the lawn that would direct his ball through every hoop and send ours off into the weeds. This was not, technically, a violation of the rules. 

Bob returned to his mallet and ball and took a tremendous swing, intending to send his ball through all the hoops at once. 

He swung way, way, way too hard. His ball shot directly into a ditch. The rest of us took our turns. Bob came in last.  

Regular Joe: I don’t??? Understand??? Why your dad’s head advisor is mad at me??? All I did was offer the princess a handkerchief???

Prince: Are you mad?! Giving an item as personal as a handkerchief to a visiting noble implies that you are completely satisfied with their trade taxes, and we’ve been planning to renegotiate with that kingdom for months!

Regular Joe: How was I supposed to know that?!

Prince: You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit stressed trying to understand enough American Literature to keep from getting you failed out of the class. Also, I complimented your classmate Hope on her blouse and she has not stopped glaring at me suspiciously all week.

So then a nurse comes over and goes "Okay, I've got some stickers I'll put on your things so we know they're yours" and I'm like "OK cool" so she puts a sticker on my coat and stickers on my bags of clothes and then she turns to Shamu and I'm like "oh I guess he gets a sticker too"

But no. She pulls out a hospital bracelet that's an exact copy of mine and slaps it on his tail, like so:

And i was delighted by this, so I took a picture to send to my friends, who were equally delighted, and were cracking me up with their reactions (like so:)

Anyway, they take me back and put me under, and when I awake groggily a few hours later it takes me a minute to get my bearings, so I don't notice Shamu at first. But then I realize he's tucked up next to me in the gurney, so I grab him, and my hand touches gauze.

And I'm like "huh?" so I look at him and I realize

YES THERE'S A FONT ITS CALLED CHINESE ROCKS AND ONCE YOU KNOW IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO NOT SEE IT IN EVERYTHING

We all know its the RDR/2 logo:

but hey, you know those guys who make Hades? Transistor? Bastion? Lets take a look at their log- oh.

Okay well.. have you guys ever played Tee K.O. on Jackbox? Surely it can't be the- oh my god

OKAY WELL MAYBE I'LL JUST GO TRY TO FIND A FUN INDIE GAME TO PLAY AND HEY LOOK AT THE R IN THE LOGO HERE IS THAT-

THAT'S RIGHT.

ITS

FUCKING

CHINESE ROCKS

today was the last day of school so i drew 1000 cats on my algebra teachers whiteboard

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