if we loose this feature tomorrow let me just say it was a pleasure booping with all of you.

DELETE THIS POST

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

*clicks play in morbid curiosity*

*hammers reblog button*

I think I find this post every April Fools Day and I am so happy that I do

Villains in Addams Family movies go to really unnecessary lengths to defraud them of the family fortune. These people just give it away on whims all the time. If I just walked into the house and started wearing their clothes and spending their money, they wold start introducing me as Cousin Intruder and forget there was ever a time I didn’t live with them.

Gomez in particular would enjoy your boldness, Cousin Intruder.

Oh shit.

The Addams family loves and greets every person entering one of their homes.

The Addams family adopted or married every person wishing to stay.

This is why the Addams family is full of freaks.

Of course.

So what we’re saying is, tracing the Addams’ geneology is damn near impossible and it’s just as likely that no living member of the family is actually a blood relative of the people who originally held the family name?

What I’m hearing is that Batman is actually an Addams. 

He most certainly is

I mean, considering if you look at it in the light of a different story, the near (actual, factual) homicidal level of bond and love the Addams have for each other, the idea that they’re all adopted, the way that Bruce is often portrayed as a bit of an aloof, smarmy smarm in private, the possibility that young Bruce might not be wholly appreciative of his extended family’s eccentricities, of which his parents are the mildest of the bunch, the idea that those two parents are (distantly) Addams’ and get gunned down, well.

[Gomez]: I came, I came as soon as I heard

[Bruce]: I…I told you never to come back, I said, I said you were weird

[Gomez]: Please, my boy, to compliment me when you are so wracked with grief. *clutching hug* Dear Thomas, dear Martha, so full of life…

[Bruce]: *extricating* They….they fell in front of me…while he laughed…with mother’s pearls…

[Gomez]: The fiend! This dishonor cannot stand!

[Bruce]: And I felt….I felt it well up inside me, a black blood welling up…

[Gomez]: Yes, dear boy…

[Bruce]: I….will be vengeance….

[Gomez]: Yes….

[Bruce]: I…I will be the night!

[Gomez]: Yes!

[Bruce]: I….I am an Addams!

[Gomez]: YES!

[Bruce]: I. AM. BATMAN. *lightning, thunder*

[Gomez]: YES, YES!!! My boy, the rivers will run red with wonderful blood!

[Alfred]: *sigh* I’ll put the tea on and grab the foils then, shall I, sirs?

I AM DECLARING THIS CANON.

HEADCANON ACCEPTED

@copperbadge

I mean when you think about it, if Bruce Wayne is an Addams, everything he does makes sense. Gotham makes sense. Damian Wayne, trained vegetarian assassin, makes more sense if he’s an Addams.  

Now that we have accepted this revelation, I want you all to think about a hypothetical situation in which Bruce brings Superman and Wonder Woman to meet the Addamses. 

Alternate suggestion: after his parents were gunned down, and before the police arrived, a man on his way to the bathroom for a leak heard the gunshots and the screams, and being the sort of man who holds no fear of death or entertains any sort of disinclination to deliver a nice bit of torture or dismemberment or fisticuffs to someone who deserves it, Gomez Addams burst out the door into the alleyway, too late to do anything but comfort a traumatized boy whose eyes are filled with the sight of his parents’ blood.

His brand of comfort is considered highly unorthodox, but sometimes it’s just the sort of comfort a traumatized child needs, not too warm or too bright to be believed by someone who feels that the world will never be all right again, but the comfort of someone who has learned to walk with death, and even to dance, and by the time the police arrive, and the medics, and the coroners, and Alfred, Bruce Wayne is … not okay, at all, but a little less not-okay than he would be.

And Gomez is a wealthy man, if possessed of a rather eccentric reputation, and there is no doubting his kindness, so when the invitations start arriving for young Bruce to visit, to attend an All Hallows Eve party, to play with young Wednesday and Pugsley, to learn swordfighting or dancing or how to be a good host at a dinner party … Alfred sees no harm in letting his young charge go off to do so. Bruce always comes back a bit more settled, a bit more sure of himself, so they must be a good influence.

And when Bruce gets his idea about vengeance, and protection, and a giant bat suit, well. His mentor Gomez thinks it’s a delightful idea, here, there are live bats in the belfry if Bruce needs some references, and dead ones in taxidermied and articulated skeleton form all through the house if he wants to make anatomically correct wings, and a treasure trove of weaponry and interesting gadgets that Wednesday and Pugsley have been trying to kill each other with for years now, knock yourself out.

And nobody is prouder than Gomez when Batman brings his first sidekick home.

Bruce bringing Superman and Wonder Woman to meet the Addamses: sublime, excellent, comedy gold

Bruce bringing Dick, his new murderbaby to meet the Addamses: The Epitome Of Perfection

… The world isn’t ready for an Addams’ Dick Grayson. But I am. FEED ME!

@thebibliosphere I hope you have fun with this one, Joy. :)

Oh no. I have a mighty need.

You guys need to check out nikhilclayton on TikTok. He has a whole series of skits that are the Addams in Gotham.

Oh yeah, I forgot about that! @halfblackwolfdemon and @thebibliosphere if you haven’t yet, go have some fun. :3

[writes about Jesus but it’s actually about being trans] [writes about being trans but it’s actually about Jesus]

happy trans day of visibility easter sunday 2024

it’s criminal that the original post didn’t link to the full version:

I’ve been loving jimlapbap’s arrangements for years, but most of his videos get less than 300 views on youtube, which is tragic because they’re works of art!

some of my favorites:

Star Trek TOS theme in the style of The Office

“Single Ladies” sea shanty

A Charlie Brown Dubstep

2018 pop songs as Irish jigs

“Montero (Call Me By Your Name)” sea shanty

“Teenagers” by MCR, ragtime piano cover

and of course, the Sail shanty above, which I ended up buying as an mp3 because I adore it

basically, this dude deserves way more love, and I’m so glad that he’s finding an audience on tiktok!

REBLOG if you have amazing talented artist friends!

HECK YEAH YALL ARE AMAZING! >:DDDDD

I hate Bruce's "I don't kill because once I start, I wouldn't be able to stop"

Like I simply do not buy it. Murder is not a potato chip Bruce. I think he is full of shit and a messy bitch who lives for the drama. I am certain Bruce has some kind of valid reason for not killing, but I don't believe that this is it.

No no let’s dig into this. And let’s not go into the obvious of, “murders bad” or “he’d feel guilty” like let’s try to find another reason to why this bitch man doesn’t kill anyone, including his son’s murderer

So there are generally around 5-6 "big reasons" traditionally given for why Bruce doesn't kill his villains, many of which have been explored in comics and others of which have been discussed and debated ad nauseum around the internet. Here's the four I tend to find most compelling:

As an expansion of #2, you could very reasonably make the point that "but it's the Joker! He's different!" But is he? Is he really? He's certainly done more permanent personal harm to the Batfamily than most other villains (Babs and Jason specifically), but what about Two-Face smashing Dick to pieces with a baseball bat in Robin: Year One? What about Black Mask torturing Steph to death during War Games? What about Shiva killing Cass in Batgirl (even if she brought her back)? What about Ra's nearly killing Tim in Red Robin? What about Talia murdering Damian by proxy (via Heretic) in Batman Inc.? What about Bane murdering Alfred in City of Bane? Where's the line?

Bruce has seen 3-4 people he's either legally or nominally responsible for die on his watch, another 3 tortured to near-death conditions on multiple occasions, 1 permanently injured, and had a villain murder the man who raised him and leave his body for Bruce to find, and yet the only thing anyone really ever talks about re: Bruce killing is Jason and the Joker. If the line is torturing one of his kids (or those flying under his banner) half to death, by all rights he should have killed Two-Face and Black Mask for what they did to Dick and Steph. If it's killing a 'family' member, he should have killed Joker, Black Mask, Bane, and Talia (also Lex Luthor and...technically Jacob Kane, considering everyone thought Tim was dead during the Rebirth arc).

It's not just the Joker at stake here: if we start saying "Batman should kill the Joker because of what he did to Jason [and everyone else]," you start getting into really thorny questions about well...a lot of Bruce's villains have done some ridiculously morally reprehensible stuff, including mass murder and irreparable personal harm to someone he considers family. What makes the Joker's mass murder different from Ivy's mass murder (and yes, canonically they are both mass murderers) that justifies the Joker's death but not Ivy's?

You can of course justify that by saying "but Ivy's not unredeemable! She can be reasoned with and rehabilitated!" but...what if Bruce had made the decision that she was unredeemable and worthy of death before her No Man's Land-era redemption arc kicked off? It loops back around to #1, that Bruce doesn't feel personally qualified to make that moral and ethical decision about who gets to live or die, because he thinks everyone has the personal capacity to change (and what right does he have to take that possibility away from someone?)

....also personally I think "they deserve to die" and "I deserve to kill them/let them die" aren't morally/ethically equivalent statements and Bruce can certainly think Joker deserves to die without also thinking he is morally allowed to kill him (or morally allowed to let someone else kill him when he has the ability to stop them).

Reblog to let your followers know that they’re safe from jumpscares/screamers/etc from you on April 1st but they are NOT safe from getting boop’d like an idiot amen

I shall be passing all boops along to Malice and Vice, who are both four years old as of April 1. Vice gets to wear the birthday tiara tomorrow, as is his right.

wait did you guys break my boop button??????

it's literally not even midnight yet. It's not even april 1 for me. What comes after max??

well okay apparently LOL is after MAX. I guess I'm worse at math than I thought.

"taken" style action movie where a man searches for his wife. as he fights baddies in gunfights and hand-to-hand combat, it's slowly revealed that:

the tension builds until, drenched in blood, our protagonist steps forward for the final showdown. he pulls a manila envelope from his bullet-torn jacket and throws it at his wife's feet. he's just spent an entire trilogy biting & killing & maiming....all so he can deliver his shit wife her divorce papers

call it Taken… To Court

#Taken 2: Court

#THIS IS BECAUSE YOU DON'T ANSWER YOUR EMAILS BETHANNY #IT'S NOT THAT HARD TO GET STUFF NOTARIZED BETHANNEY #MANY BANKS PROVIDE THAT SERVICE BETHANEY. FREE OF CHARGE.

The 1969 Easter Mass Incident

Content Warnings: Religion, food, symbolic cannibalism, symbolic gore, penis mention, Blasphemy, SO MUCH BLASPHEMY, weapons, war mention.  Mind the warnings and your health always comes first. Its a HILARIOUS story, I promise.

As always, all the names have been changed to protect people’s identities.  This is a long one, so Press J now if you want to skip it.

When my dad was a young man and still a practicing catholic, he participated in a small church communion that nearly got him and six other people excommunicated.

Father Patrick ran a small church outside of California Polytechnical and tended to be… rather more liberal in his interpretations of scripture than most of the church was, which made him something of a hit with the local students and liberally-inclined populace.  Pat went to all manner of civil demonstrations, condemned the shit out of the vietnam war and the politics that lead to it and so on.  In January of 1969 a series of incidents lead him to start exploring “nontraditional” means of holding Mass as a means of reaching out to his community and exploring his own faith, which ultimately culminated in the 1969 Easter Mass Incident.

For those of you who weren’t raised catholic, Communion is this ritual where you become one with Jesus by eating a really horrible bland wafer cookie and taking a shot of wine (called hosts), which then *literally* become the flesh and blood of jesus in your mouth, allowing him to become one with you.  It’s big McFucking deal, and you have the opportunity to take communion at every mass.  All this had to be explained to me second-hand because after this and Dad’s 51 days in the army, Dad decided he wouldn’t inflict religion on any children he might have in the future.

“Hey dad,” Six-year old me asked the first time he told me this story after my practicing friends were talking about getting wine at church. “Isn’t that cannibalism?”

“We’re getting to that.”  He waved.

The First Incident in January when, due to a serious cock-up by the church, all the hosts Father Pat received were moldering and spoiled and probably would have killed someone if he’d actually fed anyone them.  But it was the first mass of the year, when a peak number of people came in after vowing to got to church more for new year’s.  He couldn’t NOT have communion.

“I’ll bake.” offered Maria, the parish secretary and probably the best baker in the county. “So we have hosts.  Jesus will understand.”

Father Patrick, not one to pass up the chance at Maria’s cooking, immediately agreed.

A Host is supposed to be composed solely of unleavened wheat flour and water, which is why they taste terrible.  It’s a theological point of some importance relating to Exodus or something but Maria had an important theological counterpoint: Jesus both divine and loves all his children, ergo, Jesus would neither be a nasty bland cracker nor want his children to suffer as such and so instead, she made Mexican wedding cookies.

They were a SPECTACULAR hit.  Many praises were heaped upon father patrick for the Much Better Wafers and that they’d be sure to show up next week as long as Maria kept making them.  Father Patrick figuring that hey, anything that gets people in the doors is good and really, if it was turning into Jesus once inside the parishioner, did it really matter what the wafers were made of?  So he continued to let Maria bake the Hosts, and encouraged her to try out new flavors, like nutmeg and cinnamon.

This went on swimmingly for a few weeks until The Bishop showed up for a surprise visit the same week Maria decided to experiment with rainbow sprinkles.

Dad remembers hearing the bishop through the windows roaring “THE HOLY BODY OF CHRIST DOES! NOT! CONTAIN! RAINBOW! SPRINKLES!”

The matter went clean up to The Archbishop, who decided that while Pat was probably right to not feed spoiled hosts to his parish, he should attend some remedial classes to remember what Communion was all about, so that if it happened again, he’s come up with a more suitable substitute.

Father Patrick returned in late March, full of spite and some fascinating new ideas.

“Is this where the Cannibalism happens?” Six-year-old me asked, eager to get to the good parts.

At his remedial classes, the teacher had stressed the importance of transubstantiation, aka “That bit where the wafer and wine, Actually, Literally, become the flesh of Jesus Christ and we expect you to swallow.”  Also on the syllabus was understanding the importance of Christ’s suffering and sacrifice.

“So, I was thinking about Easter Service.”  Said father Patrick one afternoon while dad was doing his computer science homework at the church because his dorm was a barely-standing fire hazard and the library was where you went to have sex.

“Well, we do re-enactments for christmas.  Why not on easter?  Why not re-enact the crucifixion of Christ right here? Make it real for everyone.  Trauma’s great for bonding a community together.”

“Who’s playing Jesus?” asked Maria, always one for a good laugh.

“That’s the thing- A Host, it doesn’t look much like flesh, right?  Doesn’t look like much of anything, really.  Not great for reinforcing one’s belief.

What if, instead, we- and I mean you, Maria, I can’t cook to save my life- make a man-sized loaf of bread, maybe in the shape of a T, and we have some of the boys dress up as romans and whip the bread and we pour the wine on so it’s bleeding and them- then we make a big wooden cross and actually nail the bread to it with, I don’t know, railroad spikes, more wine all over. And we raise the cross, all while telling the story of the crucifixion.”

He paused to take a drink, Maria slowly crumpling onto the floor in horrified laughter and Dad now thoroughly distracted from his homework.

“Then we lower the cross, and invite everyone who wants to take communion up to tear a hunk of Jesus off.  Just descend into his corpse like vultures.  I think that’d really be a good bonding experience for the church.”  he nodded thoughtfully.  “The hard, part, I suppose, will be finding enough romans.”

“I WANNA BE LONGINUS.” bellowed my father, barreling into the room.

And so, the plan was hatched.  Dad hit up every other guy in the Church and eventually rounded up four more romans, three of them from the Education Department of Cal Poly, and one guy from Chemistry, who just liked to watch things burn.

This, being a play, naturally meant that there was a rehearsal, and test Bread jesus.  Maria had decided that if they were going to start being extra-literal, she needed to make the most lifelike Bread jesus possible, and made a distressingly buff and human-proportioned Jesus by Advanced bread-braiding, complete with plaited hair, quail’s-egg-and-raisin eyes, bready muscle groups, and an eight-pack because why not make the lord completely shredded?*  She also made the important theological decision that since Jesus loves everyone and was happy to die in spite of all his suffering, he should be smiling, and had a toothy corn-kernel smile.  He was Wonderful and Terrifying all at once.

“Maria,” asked Father Patrick after a few minutes of delighted and horrified cooing over Jesus’ toothy grin and abdominals. “Why is he wearing a tea-towel?

“Well, he’s the Son of God. A Man.  With all that entails.”  She said, pointedly staring at Father Patrick while everyone stared at the suspiciously lumpy tea-towel.  “And he might have… burnt, slightly.”

Everyone nodded and agreed that the tea-towel was the best course of action.  The rehearsal goes splendidly and everyone agrees that this is the most delicious Jesus they’ve ever had.

Easter Sunday arrives and the Church is PACKED, from the more lapsed Catholics showing up for a high holiday, parents visiting for spring break and a whole horde of newcomers who had gotten wind that something was up and they ought to come.

Dad is a lanky as hell 21-year old composed mostly of technical jargon and acne but he is STOKED to be playing Longinus, the roman that speared Jesus on the cross, because he gets to do the BEST technical effect in the whole parade.  Since he came in at the end me missed a good portion of the sermon, but did hear the “oooh” from the crowd as the massive cross was dragged in by the other Romans, followed by horrified gasps and high screams and a discernible “What the FUCK” as they brought in Bread Jesus 2.0, whipping him enthusiastically, and hammering him into the cross, the sound of wine splashing onto the floor loud in the terrified silence of that Parishioners.

Finally Father Patrick gets to the part about Longinus, and Dad comes sprinting down the aisle as hard as he can, because in order for Bread Jesus to be seen by everyone, his middle had to be about 10 feet off the ground, so Dad had to run, shrieking latin curses,  down the length of the church, with a big honking spear and take a flying leap at Jesus in order to spear him in the gut.

Please take moment to imagine you are some normal god-fearing catholic who has decided to visit little bobby or maybe patricia at college and you’re all going to church together like a nice family and this Fucking madman has decided to go all Silence of the Lambs on mass and now there’s some sort of underfed translucently pale man in ill-fitting Roman armor and cape flying at a horrifying glutinous effigy of your lord and savior, with an actual fucking spear, screaming like a madman.  Don’t you feel yourself drawing closer to God already? Defensively, perhaps, like an octopus trying to ooze itself into a crevice against the horrors of the ocean.

However, two things happen that were not planned on

1. Dad misses.  In his defense, Bread Jesus is close to but not quite the size of a man- more like the size of a doughy teenager, and his middle is a small target 10 feet up in the air and dad is has a computer science minor, not an athletics scholarship.  He misses by about 8 inches and instead very solidly stabs Bread Jesus right through the groin, leaving a big hole in Maria’s tea-towel and the spear jutting out at a decidedly… attentive angle, as Bread Jesus’s Bread Dick drops to the floor with a splat.  Nobody notices this, however because

2. In rehearsal, Dad had managed to get the spear right in jesus’s navel but neither Father Patrick nor the other romans could get the wine up there to make his middle appropriately bloodied.  

Maria come up with the Genius solution that since wine is made of grapes and Jam is made of grapes, she could make a jelly-filled Jesus for Dad to stab.  There was a normal-sized test loaf and when dad stabbed it on the table, it had a nicely gooey dribbling effect.

However, this time the loaf was torso-sized, still hot from the oven and upright, so when dad speared the very end of the loaf, all the steam-pressured jam had collected at the bottom and a spray of lukewarm smuckers exploded out from bread jesus, turning the first three pews into a splash zone of symbolic entrails.

There was  a hot, sticky minute of complete silence in the church after that. 

Then, Father Patrick indicated it was time for the cross to be lowered, and continued on with the normal preparations of the Host, he himself covered in hot smuckers, as though nothing particularly ordinary was occuring, quietly kicking the bread-dick under the altar. At the end of it all, Father Patrick and invited everyone up with the Last Oration:

“Thou, O God, has kindly allowed us to have a part in this Holy Sacrifice; for this we give Thee thanks. Accept it now to Thy glory and be ever mindful of our weakness. Amen.”

…And everybody came up, shuffling like terrified zombies, pinching off tiny bits at first but then the madness took them and they began tearing apart bread jesus by the handful, weeping as they partook, scattered prayers and begging for forgiveness.  The whole congregation was kneeling about the altar, tearful and united in their guilt and their need for God.

“IS CHURCH ALWAYS LIKE THAT?” six-year-old me asked, absolutely stoked.  I’d convert on the spot if I got a show like that.

“No, it’s normally bland wafers and lots of chanting in latin.”

“Well that’s boring as hell.” I remember muttering and Dad snorting the coffee he was drinking out of his nose.

As people filed silently out of the Church to a gloriously sunny California afternoon, faces wan and smeared with wine and jam, Father patrick turned to Maria and asked “You don’t think that was too much, do you?”

“No.”  Said Maria with a sarcastic deadpan so intense it was hard to tell from sincerity.

It was the exact same tone she used when the Archbishop and Six other high clergy showed up, clutching a letter someone had written, Livid and almost foaming at the mouth, demanding to know if such blasphemy had transpired.

“No.  That’s crazy.”  She said, staring down the archbishop like he was an idiot.

“Such imaginations some people have!” Said Father Patrick, much less convincingly.

“And you-  you didn’t…  Spear an effigy of our lord and savior?”  the archbishop demanded of my father.

“Do I look like I can jump that high?”  Dad asked, having in the interim been drafted for 51 days then nearly died of pneumonia from it, and therefore no longer afraid of the Church, the Law or God.

Somewhat relieved that he’d only received the extremely detailed ramblings of a doddering parishioner, the Archbishop sat down and complemented Maria on her most excellent Mexican Wedding Cookies, may he please have another plate for his nerves? Perhaps the ones with sprinkles?

Dad went on to help build the internet, Father Patrick converted to Buddhism and Maria became a Nun.

*For those of you wondering, Jesus was made of Challah.

If you got a laugh out of this, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or subscribe on Patreon,  Thank you very much and I hope you enjoyed it!

Sara Mrad | Ripples in the Wind

#SPIKESWEEP

Discworld Heritage Post

Kitten paintings by Meta Plückebaum (Germany, 1876 - 1945)

Sometimes I say self loathing things to my therapist and he looks at me dead in the eyes before saying “You fucking moron.” and tbh same

Me: I think I don’t exist.

Therapist: Listen, you do exist, and if you didn’t, someone would have to create you because the world would be a much sadder place.

Me: Jerome, how dare you saying something so sweet when I’m dissociating.

Me: Honestly, (thing that is totally fucked up for any ‘sane’ person) is normal, right?

Therapist: No.

Me: Wow.

Therapist: You’re just a fucked up bitch.

Me: I do agree with the fucked up bitch part.

Therapist: That’s a start!

Me: I guess he’s still my friend?

Therapist: Considering what you told me and how much you wanna beat him to death, he’s not. You pretty much hate him despite knowing him for years.

Me:

Me: Why did I need to come here to realize that.

Therapist: Because that’s my job to help you to understand some stuff. Also because you’re way too kind and you would let someone punch you in the guts and still consider them as your friend while they stab you.

Me: I don’t need that kind of call out, Jerome.

Me: Hey, I brought you coffee. And croissants too, but I ate them. *puts Starbucks coffee in front of him*

Therapist: Oh that’s nice!!... Oh my name is on it!!

Me: Yeah!!

Therapist: It’s wholesome but... *very confused and silently*... How do I drink it?

Me, not being able to come to my appointment and having to call him: I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I’m so so so sorr-

Therapist: I dare you to say sorry one more time. I dare you.

Therapist: Hey I wanna show you this super funny image I found the other day.

Me: What-

Therapist: *turns his screen and show me THIS* 

Me: 

Me: Jerome.

Therapist: You went to the gaypride?

Me: Yeah, I went.

Therapist: Was it something you enjoyed?

Me: Mh. Yeah. Sorta.

Therapist: Did you see some bears?

Me:

Me: Jerome wh-

Therapist: That’s the only term I know outside of the LGTB one, I wanted to use it. 

Therapist: Are you sure you’re not becoming roommate with (name) because of pity? Kinda sacrificing yourself?

Me: No, I want it!!

Therapist: Finally, you’re not forcing yourself for the others! And you’re doing something you want! I’m proud of you!

Me: You’re more of a dad than my own father.

Therapist: That’s not very hard.

Me: I always wondered, are you queer?

Therapist: I am not.

Me: Ooh.

Therapist: Or am I?

Me: Ooh!

As an update, Jerome gave my appointment to someone’s else today so we were both in the waiting room, confused and he walked in, patted my head and said sorry but honestly it was hilarious.

The secretary came to tell me that Jerome actually forgot to write me down on the appointment list.

This is a 100% normal situation with Jerome as my Therapist.

As an addition, more than half of my friends want Jerome to adopt me and refer to him as “Therapist dad”.

He’s aware of it and think it’s hilarious.

Me, after complaining for the 25 times about my birth father: Idk if you noticed, but I’m full of anger against him.

Therapist: Oh, really, I never noticed. You know, you should turn that anger into indifference. It would help you.

Me: Unholy gods, I wish it was me.

Therapist: You know, people will still love you even if you don’t offer them things all the time. You don’t have to do that.

Me: What??

Therapist: Why don’t you send a mail to your psychiatrist when you have a bad mood swing?

Me: Like what? ‘Hey Joël wassup, I’ve been very suicidal lately last night I wanted to die. Hope you have rad vacations and the weed is good save some good kush for me, kissy kissy.’ ?

Therapist: Exactly.

Me: You’re as bad as me with human interactions Jerome, y’know.

Me, heavily dissociating: I don’t exist-

Therapist: Can I touch you to prove you that you do?

Me: Dinner first.

Therapist:

Therapist: Damien, you moron.

Therapist: You need vacations.

Me: I’m broke.

Therapist: Oh yeah.

Therapist: You still need vacations tho.

Me: Jerome, I am still broke.

Me, by text: Hey, you just walk by me!

Therapist, by text: Oh sorry. I didn’t see you.

Therapist, by text: Wait. Were you at the tattoo shop?

Me, by text, totally at the tattoo shop: You have no proof.

For a bit of context here: Around two months ago I went to a friend’s who happened the live on the same street as Jerome, which I didn’t know. He was really surprised to see me and came to check on me, asking me why I was here with a bit of concern on his voice. And this take place earlier this month:

Therapist: So your friend lives in the same street than I?

Me: Yes. Town’s short I guess.

Therapist: Were you really going to your friend...?

Me: Yes?? Why else would I be here?

Therapist: A lot of drug deals happen in this street and I see often teenagers and young adults coming and buy stuffs. I was a bit worried for you.

Me, at 2pm: I’m sorry I’m going to be late!

Therapist: Your appointment was this morning at 11:30am, Damien.

Me:

Me: What.

Jerome is still not aware of his fame and idk how to announce him.

Therapist; What’s up with you and wanting domestic rats.

Me: I’m gonna get a rat and call him Jerome just to piss you off.

Therapist:

Therapist: How dare you.

Therapist: Weed doesn’t do much on me and I must admit I’m kinda disappointed.

Me:

Therapist: Do you smoke?

Me: Jerome.

On hard days I wonder how Jerome is doing

He’s doing fine, last time he shown me his fav pic of a red panda which is this one

I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FUCKING FOUND IT AAAAAAAH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HAPPY THIS MADE ME FEEL

It’s really amazing how happy people get when they find this post omg

Always reblog Jerome.

Is he now aware of his fame?

After months, he is, and he just told me “Haha, this is funny. I’m happy it’s helping people!”

I think he doesn’t realize that he’s known *worldwide*

I LOVE THIS POST!!!!!

ok!!

Baked Beans is trying to remember what day it is…

Swiss Cheese knows!

It’s Fat Bear Friday!

so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now i’m thinking….maybe this is the good luck post

…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment

likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post

i need all the help i can get for finals

Hey so

the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like. 

So you know. 

This might be the real one, y’all.

what the hell? i could use some luck *hits reblog*

World Heritage Post

reblogging again… need it bad lol