we know

Don't threaten me with a good time

That Walker is gonna be so disappointed (are they ever not?)

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The Legend of Beorowlf. The Importance of Being Kermit. Legally Pig. Gonzothello. PACKED THEATERS, I say.

Jim Lovell read scripture to the entire planet from the far side of the moon in 1968 but it was reverent, awestruck. Now tech CEOs are like "WE ARE INVENTING GOD AND WE WILL OWN GOD AND THE WORLD, AND YOU WILL BUY OUR GOD"

The machinery and expertise to manufacture a VCR are all but gone. Within our lifetimes VCRs will be lost technology, impractical to recreate without spending a fortune. Stuff is constantly being uninvented.

K/T boundary for youthful innocence

Dam been writing a book about this and she just TikToked it in 90 seconds.

Love the little detail of the engine plume interacting with the explosion!!

Why should I write better when a machine can do it for me? Because actually no one can do it for you, because your voice is unique among all the people on earth. Siri never petted a horse's neck. Alexa has never been ghosted by the captain of the football team. But you have lived, your heart is beating, you have suffered, and you have something important to say. It's a human's job, to use words, and whatever job you give to a machine, that part of your brain goes dark. Maybe it's worth it when it comes to remembering phone numbers and directions, but when that part of your brain that uses words goes dark, that's a vast area that's very close to your soul. Don't let some internet platform convince you that what you have to say and create isn't worthwhile. Words are the echo of your soul. Honing that echo matters.

this iconic advertising copywriter named Kathy Hepinstall Parks died over the weekend and I wanted to share something from her website I thought Bluesky would like

So many good reasons to explore space. So much to learn! So much to invent and discover! But some grand migration of humanity into space will almost certainly never happen. It's expressly prohibited by, ironically, capitalism. Inventing a smarter computer won't change that.

Congratulations omg!

Are we talking "porkchop plot" planning, or "schedule chicken" planning?

Six tillandsia airplants clustered together in a red china bowl on a black table. The largest is blooming, its leaves flushed pink and two delicate tube-shaped flowers emerging from the center.

Airplant bloomed!

8) Nothing worth achieving can be done without crossing an ocean of cringe. Kill your fear of cringe.

Rest in peace, Jim Lovell. Thank you for teaching me that we go to heaven when we're born. Fair winds and following seas.

When I read "vibe engineer" my brain refuses to believe that it's anything other than someone who specializes in vibrational physics

HOLY [[Cungadero]] KRIS , THE FAN ARTISTS

THEY'VE [[Rule34]] MY [[BestPrices]]

MAKES ME WISH I'D [[Hyperlink Blocked]] WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE

Evangelion but it's just WWI biplanes

THE MISSUS — MY GORGEOUS BABE — DRAWN IN A FOXHOLE Feb. '44 France

I already thought this pencil portrait Jack Kirby did of his wife Roz was great but then I read the caption: "A drawing of Mrs. Kirby done, from memory, on the back of a piece of German stationery picked up off a dead enemy soldier." DAAAAMMMMNNN!

"There are three kinds of magic," said Wizzler, handing us each a balloon. "You can control tigers, you can shoot tornadoes from your fingers, or you can fly by holding your breath. The color of confetti inside your balloon will reveal which kind of power you have." I felt the panic rising in me. What if my confetti turned yellow, indicating that I was a Tiger-Talker? My family, a long line of proud Tornado-Fingers, would disown me. Could I ever return home, bearing such shame? I tried to calm myself as I readied the ceremonial safety pin. Green, I thought, willing my hopes into reality. Please be green. I popped the balloon, involuntarily shutting my eyes. When I opened them, would I see the green I hoped for? The yellow I feared? What if, gods forbid, the confetti were blue? I opened my eyes, seeing shock on the faces of my classmates. Wizzler himself stared at me, wide-eye. Looking down, I saw myself covered in confetti... purple confetti.

“I don’t understand,” I growled, my body trembling with pain. “I combined eighty percent Earth-elemental mana with twenty percent Fire-elemental mana (Type B), focused through a twenty-four-sided icositetragon made of yellow topaz. This, in conjunction with my blood type, star sign, sense of humor, and nickname, should have produced a blazing column of lightning to vaporize my enemies. Instead, it made a big bubble that smells like fresh laundry. Why?” Skullgrumbler began to laugh. “You fool! You don’t even realize…” he squealed. “You’re facing east!”

“It’s whatever you want,” explained Magemaster Grampledog. “Magic is just whatever you want.” I knew he was speaking in riddles, but I couldn’t grasp his hidden meaning. “So the rules are…” Grampledog lit a sliver of smokereed. “No rules. You say some words and you wave a stick and whatever you want just happens. You don’t even need the stick.” His wisdom still eluded me. I stared into his face, trying to decipher what he was really saying. “No, listen.” Grampledog snapped his fingers and his desk turned into a pile of chicken nuggets. “I didn’t even know that would happen.” His hat then came alive and began to yodel. “It’s pandemonium,” he explained. “It’s complete nonsense.”

In my experience there are three kinds of fantasy magic novels:

Horsegirl chariot racing.
Horsegirl jousting.
Wild horsegirls in their native environment, roaming the steppe.

U solved

In my mind the best way to start Episode IX is to have Palpatine's message interrupt the opening crawl itself. That puts the viewer in the same "oh shit!" mindset as the characters, instead of leaving them confused because of course they weren't playing Fortnite that one time.

And on YouTube:

"Who's still laughing at punchline in 2025???"

Sorry but personally if a miniature horse woke me up from anesthesia by banging out nonsense on a miniature keyboard it would send me into a liminal space between life and death from which I would never return

PATRIOTS IN CONTROL

TRUST THE PLAN