stole this from twitter

Audio Transcript:

Bugs Bunny: I’m tellin’ you, doc, they/them pussy is different

Daffy Duck: Aw, pussy is pussy. Just watch me.

*fireworks*

Daffy Duck: God damn

that’s IMPRESSIVELY well done voice acting

As @staff further refine the polls while they're rolling them out (still haven't gotten mine sadly), here's a suggestion of mine: Polls with a ten year time limit.

As of right now, it's impossible for polls to turn into long-running legendary posts. You can try, sure (see the bug race), but it's a week and then it's locked, fixed, done, and all that's left is for people to reminisce about that time there was a poll.

On the other hand, if a ten year poll gets popular, it can become part of Tumblr lore while still being updated. People can write passionate appeals for their vote and fight in the notes. Others can make graphs to show how the poll's majorities shift with each different US president or Taylor Swift album. People can make memes about "remember 2025, when option 3 was in the lead? That was a crazy time".

Why ten years, though, instead of a hundred or just no time limit? Because that way, the end becomes an event. People who voted in the poll when it was just a few hours old can watch the final countdown together, and there's a new point in Tumblr history: That day when we finally all agreed on the best option, and presumably also some important political stuff happened.

Now, granted, most ten year polls would never reach this level of notoriety. But it only takes a few polls like this to be worthwhile. Maybe this shouldn't be an option for users to select, but something the Tumblr website grants/pushes on you at random?

So, yeah. Ten year polls. They should be a thing.

Can you imagine the chaos of a 10 year poll with the options

Super

Who

Lock

Can you imagine

the chaos of a 10 year

poll with the options

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

I can’t get over this edit lmaooooo

The best Burns Night joke of all time.

inspired by this post

☻unmute☻

[Video: a construction worker shoveling dirt as children on the other side of the fence yell “YAY!” every time dirt is moved.]

Often I am struck with the child like desire to just dig a hole. Kids love to dig holes.

gifs: strangehighs, filmstreams, buckleyevan

Femi Taylor & Sean Kingsley as Bombalurina & Plato - 1987

I’ve seen this a million times and every time I forget what’s coming

Me in the discord talking about Cats and wondering why everyone is suddenly going offline

I’ve seen a lot of videos going around of urban-dwelling critters coming to humans for help with various problems, ranging from boxes stuck on their heads to young trapped down a storm drain, and it’s gotten me to thinking:

On the one hand, it’s kind of fascinating that they know to do that.

On the other hand, setting any questions of how this sort of behaviour must have arisen aside for the nonce, does it ever strike you how weird it is that we’ve got a whole collection of prey species whose basic problem-solving script ends with the step “if all else fails, go bother one of the local apex predators and maybe they’ll fix the problem for no reason”?

well, come to think of it, we’re at the top of the food chain but we almost exclusively hunt and kill prey out in the country. 

raccoons and possums and foxes and crows all succeed in an urban environment because they’re opportunistic and observant. and almost none of them would have observed us pounce on one of their species and then start eating it, you know? a lot of them would have observed that we scream and chase them out of wherever we don’t want them to be, but other animals are territorial too. but there’s a number of situations where humans feed whoever’s bold enough to take them up on the offer, and we do tend to pull garbage off of other animals as soon as they slow down enough for us to catch. ‘a human got me but nothing bad happened’ is a much more frequent thing than ‘a human got me and tried to eat me’.  

anyway like, we’re masters of our environment, we make weird shit happen all the time, we have lots of great food and sometimes we share, and we almost never eat someone. it makes sense for urban animals, over the last century or so, to just keep an eye out for opportunities to use us, and to pass the habit on to their kids. 

It really is a weird, funny thing. Like yeah, technically they’re predators, and they get pretty screamy, especially if you try to take any of their stuff… but given the chance it seems like they’d rather help us out and sometimes they’ll just randomly give you food, so???

I mean, I guess in fairytales and myths we’ve got our fair share of stories about dangerous people/creatures who might well kill you or otherwise ruin your life, but to whom people nonetheless turn for help in desperate circumstances. So it’s not like the perspective is exactly a foreign thing to our own mindset, really… It’s just that, y’know, we can’t actually go make a deal with the faeries when there’s something we can’t figure out.

(Which brings me to an interesting thought about the ubiquitous rule about never eating the faery food lest you find yourself forever unsatisfied with anything in the human world - and the potential parallels to the dangers of feeding wildlife human food lest they become addicted and too tame and dependent to be safe for either themselves or us. Hmm.)

Okay, but that last bit with the Fae…makes almost perfect sense.

Of the stories I’ve read, the food of the Fae, its origins and effects, are often strange and/or obscure.- Just like our food to most animals.

The Fae are strange beings that seem to know weird things that give them power or an edge over us.- Just like us to animals.

The Fae work and live by strange rules also often nonsensical or obscure to us.- Just like us to animals.

The Fae can easily obtain vast amounts of things we consider rare/precious/desireable, and have no problem with dishing it out wantonly for no other reason than amusement.- Just like us to animals.

The Fae sometimes are amused by having us around, but only on their terms and IF it amuses/intrigues them.- Just like us to animals.

GUYS, I SENSE A PATTERN….

-they have arcane social conventions and the punishment for not paying the correct respects right is banishment, if you’re lucky, and death if you’re not.

-they have wild and unexpected parties where you’d least expect to find them, but if you’re bold enough to entertain them they’ll feed you and caress you and play with you all night.

-time runs strangely in their realm. their homes are summerlands: warm and bright, no matter the season. there is always fruit on their tables. but not everyone who comes in from the cold is let back out again.  

-their games are cruel and complex and unfair, but if you can beat them by their own rules you will access riches beyond imagining.

-sometimes they just fucking fuck with you, the fuckheads.

-they will absolutely steal your children away. when your children return— if they ever do— they will come back strange. they will know things they shouldn’t. they won’t know things that they should. your strange children might survive, might even prosper, might take wives and husbands and have children of their own. but they will always be marked by their time away from your world.

-the price for pissing them off is always death. sometimes just you. sometimes your whole community. 

-if you are very good, and very smart, and very brave, they will grant your wish.

My eyes just got wider and wider the further down I read.

A mystery, indeed. My website – My Facebook page – See me on LINE Webtoon!

IT IS BY IMMORTAN CAROL’S HAND

THAT YOU WILL RISE

FROM THE ASHES OF THIS WORLD!

did you know red snapper can live for over 100 years…. whatre they DOING down there

Oh but that makes it even better, because that means at some point Darcy despairingly referred to Bingley as “a cross between a water spaniel and a Highland retriever, with as much boundless energy and trusting affection as lack of good sense” and Bingley, far from being offended at being referred to as being a good natured fool, goes out of his way to find such a dog, presenting it to his oldest friend with a wide, open smile– a wriggling bundle of gold fur, enthusiastic tail wagging and an over abundance of licking.

Darcy merely sighs, resigned to his fate, and spends some considerable time teaching it not to jump up quite so much. By the end of the evening it’s sitting obediently by his heels, panting loudly, tongue lolling in a lopsided smile as it gazes up longingly at his seemingly indifferent master who is otherwise engrossed in reading. But if more biscuits go missing from the tea tray than usual, all others present are wise enough not to make note of it. Aloud.

If you’re trying to sell me on the idea that Charles Bingley invented the golden retriever in his later years, I am completely on-board.

Now that my head has run off with the thought, I can’t help but feel it probably happened quite by happy accident. He and Jane are up north visiting friends for a season. He’s not much for hunting these days, but he does so enjoy the freedom of riding out. One day he’s waiting for his horse to be brought around, and happens to overhear his friend lamenting to the groundskeeper, how unfortunate it was that his retriever got into the spaniel house, but at least the pups are pleasing enough, and who knows, they might make a fine hunting dog after all.

It’s not until later that night when he’s lying in bed that the words clang together inside his head and he sits bolt upright, a bright grin splitting his handsome features. Jane doesn’t even move, they’ve been married for years and she’s used to his excitability and knows the difference between alarm and Charles having a thought. But she knows that grin and she knows it means mischief. Usually to the cost of poor Darcy.

She writes a letter to her sister before breakfast, advising her that she’s not quite sure of Charles’ intentions, but she’s fairly certain it’s benign, and—as she glances out the window to the front courtyard below, watching as Charles throws a leather hand ball for the benefit of several, delightfully shaggy golden haired puppies—quite probably adorable. Hugs and kisses, give our best to the children. And try to remind Darcy that he and Charles are friends, and an abundance of shedding ought not come between good friends.

1.  Joy’s tags, becuase they’re beautiful:

#Lizzy merely cackles and doesn’t say anything #waiting for it to unfold#the look on Darcy’s face is priceless of course#when Charles presents him with the wriggling puppy#managing to convey complete and utter exasperation without uttering a single word#all emotion communicated clearly through the merest raise of an eyebrow#and a deep heartfelt sigh #but those closest to him see the twitch of a smile#barely suppressed under his severe demeanor#he has a reputation to maintain after all#when the puppy ends up sleeping at the end of their bed #Lizzy says nothing#letting Darcy fill the silence with firmly committed espousals to the logic of his reasoning#eventually dwindling down to awkward declarations of worry and concern#for the poor little thing #I mean look at it Lizzy #look#how can you say no to that face #my god it’s only survival trait is adorability#and it’s happy erratic tail #look see #he knows we’re talking about him#he’s a clever boy #yes he is #yes he is he’s such a good boy #stop laughing#I’m quite serious #this is serious Elizabeth

2.  The dude who originally started breeding Goldens was  Dudley Marjoribanks, 1st Baron Tweedmouth, which REALLY sounds like a character from a Jane Austen Novel.

Oh my god it totally does hahaha

Kestrel taking a dust bath