Dm: so you can take the princess back to the castle to marry a man and collect your reward or you can release her and let her run away with her girlfriend, but you won’t get any money
Player #1: I really like money but I also really like lesbians
Player #2: what do you value more, money or the gays
(They ended up escorting the princess and her gf to the country border bc our dragonborn barbarian scooped them up like babies and wouldn’t put them down until her ‘gay children’ were safe from ‘the evil heterosexuals’)
a robot may not talk about Fight Club or, through inaction, allow Fight Club to be talked about
I’m in love with the concept of this poor robot in a tux at a nice dinner party automatically punching out anyone who talks about David Fincher movies and then having to deal with the resulting scandal and embarrassment
Le Puivert is an uncomfortably upscale destination for a first date. You can’t pronounce half the items on the menu, and in the back of your mind, you worry that your date wants you to feel like you owe him something for bringing you here. Still, if he is that kind of guy, you don’t feel too bad about eating on his dime.
The staff are androids – real androids, the kind that almost look human. The usual Le Puivert clientele probably doesn’t want working class people anywhere near their food, you think bitterly. At least your waiter does not judge you for butchering the French dish names.
The appetizers are better than the conversation. Your date asks you about your interests, but his eyes glaze over whenever you open your mouth and you suspect he’s just waiting for his chance to speak. “You like old-timey science fiction?” he asks, sounding a little amused.
“Some of it.” Much of it is passé
now, but there’s something charming about what people thought the present might look like when it was still the future.
“Me too, but I like the serious stuff. Ever heard of Kurt Vonnegut?”
You nod. “I’ve read all his full-length novels and most of his short stories. I liked most of his stuff, but Welcome to the Monkey House kind of ruined him for me.”
His face shows no sign of recognition, and you’re kind of relieved – if he had defended the story, you would have walked out, and then you’d never get to find out what the hell fouace is.He then asks you if you’ve ever heard of Chuck Palahnuik, and seems convinced that the reason you didn’t like Fight Club is because you didn’t understand the complexity of the narrative.
You are poking dispassionately at your last fig tartine when the waiter returns with your entree. You’re so distracted by his pencil-thin mustache (so tiny! so unnecessary!) that you almost don’t notice when his eyes suddenly flash red and fix upon your date. The next few moments are a blur. When your brain catches up, your date is on the floor, struggling futilely against the waiter’s chokehold.
“The First Law of Robotics,” says the android with inhuman calmness, as your date kicks and claws at its arm, “Is that a robot may not talk about Fight Club or, through inaction, allow Fight Club to be talked about.”
Your meal is delivered to you free of charge, and you eat alone, filled with a sudden affection towards all robotkind.
I just thought about this today and dug through my pictures to find it: a letter from a black soldier in the Civil War to the person who owns his daughter. “The longer you keep my child from me the longer you will have to burn in Hell and the quicker you will get there.“
photo text (with corrected spelling and broken into sentences, paragraphs):
Letter from a Black Soldier to the Owner of His Daughter
Spotswood Ric, a former slave, writes to Kittey Diggs, 1864:
I received a letter from Cariline telling me that you say I tried to steal, to plunder, my child away from you. Not I want you to understand that Mary is my Child and she is a God given rite of my own.
And you may hold on to her as long as you can. But I want you to remember this one thing, that the longer you keep my Child from me the longer you will have to burn in hell and the quicker you’ll get there.
For we are now making up about one thousand black troops to come up thorough, and want to come through, Glasgow. And when we come woe be to Copperhood rebels and to the Slaveholding rebels. For we don’t expect to leave them there. Root nor branch. But we think however that we (that have children in the hands of you devils), we will try your the day that we enter Glasgow.
I want you to understand Kittey Diggs that where ever you and I meet we are enemies to each other. I offered once to pay you forty dollars for my own Child but I am glad now that you did not accept it. Just hold on now as long as you can and the worse it will be for you.
You never in you life before I came down hear did you give children anything, not anything whatever, not even a dollars worth of expenses. Now you call my children your property. Not so with me.
My children is my own and I expect to get them. And when I get ready to come after Mary I will have both a power and authority to bring her away and to exact vengeances on them that holds my Child.
You will then know how to talk to me. I will assure that. And you will know how to talk right too. I want you now to just hold on; to hear if you want to. If your conscience tells that’s the road, go that road and what it will bring you to Kittey Diggs.
I have no fears about getting Mary out of your hands. This whole Government gives cheer to me and you cannot help yourself.
Source: Ira Berlin, ed. Freedom, A Documentary History of Emancipation, 1861-1867. Cambridge: Cambridge University, 1982, 690.
I wanted to find out what happened (DID HE GET HIS DAUGHTER BACK?) and the answer is that not only was he reunited with his family, but went on to be a successful minister and his daughter was interviewed in the 30s for the Slave Narratives Project.
I know this isn’t Bojack related, but recently instead of turning men down by saying “no, thank you”, I experimented with saying “I’m engaged” and flashing a ring instead.
Needless to say, I am not engaged. It still worked better than just saying “no”, but then came questions like “so where is your fiancé?” and “he let you go out by yourself looking like that?” or just remaining persistent in asking for my number.
So I went into my closet, and pulled out a fiancé.
Now when I turn men down and they need further proof, they can know that I would rather lug around a 5 foot tall plastic skeleton to Steak n Shake and fake a proposal than give them my number.
His name is Braunschweiger Last-Name and I think I’m going to take his last name.
Update: the wedding was beautiful
The level of dedication this took is monumental and enviable and if I cared about anything this much I would be much farther in life
Donald Trump’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame has become a
honeypot for vandals, MAGA-hat cretins, and all sorts of shenanigans, so
the West Hollywood City Council unanimously voted to remove it permanently.
@saisai-chan and I made the end pairings and outcome of Naruto actually tolerable and make more sense than whatever the fuck Kishi was doing
every one of the kids, now adults, are essentially in love with one another and very close, no one dies, no one is straight, and Naruto canon is as big of a joke to them as it is to me, thanks for your time
This Is a Backup Blog 