REDAMANCY

Either it was the real mona lisa, in which case, Miles Bron is a murdering idea-stealing phony who will be forever known as the guy who destroyed THEE mona lisa, and there is absolutely no coming back from that ----

OR, it was a fake, bc the museum was like "lmfao this joker thinks we'd loan him the ACTUAL mona lisa? Ahahahahaha" in which case, there's all the initial press coverage of the explosion and the shitty fuel and the murders and then the revelation that THEE MONA LISA was destroyed on Miles Bron's watch, and all of that plays out across the media, and THEN!!! the Lourve gets to step forward saying "dont worrry guys. We never gave him the real painting. We didn't trust him with it. We gave him a fake and he never noticed," which the media would have a FIELD DAY with, because it's like the resurrection of Jesus only with a painting, instead of a person, and also, the whole thing is funny as FUCK, bc they gave him a fake and he didnt notice, and also-also, clearly the Lourve was ahead of the curve when it came to recognising Miles' stupidity, and it'll stay in the media for WEEKS, that Miles was conned by the lourve and clearly they were right to trick him because LOOK WHAT HAPPENED to the fake Mona lisa, PLUS of course all the rest of the stuff like the 2 murders and the hydrogen fuel and the idea theft and etc.

Miles Bron was never in contact with the Louvre.

"France needed some money"? What the hell is that? And the ridiculous security system installed in his home? Miles was scammed.

This will mean that in small communities living close together, peer cohorts will have a level of privacy and separation from the group as a whole, a time to themselves as it were

baby, pointing at the light fixture over the table and signing "on": o.*

my sister: we actually can't turn that light on right now, because the lightbulb inside is burnt out! it needs a new one.

baby: ighbu.

sister: yes, lightbulb! granddaddy said after we eat he's going to climb up there on a ladder and change it, and then the light will come on!

baby: gadada! adda, uuu! ighbu o!

sister: exactly!

baby, signing "on" and pointing at the light and then my dad, with increasing urgency: GADADA ADDA UUUU. O.

my sister: we're going to finish eating first though, ok?

baby: nonono. O. gadada adda uuu.

[a split second goes by]

baby, pointing to himself: ba. adda uuu. ighbu.

me: you're going to climb the ladder and change the lightbulb yourself?

baby: dzyeah. *pointing to the buckle where he is buckled into the high chair* ububu.

me: unbuckle you? so you can change the lightbulb?

baby, highly businesslike: dzyeah.

And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.

Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.

When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.

And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.

And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.

Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.

I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.

There was a nervous guy at the meeting point who explained that his friends got food poisoning from dinner last night, but this was the whole point of the trip and he didn't want to hang about in a hotel room with sick people, but he was considering just going back home

The entire group immediately took him under their wing and adopted him into their friends and inside jokes and sharing snacks

He was dragged off and eaten by zombies in the first 15 minutes, complete with blood packs, and returned in the final room as a sort of final boss

like, hey, cat why don’t you have to use your Cat Dollars to invest in tampons? And cat is just like: fuck that noise, my body is OPTIMAL for not being made of inconvenient nonsense, sucks to be you

Periods

Bad backs

Permanent breasts that do not leave once baby is weaned

Dangerously large, unprotected, and non retractable male reproductive systems

Huge brain takes up way too much energy gotta eat more sleep less

Baby brain bigger than hips guess birth is life threatening now

•Breathing, eating, communication all from the same pathway, major choking hazard. Give me a dolphin style breathing tube.

•Most pleasurable nerve endings on the body locating on the filthiest parts of you, guarenteed spread of bacteria.

Husband (2016)

Nathan Brad Hall

Oil on stretched linen (40 x 30 in.)

The earliest known piece of detective fiction in which the butler, in fact, did it? Published in 1930.

The earliest known article calling out “the butler did it” as an egregious cliché in detective fiction? Published in 1928.