shit john says: Otherkin

“Yeah, that’s a thing. You can just . . . point at anything and claim kinship.”
He grabs a giant cup from his desk, cradles it to his chest and strokes it. Lets his eyes sort of glass over.
“I am cupkin. We both hold fluids so well. But people don’t understand that if they tip us the wrong way, it will all spill out.

s p i l l . . . o u t.”

The catalyst: Angelkin.

If these humans are animals, what stripped them of their humanity?

Cop Calls Ferguson Protesters ‘Fucking Animals’

People need to understand that we are all animals. We are domesticated, well trained animals that have (for the most part) learned to depend on and trust one another for the best chance at survival. This is a bargain we strike with each other, and it helps us quell the impulses that brought our more primitive ancestors success.

If you want me to keep to this bargain, you must also subdue your impulses. You cannot allow your fear of what I *might* do cause you to preemptively attack or restrict me. You must treat me as an equal. Through all the conditioning and socialization, I must still be able to find the path that sees at least my most basic needs met. I must not be abused. I must not live in fear. Otherwise I am cornered. And cornered animals tend to forget their training. They tend to snap and bite.

I’m not saying it’s right, I’m saying it’s what you can expect to happen.

We are full of secrets.

Not exactly current events, but I just got around to reading it.

Writer Cormac McCarthy’s ex-wife arrested after pulling pistol from vagina and threatening boyfriend

This incident highlights the root cause of all misogyny. Women have a secret pocket that men do not have, and you never know what we might pull out of there. Sometimes it’s just a small human. Sometimes it’s black tar heroin. Every once in a while it will be a firearm that gets pointed at you because you failed to respect our opinion on space aliens.

That is why we have to be ashamed of our vaginae.

Somewhere around Barstow, I guess.

Last night’s dream:

I am driving down a very long highway in an very long car from the 70’s. Heading toward the west coast I think. Next to me is a stocky looking dog – like a pit bull or boxer. It is reading a map.

In the back seat we have some bottles containing chemicals.  They are labeled with with pieces of tape that I understand to say “CHEMICALS” even though they are just pieces of colored tape.

There is also a large quantity of foam shapes – foam board, cones, spheres.  Like the kind of thing you get from a craft store.  I keep forgetting how much of it is there so I keep checking on it. Or the quantity is actually changing.  The quantity changes in proportion to how lost we seem to be.  We seem to be quite lost, so the amount of foam products has become unmanageable. I am aware that sooner or later it will stop taking up additional space, and will just start getting denser.  This is very bad for some reason.

I ask the dog could we please use the gps because I don’t think he is very good at reading a map. Partly because he is now holding it in his teeth – though I think he had hands before. He drops it and says he was just holding it to make me feel better anyway. At this point he has a human head that kind of looks like Hunter S. Thompson.  Or possibly Burgess Meredith.  He is smoking, in any event.

He notices me staring at him, and says, “Do you even see any turns?”

There are no turns.

I let the matter drop, and turn my attention back to the cargo. I suddenly recall that we are planning to build a rocket. I begin to consider that this plan may have flaws. I gesture to the back and say, “I don’t think this is going to work.  I really don’t see how this is going to work.”

The human-faced dog takes the cigarette out of his mouth and says, “Look, don’t be such a pussy. We just need to find an empty pool.”

I look in the back again – one of the bottles has come open and it is spilling glowing green liquid on the floor of the car.  It gets on some foam pieces.  They begin to melt. The floor of the car is also melting, and the car begins to split in two. I point back with my thumb and say, “But I don’t think that’s chlorine.”

The dog begins to laugh madly with the cigarette still clenched in the teeth of his manface.

My phone beeps – I check and see there is a new text.  It says “he is on drugs.”

I lower my phone and look back at the dog, who now also has a phone.  He sent the text. This baffles me, so I question him.

“How did you get a phone?”

“I’m a minority.”

“You are a dog.”

“And YOU are a fucking racist.”


Where are the three seashells?

This might be the most ridiculous thing ever.

I know I’ll sleep better knowing that the wealthy relieve themselves in total comfort. On a balcony, apparently. And why not? Because if you’re the sort of asshole that buys a $6400 toilet, you are probably the sort of asshole that thinks you are being benevolent by allowing the plebs to witness your morning shit.

At least the money isn’t going to social programs.

Oh hey, did you know they made Atlas Shrugged into a movie?

Did you want me to buy something?

I found this in a list of ‘inspirational commercials’:

It’s well done, kind of emotionally uplifting and there is no obvious product, which tells me it is most likely an ad for cologne. Or maybe jeans. Or Mormons.

I am mildly concerned that it is entirely subliminal advertising and I’ll be compelled to buy something I don’t really want without understanding why. Like, some random item will grab my attention at the store and when I try to tell myself I don’t need it, I’ll just picture myself punching a wolf in the face and be all “Fuck you, impulse control – I am going to live my dreams”. Then I buy a pallet of Slap-Chops and drive around listening to Ace of Base for the rest of the afternoon.

Seriously though, even if your self esteem is at an all-time high, you should probably not pick a fight with a wolf. They usually don’t turn into vapor. Unless they are also vampires, which probably won’t work out in your favor either.

Great song?

Or greatest song?

I remember that this came out when I was in junior high, which makes me feel mildly old. But fuck you guys – Tammy Wynette is old and she gets to be queen of the Africans. She is also attended by blond Asians, which is awesome.

Actually, Tammy Wynette is dead, so I win. Possibly so do the rhino-people. I got a malevolent vibe from them, but they seemed content with rather modestly rocking out at the base of the dais, then slipping away in their submarine.

I May Come From An Alternate Reality

I base this statement on review of this world’s historical records – said records being the history channel. As I was flipping through the crap available for my viewing pleasure on a typical Sunday afternoon, I noticed that the history channel was airing Mad Max – apparently here this is some sort of documentary.

I really hope the reality presented here persists through the entire series of movies. I so want to live in a world where midgets train mildly retarded cage fighters.