Tegyrius

I am now curious as to how much of that map's content-free nature is due to the limits of GDW's in-house cartographic skill in 1988.

Cat startup noises will never not be funny and adorable.

I don't want a smart home. I want a dumb home. I want the dumbest home possible. I want analog buttons and clicky switches and steam gauges and hand cranks with well-oiled ratchety sounds. Why the hell would I want to monitor the status of my dishwasher from Starbucks?

Comic Sans, if anyone has remaining doubts, will be classified as a crime against humanity when I get my turn at rewriting international law.

I swear to Kibo, if realtor-dot-com allowed font choice, these people would use Comic Sans in their semi-coherent, randomly-capitalized, run-on house descriptions.

Someone needs to offer a Remedial English for Realtors class.

We looked at another house yesterday. The place needed updates and repairs that are outside our budget, but what really ruined the deal was the ventriloquist's dummy staring at us from the top shelf of an otherwise-empty closet in the master bedroom.

Looking at real estate listings and I straight-up Do Not Understand people who feel the need to label the rooms in their house with giant wooden signs.

If you can't remember that you EAT in your fucking BREAKFAST NOOK, it may be time for your kids to to check you into assisted living.

Being louder doesn't make you righter.

I'm trying to find a single reason to keep my personal account active on the former bird site. I'm not sure it was adding much to my life for the last... three to five years?

Posted to the longest-extant T2k forum.

Some days, I am three irate comments in a trench coat.

Yeah, that behavior is so far beyond unacceptable I can't even see it with unassisted vision.

I work adjacent to a university environment. I started noticing it in student social media spaces a year or three ago, but I didn't fully process what was happening until my own ASD diagnosis last year.

Hey, does this smell like a burning dumpster?

Cats. How do they even work, man?

We need a coulrophobia acceptance movement.

Today, still wanted by the Camarilla, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem… if no one else can help… and if you can find them… maybe you can hire… The V-Team. (2/2)

In 1872, a crack team of archons was sentenced to destruction by the Ventrue Justicar for a crime they didn't commit. These Kindred promptly escaped from a maximum-security conclave to the Anarch Free State. (1/2)

For personal use, I find myself not really missing that bird site for anything but very occasional product updates from a dwindling number of vendors/manufacturers/publishers.

(Professional use was a different story, actually, and I need to start migrating that network over here.)

The longer I live without network television, the less I miss it. I may be increasingly disconnected from pop culture, but TBH, I was never that well-connected to it to begin with.

I may be rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, but at least I kept the onboard swimming pools full.

Ow. Maybe I shouldn't have Wang Chunged so hard.

What heartless knave hidden amongst us is unwilling to Wang Chung tonight?

This hypercapitalist dystopian dying-planet future is not the one that the literature of the '80s promised me.

Every door is designed to ensure that a cat is always on the wrong side of it.

It's finals week and I haven't studied for my Voight-Kampff test.