does anyone remember someone telling you the cheerios joke as a kid. the one about cheerios that live in a cheerio caste system
so there’s this guy, right? and he’s a plain cheerio. they live in a world where there are three kinds of cheerios; there are plain cheerios, the underclass. the worst of all of them. then honey nut cheerios. a middle class. they can live a comfortable life. and then finally, the cinnamon cheerios. they are the wealthiest of all cheerios. they live a good life; they are powerful and rich and happy. and most importantly, once a year, they vote on a plain cheerio to ritualistically feast on.
unfortunately, this year, it so happens that our cheerio’s number came up. he doesn’t want this to happen! he has a beautiful wife, and several kids. he has an okay job, and most importantly, he wants to live. so he goes to the cheerio bureau and asks what can be done about it. and they say, ‘well, there is one thing, but you might not like it…’. they explain to him that there is a notoriously difficult entrance exam, and any plain cheerio that makes it can be doused in honey nuts and become a honey nut cheerio and therefore be saved from the ritualistic eating. however, there are two caveats: the exam is ridiculously difficult, and to prevent just anyone from taking it, anyone who fails the exam will immediately be subject to death. the second is that plain cheerios are forbidden to fraternize with the upperclasses. he will have to leave his wife and children behind.
he thinks about it. he talks it over with his wife. the first part doesn’t bother him; he would die anyway if he fails the test. the second part, though, is a lot. he kisses his wife and promises her that if he passes this test, he’ll find a way to find her again. she tells him she loves him and escorts him to the test center.
(now, this part is very important, so pay attention) when he takes the test, he uses a green pencil, and he’s writing it on blue paper. green pencil; blue paper. the questions are hard. they’ve never tested him this hard in his life. he’s asked to remember obscure cheerio laws, nutritional calculations, seminal essays about cheeriodom. he’s nervous. he’s sweating. he doesn’t know if he can make it. but he looks down at his green pencil and he thinks of his wife. and that love pushes him through.
the blue paper is being put through the scantron now. he’s waiting, bated breath. and the results come back: a perfect score. he now qualifies to become a honey nut cheerio.
the dousing is easy; painless and almost comfortable, and suddenly, he has access to a whole world he’s never seen before. beautiful cheerio girls who never would have given him the time of day look at him. he can quit his shitty job and suddenly access dozens of better ones, with superior opportunities and pay. he’s invited to parties- real parties with punch and wine and snacks abound! it’s comfortable, and he settles into a routine fairly quickly. he never does learn what poor plain cheerio was chosen for the feasting in his place.
he thinks of his wife at times, of course; his children, too. but suddenly, her cheerio face is not as beautiful to him as it once was. and with the new wealth of honey nut women who he can meet, eventually, he starts to… forget. he meets another woman; a honey nut cheerio with a comfortable 9-to-5 middle class lifestyle. she’s pretty and active and kind to him, and soon, they fall in love. they can afford amenities he never could before; they get an okay house, and he is happy.
but proximity to power means proximity to a greener grass, and the more time he spends away from the plain cheerios, the closer he can see the lifestyles of the cinnamon cheerios. and it doesn’t even compare: cheerio yachts, constant parties, no need to work; they just live it up. the most expensive nights out, the most beautiful women, the biggest houses. it’s incredible.
and eventually, a nice, pleasant, average lifestyle pales in comparison. he is saved from the death of a plain cheerio, but what kind of life is mediocrity? he goes to the cheerio bureau again and asks if anything can be done. the cheerio tsks. sucks her teeth. thinks. and says, ‘i’m really not supposed to do this, but there is another test you can take. if you pass, you can become a cinnamon cheerio. but this one is higher-stakes than before. if you fail it, you will not only be killed, but your friends and family will as well? are you willing to take that risk?’. the honey nut cheerio thinks for half a second, and just like that; agrees.
the second test is even harder than before. he’s asked to solve complex calculations; to memorize the geography of the wheat fields from whence they came; to recite hundreds of pages of the cheerio code from memory. now, this time, instead of a green pencil on blue paper, he’s using a blue pencil on green paper. blue pencil; green paper. he looks down at the green paper, and he thinks of his girlfriend. he thinks of his life, and hers, and for just a split second, he thinks of his old wife. where is she now? and finally, he thinks of the life he could lead as a cinnamon cheerio. wealth, beauty, constant parties with no downsides. this is what he wants.
the scantron is reading his results. he waits. he ruminates. the green paper comes out. he’s passed.
he is doused in cinnamon. now, he is a god.
life as a cinnamon cheerio is just as perfect as he imagined it. he is happy. he is wealthy. he had to leave his last girlfriend and house behind, sure, but she is barely average compared to the cinnamon cheerio women, all of him are practically falling on themselves to be with him. he has a massive mansion, a cheerio yacht, a cheerio rolex; a fridge that dispenses milk on command. and even better, once a year, he gets to feed on a lowly plain cheerio. the idea that he was ever one of those things horrifies him now. can you imagine!?
now, he’s at a party, thrown by a wealthy and popular cinnamon cheerio, and the decorations today are a little peculiar. all the flowers are green, and all the grass is blue. why those colours? why today? a beautiful girl sits on the edge of a milk pool, tanning and resting. he gets up and talks to her. she looks so familiar, but he can’t put his finger on it. have they met?
they strike up a quick conversation, but it’s clear that she wants free drinks before they can engage any further. something about her has him so curious that he doesn’t mind at all. he goes over to the wine table, but there’s such a long line, and waiting would keep him from her. so he goes over to the juice table, but there’s a long juice line too. finally, he goes over to the punch table, and there’s no punch line.
[ID: A reply by @GoCatboyGo that reads: “I’ve never heard it which means you get to tell it to someone for the first time.” End ID]
Saying “We have Black Entertainment Television, so why don’t we have White Entertainment Television?” is like saying “We have turkey bacon, so why don’t we have pork bacon?”
We do have pork bacon. But because pork is the default for bacon, we don’t call it pork bacon. We just call it bacon.
The same is true with television. The vast majority of television is controlled by white people. But because white people controlling something is the default, we don’t call it white television. We just call it television.
Instead of complaining that you don’t have a television network that caters to you, realize that television caters to you so much that just calling it television means that it most likely caters to you.
Saw a silly tumblr post and wanted to redraw it with some @wishbonegame characters (Frank is mine, his son William belongs to @natashadrawsthings, and Theo is @kwillow‘s)
reblog this and tag with a food you no longer have access to (closed restaurant, state you moved away from, ex’s mom’s cooking, etc) that will haunt you until your dying day, mine are the spicy chicken sandwich on the employee menu at the fine dining restaurant I was a prep cook at, and the onion bagel from the kosher place down the street from my house when I lived in the city
i have literally THE cutest strawberry themed stimboard that has been sitting in my drafts for about 2 years now but i never got around to linking the sources at the time and now it’s been too long so i don’t have them saved anymore but i don’t want to delete it cause it’s so cute but i don’t want to post it without credit
hot food take (don’t burn your tongue), but lying about what you put in food that you’re giving to someone is fucked up even if the only reason is that they just don’t like that particular ingredient
WHY DID I ONLY RECENTLY LEARN ABOUT THE SALT LICK TEST?!?!
I swear, learning how to easily tell if you are deficient in salt has been Groundbreaking in learning how to care for my body.
For the uninitiated, if you feel dizzy or weirdly tired, or you cant seem to hydrate properly, no matter how much water you drink, you may easily be lacking salt.
Yes salt! The thing everyone tells you to try and minimize as much as possible. You are likely not getting enough, and there is an easy way to test it:
Go into you kitchen and grab some plain salt, flaky or fine preferably, since rough salt has less surface area, but it still works, just slower.
Grab a pinch of it and just drop it on your tongue, and let it dissolve on it. What does it taste like? This is just salt. Does it taste kinda mild? Slightly savoury even and actually quite good? Could you easily go for another pinch, just for the taste? You probably should, cause that’s your body telling you i Wants More Salt, it Neeeds it!
Do that a couple times over the next few hours, letting your body adjust in the meantime, until it suddenly tastes Too Salty. The same amount of salt, suddenlt tasting quite different, too salty, unpleasant, bad. Thats a sign that you no longer need more salt.
For me it took like two days from barely tasting the salt, to feeling much better and suddenly not wanting more salt.
This has recently helped me so much, why was i not taught this super simple but useful way to check in with my bodily needs?
I accompanied a friend to a neurologist appt where the neurologist told her she needed to eat more salt and she asked “How will I know if I’m eating too much salt?” and the neurologist just said “You will stop wanting to eat salty foods.”
Which elicited in her the same reaction that being told “most people aren’t in pain” elicits in people with chronic pain. She had just at some point assumed that “constantly craving salt” was a normal physical experience.
and i’m like “No, salty food tastes kinda bad to me” (because I eat lots of salt.)
This! Also a common lingering side effect of long covid is PoTS, which also fucks with your salt needs, so that could be an extra reason to make sure you are getting enough salt, since its different for everyone.
I also think the way we are taught to think about food makes it seem like you should avoid the things that taste good, or that they are somehow less healthy by virtue of you wanting to eat them, but often there is a very good reason for why your body wants you to eat certain foods.
This is pretty much how my cardiologist figured out I have POTS! I turned out to also have salt wasting syndrome and as-yet-unspecified adrenal issues that also affect how I process salt, so I’m kind of sodium georg over here, but yeah if you pour salt directly into your mouth and it doesn’t really taste salty you probably need more salt. If you have high blood pressure or any other reason to talk to a doctor before upping your salt intake though, please do, I’m not a doctor
I have electrolyte supplements I need to take sometimes that are sodium, potassium, calcium, and magnesium, and I can always tell when I’ve waited too late to take them because they taste very mild and sweet. Normally they taste like very sour lemon lime? It’s kind of amazing how effective this test is
I think what’s wrong with me is that my dad loved making boiled peanuts but when you say “boiled peanuts” in a thick Mississippi Delta accent it sounds like “bald penis” and we were forbidden from acknowledging that
My dad, internally: “The children must be fed nutriment. I have in my possession a very large pot and a propane burner; I shall make a sojourn to the grocer’s and procure peanuts.”
My dad, aloud: “‘Ey, y'all wansum bald penis?”
All of us, internally: “Ah yes, such a delectable summertime treat that will be.”
All of us, aloud: “'Ey, shitchea. Daddy boutta bal up some bald penis!”
They take on a delightful texture similar to water chestnuts and get infused with whatever seasonings you put in the water. It is literally so fucking delicious and if you don’t know about bald penis then you are Deprived. The food of the gods.
Honey, darling, listen to me. Would I lie to you? No, I wouldn’t. If you ever find yourself driving around in the rural southern US, you simply must keep an eye out for one of these gentlemen:
For a very reasonable price you’ll be provided a cup of absolutely delectable provincial delicacies that will surely equal any hors d'ouvers you might find on the continent. I promise, darling, it is the most délicieuse dining experience you’re likely to find, and it will surely–as my dear departed grandmama used to say–“make yer tongue slap yer brains out”
This gentleman has spelled peanuts three different ways on his stall.
[id: a photo of a stall attached to a truck that reads “hot boiled penuts,” “boiled p-nuts,” and “hot boiled peanuts” on various signs /end id]
45hours and 44 minute fast done, down 0.4kg from last week (not a lot but better than nothing), got to my lowest weight so far and yes I did just treat myself to 2 of my mum’s home made cheese scones.
Had to stop the fast because I drove home from placement extremely dizzy and still feel dizzy now. Not ideal but what can you do ♀️♀️
For both Pride and my birth month I’d really like to be fully independent from my abuser because I still have to drive weekly to wash my clothes at her house because my apartment does not have laundry services, and the local laundromat near my apartment only has so many machines that work so they’re always occupied anyway. I found a portable washer on amazon for under 200 dollars that includes both a washing part, and a spinner part to wring water out so I can hang them to dry. (Because no other family member will help me because of my abuser’s influence, and also because I really don’t want to have to rely on anyone else anyway weekly to wash clothes - the washer will solve all these problems).
I already have some lovely people helping me with food, and we found a local food pantry that will hand me a bag once a month so I am okay on food right now so I am now focusing on the other issue that has also tied me to my abuser. I am not expecting anyone to buy the washer itself as it is almost 200 dollars (with prime giving a discount right now for 185), but I am listing it so that I can show what I’m planning on getting along with a steamer and hanging rack. If you have anything to spare towards the goal to get me a washer that would be so wonderful, and I have mutuals who have previously offered to give back for those who help me since I cannot financially provide anything back, and I haven’t drawn for so long I really don’t want to try offering art when I am super rusty and too depressed to draw right now anyway.
I am really striving to become independent from my abuser, and this would save me a lot of gas money and emotional distress to not have to deal with her anymore. Anything helps! If you are not able to donate and want to help still in some way please reblog this! It will help me tremendously just to have it seen by others!
the one thing thing funnier than this caption is that the only reason they stopped doing it was that the ferret shit in the tube
That photo makes Felicia’s work seem much more recent than it is. Here’s a picture of the world’s smallest particle physicist herself.
They didn’t stop because she shit in the tube - she had a diaper on because they knew poop would obstruct the particles as well. She eventually stopped running through the tubes because they became too long for her. At that point she was retired and became a pet!
