if an archaeologist says an artifact was probably for “ritual purposes” it means “i have no fuckin clue”
but if they say it was for “fertility rituals” they mean “i know exactly what it was for but i dont want to say ‘ancient dildo’”
Back in the day I worked at a certain very famous and very high caste art museum in the US as a junior curator. Part of my job was to catalog the objects in the museum database. This includes details like provenance, measurements, and a visual description of what the object looked like.
Like I said, the museum was a pretty snotty institution. It’s got a LOT of objects it’s way famous for possessing, but nobody knew about the absolutely massive collection of Moche erotic pottery it had because the curators were totally embarrassed by this stuff.
Some examples:
Pretty hot shit, right? They never, ever put any of this stuff on public view or published it in any catalogues but – we legit had like several hundred pieces of Moche ceramics in the “dirty pots” category. Anyway, I was left alone to just do my job with regard to the database for several years, ok? And I figured, well, these’re accessioned objects in the museum’s collection – better get down to bidness.
I catalogued every goddamn bestiality, necrophiliac, cocksucking, buttfucking, detached penis, and giant vulva drinking cup in that collection. I’d be like,
A drinking vessel in form of a standing man wearing a tunic and cap. He holds an oversized erection in his hands and stares into the distance (note I did not say “like he’s hella-constipated”). The vessel has a hole at both the tip of the penis as well as around the rim of the figure’s head, thus forcing the drinker to drink only from the penis or risk spilling wine all over themselves from the top of the vessel. Red and orange slip covers the surface of the piece.
Pretty straightforward, right? Apparently the deep seated fear of these objects that the curators exhibited was meant to spread to me as well, but – no one ever gave me that memo, because I guess Midwesterners reproduce asexually. When the curators understood that I had catalogued all of these objects in addition to the other, non-sexy pieces in the collection, they were apparently livid, but knew they had no legs to stand on in terms of getting pissed at me for it.
I visited the museum’s online public access database a few years back and – every single description I wrote of these pieces has been totally neutered to say something like Male figural vase.
Long story short? Just call a dildo a fucking dildo. It’s all gonna be ok, I swear.
This is absolutely the MOST unusual reblog I have ever tagged with what is probably my second-favorite tag, “talk to me about your work.”
He stopped in front of the mirror and sighed. His penis was just a little too large to be fashionable, and his balls were just a little lopsided. Most days it didn’t bother him, but today he pushed at his genitals, trying to make them look more normal, like the men in magazines. It was hopeless. He dropped his junk in resigned frustration. There were worse things than having too large of a penis, he thought.
that wolf-meets-dog-horror comic got me thinking about werewolves and how different kinds of werewolves must have very different feelings about dogs. like, my erskin was born a wolf and remains very staunchly a wolf in terms of his self identity. his boyfriend bel just got turned into a werewolf a couple months back. and they stand at totally polar ends of like… the werewolf opinion spectrum on dogs.
like, erskin finds dogs to be kind of pathetic, mutated idiots— part alien child and part alien toy. he’ll go to a dog park sometimes for funsies, like you might go to the circus and laugh at the clowns, but he doesn’t respect dogs or want to interact with any of them on an ongoing basis. he would probably eat a dog if he was hungry enough and got the drop on one. he might actually have already eaten a dog. he’s definitely eaten foxes. in contrast, he thinks of wild wolves as people, just people who aren’t as smart as his relatives. they look and sound like people.
bel is like overwhelmed with delight and joy that as a werewolf he can communicate with other canids and is busy disney princessing it up with every fox and coyote and chihuahua he comes across. humans and dogs are just predisposed to like each other: being able to communicate even more clearly with each other due to lycanthropy just tightens and reaffirms that bond.
so i bet wolfish werewolf families have no dogs whatsoever, and humanish werewolf families have two to three times as many dogs as werewolves. mixed families have… a lot of friction.
Say hello to mechanically separated chicken. It’s what all fast-food chicken is made from—things like chicken nuggets and patties. Also, the processed frozen chicken in the stores is made from it.
Basically, the entire chicken is smashed and pressed through a sieve—bones, eyes, guts, and all. it comes out looking like this.
There’s more: because it’s crawling with bacteria, it will be washed with ammonia, soaked in it, actually. Then, because it tastes gross, it will be reflavored artificially. Then, because it is weirdly pink, it will be dyed with artificial color.
But, hey, at least it tastes good, right?
High five, America!
oh my god
bitch that’s the tubby custard machine
im crying
OMFG THIS POST FINALLY MADE IT TO MY DASHBOARD IM CRYING
“bitch that’s the tubby custard machine”
10,000 years from now on the dawn of a new civilization where we are all just brains in jars flying spaceships through the vast unknowable void, i will still be laughing my ass off at “bitch that’s the tubby custard machine”. this i vow.
So apparently no one should ever buy sugarless Haribo gummy bears
Fun fact: I once bought sugar free gummy bears.
This is exactly what happened
Petition for Youtubers to start doing the “Sugarless Gummy Bear Challenge”
FINALLY I FIND THIS SO I CAN SHOW THE WORLD THIS HAS TO BE SEEN
my cousins ate a bunch of these once and got sick as hell
my mom told me it’s because they ate too much candy
now i know it was a LIE
I’ve read through this every time it’s crossed my dash and every single time I start crying from laughter
sometimes I forget this exists and then I’m reminded
there are ver very VERy few posts that actually make me sob and my ribs hurt from laughter. this has won an award for THE MOST AMAZING THING I WILL EVER NEED FOR CHEERING UP EVER.
I have been interested in hockey for dozens of days, now, so I like to think of myself as something of an expert on the subject. As a gesture of goodwill, I would like to share with all of you what I have learned, through a rigorously academic system of “Tumblr,” “not watching any games for longer than 15 minutes,” and “guesswork.” You’re welcome / I’m sorry.
TEAMS:
Toronto Maple Leafs People love them. They’re also all, on average, 4 years old. Everyone on the Leafs is a toddler whose name starts with M. Odds are good if they’re a leaf, their name is like…. Matt, or Mop, or Mirtch or something. One guy who isn’t a Mork has a cute cat. Everyone was surprised and delighted by them getting into the playoffs given their status as a team of (especially gifted) preschoolers.
Washington Capitals A large, loving family headed by a strong married couple (Backy and Ovi). Backy might be a serial killer and we love him despite/because of it. Ovi is ten extremely strong and enthusiastic dogs in an incredibly ugly pair of distressed jean. They have 20 children who don’t know their left from right and need lots of love and attention. For some reason I thought the Caps were like, Unable To Lose, which is untrue, and I am forced to presume that impression was one that Backy implanted into my brain though sheer force of telepathic will.
Dallas Stars Somewhere, Jamie Benn is punishing himself for not making the playoffs by growing new, even more upsetting facial hair and doing a lot of fraught “you’re not good enough” push-ups. His common law husband Segs is also there, probably without a shirt on. The ghost of Jordie Benn haunts them all. No other players, to my recollection.
San Jose Sharks I thought I hated them based on a vague memory of them beating the Red Wings in some game many years ago, but it turns out they all collectively adopted a random black cat and live together as many cat dads or something, so the shun has been lifted. As far as I can tell they are the only team in the Western Conference besides the Stars.
Anaheim Ducks Fake; you’re thinking of the film The Mighty Ducks.
Pittsburgh Penguins Are they the team it’s supposed to feel a little tacky to love, but you do anyway? I get that impression. Sorry. Everyone is a mouthy French Canadian or a misunderstood Russian. Actually, you know what, I don’t think that’s particularly specific to the Pens. Sidney Crosby is a robot designed to divide mankind along party lines and either save or ruin hockey. Geno escaped Russia by stowing away in an small steamer trunk during an arduous transcontinental plane-trains-automobiles style journey to play hockey with / marry him.
Boston Bruins We don’t like them? I think we don’t like them. I’m not sure.
Chicago Blackhawks Nope.
Detroit Red Wings The only hockey team I have ever seen in person with my own two eyes and can therefore vouch for actually existing in this planetary realm. Just can’t stop throwing octopuses on the ice.
Montreal Canadiens Habs is short for “Les Habitants,” apparently. That’s all I got, and I had to look it up at least three times before it stuck. Oh, Carey Price is there, maybe?
MISCELLANY:
Fights 90% of the time they are an elaborate ruse to get to hug new friends that you don’t get to see and hug as regularly as your own team. The other 10% is because someone looked at your goalie the wrong way.
Penalties Takes place in something called the “sin bin” and if you tell me that’s not because they’re all giving and receiving secret, chilly HJs while they’re in there I will face God and walk backwards into hell.
Playoffs You clinch a spot in the playoffs by winning a certain amount of games, scoring a certain amount of points, or by answering three riddles, each increasingly arcane and difficult. At least two of the games you’ve won must be played during an eclipse, with a final score that is divisible by 3, and it doesn’t count if more than one but less than ten birds fly over the arena during regular play.
Gary Bettman Basically the Devil except dumber. Like the Devil’s shitty cousin Steve, who everyone is tired of hearing mouth off at barbecues. Shut up, Steve. Looks like an old, nefarious gnome statuette who was cursed with human life.
The NHL vs The Olympics Will lead to Ovi attempting to clone himself so he can play in every game for every nation just out of spite, and frankly he might achieve it.
God just imagine walking the streets in 1830s France, rounding a corner and coming across a slick gang of gentlemen and ladies, all with forked beards and satin and leather outfits. They eye you lazily, like crocodiles, as you step into the alley. One is ironically playing the ukelele, the jangling notes tapering off menacingly as their attention fixes on you.
“Oh no,” you say, grabbing your companion’s arm, “Bouzingos!”
“Oh look,” says the ukelele player. “Some grocers.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” your companion says, backing away.
Snickers and sneers ripple through the surrealist gang. One of the Bouzingos takes out a croissant and bites it right in half. Another smokes a cigarette with their ear. One of them is a lobster.
“Have you culturally appropriated any tchotchkes recently?” One of them jeers.
“We’re sorry,” you apologise, “we’ll be going now.”
You and your companion stumble back into the street, dragging each other.
“these gangs are really getting out of hand,” your companion says weakly. “Do you think we’re… infected?”
You shiver. For a moment, vague longings and inconsolable regrets assail you. You feel moved to contribute to the discourse. Anxieties flicker across your heart. But the moment passes.
just moving along like everyone else 