THE NEWSREADER + HALT AND CATCH FIRE

bonus: when the romantic-bestie-colleague eventually decides to work together again:

Chicago (2002) dir. Rob Marshall

I get a lot of asks complaining about people blindly choosing the most colorful bird. My inbox is like if birds had the internet and the less colorful males started an incel message board.

“oh one time my—” (abruptly stops myself from saying the words “tumblr mutual” in public) “overseas colleague”

toxic codependent familial dynamics this. toxic codependent romances that. what about toxic codependent coworkers. i can’t do my job without this guy here or i’ll kill myself.

in the plurb we all fam

ilya comes home after a night of drinking and puts “shane hollander highlights reel” on his big tv and stands there with his arms crossed like a dad watching pearl jam concert videos after the pub

tragedy is when a man has so much failwife potential & yet gets assigned suave dom by the fandom and isn't allowed to be anything else. chin up king your loser energy is seen and appreciated. by me

can you put that thing on a fucking leash *pointing angrily at a butterfly with beautiful iridescent wings thats not flying anywhere near you*

oh my god I just realized this is the year people will stop being born and stop aging and stop dying

Someone in Glasgow please go see this for me pls. I will be there in spirit 🙏

Brief report from the flute accompaniment:

It went well! At least 100 people attended, families dogs a solid portion of Glasgow's trans community. There was a really lovely atmosphere, nice weather and a very cheerful celebratory vibe.

After short speeches from the ballhaver and the large dyke (my wife), the ballhaver was given a chupa chup and blindfolded (execution style). The balls were then duly kicked; it made a surprisingly loud dull thumping sound. She fell to the ground to loud cheers and there was a moment of silence while Taps played on the flute. The large dyke wore solovair urban hikers.

Account from the Large Dyke.

Arrived early to find the crowd already gathering, so the kick got off to a prompt start. Following some introductions from everybody and some cheery folk music from our flautist (my wife!) we got on with the kick.

I think we got good contact, the top of my boot making a good solid noise on impact. Very good atmosphere all round, people stayed to chat for a while. Were it not January it would have been an excellent opportunity for a picnic.

10/10 queer event, would happily kick anybody in the balls in the name of community.

Account from the ball haver

7am: the pressure is getting to me; I wake up and drink half a bottle of diet iron bru from my bedside table; roll out of bed, and psych myself up in the mirror - "you can do this my little pogchamp" I say to myself over and over until I decend into a stupor.

8am: I play an hour of Okami on steam to replenish my chi levels

9am: I look at my balls for a while

10am: I spend 20 or so minutes trying to decide what to wear before realising it's the subartic in midwinter and I'm going to have to dress for -2C° regardless of what I choose and opt of my trusty black Schott thermal padded winter flight jacket and a pair of loose, warm Uniqlo trousers to give my testicles room to breathe.

11am: crashing out, texting my friends to arange a substitute kickee, an understudy, anybody so I can just become one with the crowd and not go through with it

12am: the homies have arrived, I'm drinking redbush tea in a small cafe by the park; god is in his heaven and all is right with the world

12.15: "you must be here to watch me get kicked in the balls?"

12.40: a circle emerges, from within the circle a palpable energy focuses like a lens down unto me and I feel like I'm gonna pee my pants a little

12.50: cheers begin, several complete families with dogs arrive - more friends appear and assort themselves into a gathering of 'real heads' ready to watch my groin be dessicated by the firm lace of a women for woman woman with a foot loosed through the gates of war as Augustus saw fit the dispatch and return of his troops from far corners through the blessings of Janus.

12.55: I think I left the stove on

1pm: Short introductions are made, grace is shown, beautiful flute music accompanies the gathering

1.03pm: what is left of my dignity disappears up my inguinal canal; I fall to the ground and languish a moment. I can feel it more in my lower chest than I can in my groin but the humour and adrenaline lift me and I'm laughing on my feet again soon. I kneel for the last post.

To Know And Then To Die by Kenneth Brewer