Solluxander Acolyte 09/08/19(Sun)16:36:47

Not the fanfic you were expecting for your efforts huh kiddo? Let’s have us a sit-down. I think there’s been some mistakes. Are you watching?

ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING

𝔏𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔡 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔳 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔧𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔫𝔢𝔲𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔩. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔲𝔰𝔲𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. 𝔏𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔡 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔳 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞 𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔳𝔦𝔞 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔲𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔳’𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔩𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔰𝔬𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩, 𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔫𝔦𝔠 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔭. 𝔏𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔡 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔳 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔦𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡. 𝔄𝔩𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔥𝔢 𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔰.

𝔏𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔡 𝔄𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔳 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔰; 𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢. ℌ𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔞𝔱𝔰, 𝔡𝔬𝔤𝔰, 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔰, 𝔱𝔦𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩-𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 , 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔢𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔦𝔢𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩-𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤.

>Charizard is even less original just being a fire breathing dragon >Blaziken was the first pokemon that call fall under furbait >Infernape was actually pretty good >Emboar was a meme >Delphox is even more waifushit >Incineroar seemed like it was created by a monkey's paw >Scorbunny is most likely going to become the worst fire starter as the others had good first stages while scorbunny is the trix rabbit

Paul Atreides of Dune (unfinished) by pmpkn.art

My Miyamoto senses are rustling........

What every Link tells everyone after running errands for people and then saving the world:

Here’s another 8th MS team

“ The cave was littered with these sorts of packages with obscure messages, as well as a spray painted diagram that you could deduce explained the benefits of not being a virgin without using rape to get there. The paint smelled wet too. Who would make a receipt for a recipe about fresh steak be about big headed aliens anyway? Wee wooh wee wooh wee wooh weeh wooh wee wooh, pride before a fall, you suspected. “

(Something a Karen CLEARLY doesn’t do??)

“Unfortunately for the wannabe Australian pirate, here her plans of molesting someone who’d only been trying to adopt swerved and hit an outcropping of rocks. Very large, volcanic old formation stalagmites just jutting out of the ground. Her packages went flying through the air like a Hiayao Miyazaki scene the precious contents she’d labeled with sellophane tape as “garbage” scattering every which way. She bruised her knees landing, broke her concentration like a pleasant day playing Pokemon Stadium and smoking tobacco and weed, and scraped her palms something fierce, her gloves having mysteriously gone absent the second her bike about faced into a sand dune and landed her like an ostrich looking to avoid something. No one was there, it was just her having wiped out like a beer guzzling putz on the path back from her latest abuse. Maybe, oh If you looked closely you’d find a small piece of drift wood sticking out of the shore nearby. Some hard cable as a trip cord and the small dunes nearby having concealed the other tope tying point. This unseemly parody of a good woman spat dirt out of her mouth and temporarily forgot to use the hickish diction she’d grown up shielding her warped intentions with. Knees, bruised, hands torn up, face red with immature wrath like a kid on a playground, she kicked at the dirt in frustration only to stub her toes something fierce on the small field of jutting stone structures. Whatever had been in her box of fuck-me-do goodies had disappeared with her gloves, and her self worth. The bike lay face up and rear wheel out in the sand, spinning it’s axle like she’d often done to distract herself from the trauma’s she’d seen and inflicted. She dusted herself off, and pulled the stupid contraption up with a heave ho, quite like a maritime sailor would before grasping a thick cord of rope, and looked around. The box of kittens she’d stolen was jack fuck absolutely not here, it made no sense, she’d pilfered them and was off to do lord knows what and then a pedestrian auto accident from some boyscout had sent her into an immediate relationship with the terra firma, lips first and everything. Gotta say, not my fetish. As she empty heatedly raged at her situation like gaming had rewarded her for, a figure over the hills looked through binoculars at this clownish sexually disturbed weakingling with a big mouth and fast fingers. The girl couldn’t see the spy’s very lunar grin, but then anyone who was the target of that could always feel it. She just assumed it was her latest round of insomnia sending shivers up her body that she usually got off to when going on autopilot. Seem familiar, that’s because this is a desert of deja vu. And the pair of characters here in displayed were rehashing an old feud. The giant robot nearby having a psychological victory over self abuse was a new addition, but that wasn't their concern. Not yet anyway, not for now anyhow, not for love or money but I’m talking sass honey bunny. So mate, how does this impromptu and very familiar dreamscape meet you without your World of Warcraft Edgelass gear adorning your spoiled bitch form? With the wind picking up, I’d say as an impartial narrator that you’d be getting a little drafty. To the audience, try to ration how much you drink, this is going to rub you the wrong way even as you laugh out loud at it. “

“An annoying buzzing met her ears and comically grit teeth, signaling that someone had been writing about her. Someone was always writing about her, it was the side effect of throwing away a precious treasure years ago for the false promise of an eternal empty high. Stomping the ground like a Rocky and Bulwinkle villain, she proceeded to work the abused bike over towards some palm fronds and collect herself before figuring out just what the fuck she’d stumbled into.”

“The watcher from the dunes tracked this comedic routine with crosshairs, but sadly the gun was unloaded. Well, sadly for anyone without the hunters reflexes. So really more like lazily, very lazily as if they’d just sort of had other things to do that morning and set this tripwire on lark. Very capricious of them to do that, and they thought so too. If they had something to say about this, they’d tell the author of this observation piece to get on with it. So the mini collaborative narrative structure moved forward at a creaky pace, The air was calm with fresh breezes ruffling the hunters hair beneath their cowl. Oh what a day, what a day. At least the small animals in the box had been once again spared by the skin of the teeth of concerned parties, though they were definitely feeling the pressure after having popped back into existence from some unnaturally saccharine sweet story board that had been prepared for them. Maybe brushing their hair and quick shower wpould  align their perspective so usually caught up with cheap limeaid scented background traffic noise. The watcher, being a huntress of no ordinary mind, noted this turn in the pseudo fictional play going on and adjusted the combat knives on their bandoleer accordingly. Might need to make a snap throw if the frustrated feminine brigand now sitting on the bike under a palm tree got up to no good. So basically, if they did anything in the present - past tense or used exclamations of less the three to four words to describe their thoughts.”

“Somewhere, the self made devil breathed a sigh of relief, sat down,  pulled out a printout of her object of affection, and thought inscrutable thoughts of how to reconcile with someone she didn’t know how to approach.”

“The huntress fingered a bullet and flipped it like a coin for good luck. Kids and their romances always made for an uncertain situation. That however, was due to the chemical imbalance of the frustrated thief. Also somewhere, a red haired bloke tried to rush out to get her, but accidentally ran face first into a small shallow pond after tripping over a freak lightning bolt. Aglets, how do they work?”

=======

I’m sorry were you saying something about the mouse connected to my keyboard you greentexing little untemensch? My sincerest condolences that your fixation with Chinese kung fu has lead you to abandon causative reasoning in favor of your immediate need to jump up and down on someone like bugs bunny with Elmer Fudd’s shoes on. Things come in packages, you just need to put on your grasses and dearu with it without twitching like a methe’d out bitch cunt fuck who couldn’t keep her girlfriend happy if she was given a road map of every sexual position and a color by numbers page to plot it out. Your fox ears are very cute! I used to have fox ears too, but they were taken from me by assholes with more braincells allocated to reflex than dextrous intent. So guess what, shut it. As it, that screeching noise you make whenever someone wanders through your checklist of triggers. Like and arrow bolting down from the sky at a hard right angle, your caterwauling is going to piss right off along with your blood pressure as you make a comically Sailor Moon esque hand expression you lifted off of someone else’s story. Wow, that sure was a strange occurrence, good thing you dodged just in time Tex Avery style. Everybody get the message? Good, then we won’t be having anymore dominatrixy emotive blowups at things that don’t matter. Point of fact, if you did spy sports taped adorning the object of your drunk rancor, you’d probably be bowled over by how stupid you’d be to demand they always keep some handy. I guess you can’t be bothered not whine about something. I relate, Having lost someone in the Great Divisive Moment long ago. Really you have got to make an effort to make everything be more than okay, what the fuck do you think I saying  get on that Pretty Ponied up Warhorse and god damnit go happily frolic this evening. It doesn’t require a check list and a diagram to get this right, you just need to focus your passions instead of following where other people keep causing them to swerve out into the scrub grass. The. Scrub. Grass. Got it?

=======

>No comment,  hang white suburbanites.

An article in the Atlantic by John McWhorter on courts misunderstanding African American English. Excerpt: 

In 2007, a Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals dissent claimed that when a black woman said, in terror, “He finna shoot me,” she may have been referring to something in the past, when in fact “finna” refers to the immediate future. “Why don’t you just give me a lawyer, dog?” Warren Demesme asked the police when accused of sexual assault in 2017. The statements one makes to law enforcement after requesting a lawyer are inadmissible—but Demesme’s rights were ignored because, it was argued, he’d requested a “lawyer dog,” not an actual attorney. […]

People who will spend their careers transcribing phrases such as “He come tell ’bout I’m gonna take the TV”—or even “Dat table, dey close?”—ought to learn the basics of how Black English works. They would need mastery of only about 25 grammatical traits, which are universal in Black English nationwide, despite local differences. For example, be, when used in a sentence such as She be there on Sunday, refers to something regular and habitual, as in “every Sunday,” and is not simply a randomly unconjugated be. Another example: We had went to the store then I got a text conveys that the person was still in the store when the text came, not that it came after he left.

Read the whole article

Previously: John Rickford on dialect discrimination in the courtroom. 

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