Tusks And Fangs

Pronounced like progesterone.

Prognosticism.

💤

"DICK REMOVED" in souls style font.

A parody of FLCL starring Foghorn Leghorn. Call that FLLH.

I am taking care of my past selves.

Black-and-white illustration titled Elder Wolf at the Table: Growing Older & Softer & Staying Wild by Shimi & Critter. A cozy tabletop scene shows a teapot, mugs, bowls, and a plate of bone-shaped biscuits. Scattered among the cups are three pamphlets with hand-drawn covers: Quality of Life for Wolves & Working Dogs (featuring two wolves), Preparing an Elder for a Pack (showing wolves greeting each other), and Senior Wolf Care (with a wolf portrait). The image evokes warmth, care, and companionship in aging, blending domestic gentleness with wild themes.

Black-and-white zine page featuring typewritten text over a wood-grain background, bordered by mock medical paperwork and labels. A small pencil drawing at the bottom shows three wolves sitting together affectionately, one nuzzling another. Text reads It begins with a kettle whistling and rain against the window. The air smells of mint tea and wet coats. I sit at the table, paws folded over paperwork that asks impossible questions: species, temperament, prognosis. Outside, a squirrel chatters at the fence. Inside, my reflection in the mug looks back - tired, yes, an elder, yes - and still wild. Aging has not made me less creature. It has made me gentler, slower to bite, quicker to rest. There is grace in that, I think - in softening without surrender, in learning to share the table instead of guarding the door. So pour a cup of tea for an old wolf. There's space beside me. We can talk about medicine, memory, and the art of staying wild while growing older, softer. Shimi & Critter

Black-and-white zine page titled Elder Wolf at the Table. At the top is an illustration of a table with a steaming cup of tea, a plate of bones, and several pamphlets reading “Senior Wolf Care,” “Quality of Life for Wolves & Working Dogs,” and “Preparing an Elder for the Pack.” Below the image, the text reflects on aging, identity, and transformation—interweaving themes of wolfhood, gender, and creaturely belonging. The narrator speaks with tenderness about yearning to shed humanity, to live as their true inner wolf, and to hold that yearning as a sacred and private form of prayer. ELDER WOLF AT THE TABLE It’s raining outside again, and the kitchen smells of wet coats, peppermint tea, and the faint paper-dust of leaflets. Someone has spread them out across the table: Senior Dog Care, Quality of Life for Working Breeds, Preparing an Elder for a Pack. They’re glossy, cheerful, full of photos of happy grey-muzzled dogs. My human pack-mates know I’ve been thinking about these things. All my life I had been questioning myself: my sexuality, my gender and now my very species. I was always the one to bark back at the dog passing by as he barked at something or other, and I would howl at the moon and watch the coyotes rifling through our trashcans with unhidden longing. And then my best friend one day announced she too was joining the Therionyl programme, I knew it was only a matter of time before I would put my name down for the Human Sentience Divestment protocol. I ached, I yearned to slough off my humanity like an ill-fitting skin and finally, become one with the critter, the little wolf inside my head. My pack-mates know I come at them slantwise, halfway between myth and medicine, halfway between church and den. It isn’t morbid. To me it’s a kind of secret and closely guarded prayer.

One of them picks up a leaflet and reads out loud, “Wolves live, on average, six to eight years. Captive wolves can reach sixteen.” They pause as they do the math in their head mouthing silently one human year to every seven canine years and suddenly they look at me and beam: “Well! You’re already an elder.” We all laugh. It’s a warm sound, clinking mugs and spoons. Someone says what everyone is thinking: “You’ll only be with us for a few more years if you complete this treatment.” “I’m not really afraid,” I tell them, dunking a dog-bone shaped homemade cookie into my tea. “I just think about how different the pacing is. If I have twenty more human years ahead as a woman, that’s a long wait to become what I want to be. But if I were fully wolf — eight, nine, maybe ten — that’s an elder’s life already. I’d join a pack as an elder. Nothing much changes. The apprenticeship’s already done.” Silence settles for a heartbeat, soft and not uncomfortable. Someone says softly, kindly, “You already are. You’re already the elder wolf at the table.” I reach for my mug. The rain taps the window. This, right here, feels like liturgy to me. I am the only religious one in the room, but over time my prayers have grown fur. I no longer picture heaven as a clean marble hall. I picture it as a warm, dry, muddy den. Not a throne but a breath on my neck. Not a hymn but a low throb of slow breathing packs through the soil. One asks, joking but not joking, “Will this…this Therionyl…will it get your hearing back?” and I shrug. Deaf wolves exist in the wild. I’ve been deaf for years; I would love to hear better. But that’s not the point. The leaflets don’t say, hearing restored. They say, quality of life is measured in moments of joy. Wolves don’t measure in years. They measure in seasons, in pups raised, in the smell of the den when everyone’s safe.

Elder Wolf at the Table is a love letter to aging, faith, & creaturehood—to the slow holiness of growing softer without losing wildness.
It’s about what happens when we grow old but not tame; when we learn to share the table & stop guarding.
Part reflection, part #therian prayer: a guide to gentler.

Gorons went from butch lesbians to Sam Syulek.

A Based Davidian.

Revolver Ocelot is just the Tom Bombadil of Metal Gear.

I think I'm attracted to Gen Xers because Steve Burns is 52 now.

Just like me fr fr

Gender bending dinosaur, call that a Transceratops.

Nice trampoline.

Honestly fuck "Tesla," US Robotics made dial up modems and killer robots and they deserve the credit

Tesla robots haven't yet killed a single human being! Vaporware!

Such a great night!

Today I got up early and went down to Pike Place Market to buy fruit before the tourists descended, and there was salty breeze off the sound, and I was reminded of that Naguib Mahfouz quote "Home is not where you were born; home is where all your attempts to escape cease."

doctor: are you familiar with syphilis?

me: who cares about some guy pushing a rock, what did the test say

Wow there's dogs on this app now? that's so awesome

Ketamine capsules call that Subtracterall

hey all! if you follow me on twitter, you know the drill. as more and more people join this platform, i think it would be valuable to gather some demographic info. please repost this if you are a total dipshit, and simply hit the like button if you're only kind of a dipshit. thanks!

Screenshots showing Ronald Reagan date of death as June 5 2004 and a counter showing it’s 6969 days between June 5 2004 and July 5 2023

Ronald Reagan died 6969 days ago today. 1 reskeet is 1 piss on his grave

NOOOOO TURN TWITTER BACK ON I WAS A NICHE INTERNET MICROCELEBRITY

I'm kinda like if a MILF wasn't 30 yet tbh

i’m begging elon musk to purchase the company that has my private student loans, put them out of business due to stupidity please

Autistic LGBTQ community seeks louder voice in debate Autistic LGBTQ people are pushing back against those invoking autism as a way to limit LGBTQ rights, calling it a misunderstanding of both communities that denies their autonomy.     Political figu...

Wrote about why there are so many autistic LGBTQ people, and how implying you can't be both is an attack on autistic people's very self-determination.

https://thehill.com/homenews/lgbtq/4069745-autistic-lgbtq-community-seeks-louder-voice-in-debate/