Tara

Revisiting my previous Pokemon tax question: They clearly have jobs, right? How many Machokes have gainful employment in the construction industry? Are they being paid under the table? Are they paying independent contractor taxes? Do they have health insurance? Are they union members?

That’s a solid ass cat right there.

I think it says something about my parenting stress level right now that I’m listening to a podcast about Pol Pot to relax.

Bad people shouldn’t be allowed to have good hair. I’m talking about you, Tulsi.

Do Pokémon pay taxes?

Finally some relief from seasonal depression! Thank the dark lord.

I genuinely love that anytime my dad is on top of a mountain (which is often), he sends me a picture of the view.

Weakling kids these days not wanting to die of polio.

one thing i keep thinking about is how there is simply no way to design a constitutional system that can resist authoritarian incursion if participants in that system do not actually care that much

This baby can hold so many crises.

Anyone else spend their childhood strategically placing support toothpicks in oddly shaped potatoes and then drying them to use as toys or is that more hillbilly shit?

Photo of a cat caught mid-lick

I really wish my full time job could be photographing cats grooming.

Today’s episode of “What I saw thrifting today, but talked myself out of buying because I didn’t have a good reason.”

When Judy Gemstone said she was busy putting on creams I felt that.

What’s up my fellow adult children of narcissistic mothers?

Doing good, or are you anxiety-ridden trying to predict everyone’s bad moods all the time?

Yeah, same.

This is Taako. Taako is over it.

Movies you’ve watched more than six times, gifs only.

Defo messaged my doctor this morning asking for a measles booster. I’m taking all the vaccines ya’ll don’t wanna use on your kids.

I was raised with the longer version, “If it harm none, do what thou wilt.”

@lowerclassbrats.bsky.social is responsible for all of my favorite mail. Merry X-mas to me!

Occasionally, I’ll overhear one of my kids say something about me that makes my heart melt. Today’s? “My mommy’s a necromancer.”

My palette after completing a painting is its own work of art. Was that pretentious or what?

Nothing is better than when my 90-year-old grandma calls to tell me how wonderful and special I am. Suck it, everyone else.

Me today, at my kids, because of the recurring banana strings I keep finding in the floor: “I’m not a happy Sisyphus right now! I’m just Sisyphus!” Please keep me in your tots and pears.

Poo-tee-weet, bby.

Every time someone asks me how old I am, I blank. Time’s just doing its thing over there, and I’m over here minding my own business.

The US is on fire, but at least I pulled this Gastly I wanted.

Imagine just having two loud people in the next room talking about deep Steven Universe lore for an hour every day while you try to read. That’s what parenting is.