I haven’t even read any communist stuff my ideology is “share and be nice” like the first two rules of a kindergarten
When you get out of kindergarten you might learn that stealing isn’t sharing.
Literally who is talking about stealing get outta here you absolutely giant jester
Do you know what redistribution means?
You sit back in your dark leather chair and run your fingers through your greying hair. You’ve just set up your preparations for owning some random kid on the internet and now all you have to do is wait for the fish to get the bait. You chuckle and close your eyes.
The door to your office opens up, letting in a flood of bright light from the world outside your cave, and a messenger stands squarely in the middle of the door frame.
“Telegram for giant jester!”
You walk over, take your telegram, and read.
“READ FIRST SENTENCE AGAIN STOP”
You smile confusedly and think it might be a mistaken delivery. You throw the telegram into the bin beside the door. The deliverer still stands like a gatekeeper, blocking the exit.
“Another telegram for giant jester!”
You think this is all very strange. People usually don’t send two in a row, and now this messenger won’t leave you alone. You are beginning to sweat lightly in your cheap cotton suit. You open this new telegram and read it.
“REDISTRIBUTION INVOLVES TAKING MONEY FROM PEOPLE WHO HAVEN’T WORKED FOR IT YOU THINK JEFF BEZOS MOVES EVERY PACKAGE HIMSELF THE BASTARD SITS THERE AND MAKES THE SALARIES OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE IN A MINUTE ALL BECAUSE HE EXPLOITS THE TIME AND ENERGY OF HIS WORKERS HOW IS THAT NOT STEALING WHY ARENT THE WORKERS GETTING PAID FOR THE EFFORTS THEY GIVE IN FULL”
You have no idea how the sender got all this text on one telegram sheet. You’re feeling queasy from this anomaly. The text is clearly too much for the sheet but it hovers delicately off the edge anyway. Youre unable to process the contents of the message due to a dark, evil sickness in your stomach. The sentry stands tall and firm at the doorway.
“One last telegram for G. Jester!”
Your shaking legs buckle and you fall to the oak floor and slowly rest yourself on your side. You pray to all the gods you know (and a few you don’t) that everything will be okay. You don’t understand what is happening. The messenger turns to you and begins to speak the telegram:
“No one was talking about stealing or redistribution anyway. You believed you were reading between the lines when in actuality you read past it, drifting off into space instead of staying with earthly affairs. And now you lay on the ground and beg with tears and snot soaking into the floor beams that we may spare you. Pathetic, isn’t it? You swung at a dummy and still failed to miss. Where is your sense of self respect? Of keeping your mouth shut when you need to? Did you lose it somewhere? Did you never have it in the first place? Why did you comment on this post in such a way as to assume the intent of its author when you clearly know so, so little about the world, about people, about yourself. We will leave you for now to contemplate on this.”
Your face sits in a puddle of bodily fluids as you watch the messenger dissipate slowly, burning up in holy and righteous fire. You don’t know what you have been visited by. But you feel that you should listen. Your world turns black. You dream of impossible architecture, horrible creatures, and inhuman languages.
I will reblog this EVERY GODDAMN TIME so people can understand how the US government taking more and more land from Natives is nothing new (even the land originally promised after being kicked off their original, sacred lands) and they NEED to be fucking stopped. They need to be held accountable for the destruction of our people not just then but also now.
Some guy today mentioned he was in a band to me and I watched him get visibly uncomfortable when I didn’t ask him anything about it. He kept trying to bring the conversation around to his band and I wasn’t budging.
POWER MOVE: Complete and utter disinterest in men’s obsession with their own mediocrity
The notes of this post are like
Women: wow that’s funny I should try that when a man won’t stop talking about himself!
are you saying that engagement rings aren’t just cool rocks
They sloth is my favorite
STORY TIME!
Ok so when I was doing a security job on a college campus, the geology club on said campus was having their mineral and fossil sale (which is where the club gets the vast majority of its funds for the year). They had some really cool shit but their sales techniques were… uh, they were bad, just really terrible. They set up the tables, put all their stuff out, hung a sign up… and then sat there, occasionally mentioning quietly to one or two passersby “Hey we’re having our mineral and fossil sale if you want any.” Very boring, overly factual, not very attention grabbing.
Now I’m a fuckin nerd so I’m all over this shit (the sale was literally a foot away from my security post so I wasn’t even getting in trouble for spending literal hours ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the really cool stuff they had). And me being the type of nerd who must SHARE ALL THE THINGS when I find cool stuff (and who also has 18 years of customer service/retail experience to draw on), I start trying to get some of the literal hundreds of students walking by to get some of the cool things. The club only needed a couple hundred bucks and we were on the largest campus in the state so they should have been making their goal easy but almost no one was biting. So my “must share the thing” nerdiness teamed up with my “must help all the people”-ness and I did my best to pitch in and get them more sales.
Now, it was two days before valentines and a lot of the people walking by were dudes. So I start trying to get them interested with comments like “hey come check out the cool stuff you could get for your bae!”
One group of dudes paused but it didn’t seem like they were gonna stop and get any of the cool things, so I go “No, seriously, chicks dig this shit, you literally cannot go wrong here. There’s fossils and cute little carvings of manta rays and kitties, and literal gemstones here; that box is full of fucking EMERALDS that are 3 for $5. GET. SOME.”
They didn’t believe me that the ladies would go nuts for “a bunch of shiny rocks.” So I decide to prove it to them. And in the most booming voice I can muster (and I can muster quite a bit after a decade of choir classes) and yell “THEY HAVE SHINY ROCKS OVER HERE AND THEY’RE REALLY COOL!”
Literally instantly, three separate groups of ladies look straight at the tables and make a beeline for them, all of them saying some variation of “Wait, did you say shiny rocks? WHERE?! WHAT KIND?! OMG!” Suddenly a dozen or so different gals (and several dudes), who seconds ago were only thinking about getting to class, stopped in their tracks to detour to the table full of shiny rocks. Only two left without buying at least one thing.
The dudes I’d been talking to before were bewildered but convinced, so they start looking for the best shiny rocks they can get to give their SOs. Several of them came back a few days later to inform me that my seemingly ludicrous advice of “get them shiny rocks” had gotten them laid or scored them a date.
So, remember kids, GET THE BAE A SHINY ROCK. That shit WORKS.
I'm Still Kicking 