fun fact the west coast does not have cicadas so you can imagine my surprise when my LA ass moved to Philly for college when all the trees started screaming while they’ve been on fire plenty of times where I’m from they never screamed
i’m c r y i n g
like consciously i know biodiversity exists but i guess i just never considered the fact that some people don’t have the experience where you just wake up one day to all of nature fucking shrieking like hellspawn and you’re like “huh guess it’s that season!”
I miss screaming murder cicadas. Also fireflies.
It’s funny when you barely notice it anymore.
Guest, yelling to be heard over the screaming trees: “Is that insects? That noise?”
I can’t do justice to one of the weirdest camp stories I know. My friend tells it so well, and I can offer only a pale shadow of his story.
Last summer, he was working with one of the younger units comprised of ten year old boys. They had spent the night camping on another beach and were just readying themselves to depart. “Make sure you have all your things!” called my friend. “Don’t leave anything behind!”
One small boy came up, dragging a massive tangle of decomposing seaweed behind him. “But… what about me boy?” he asked, lip trembling.
“…what is ‘me boy’?”
The child held up the stinking wad of bull kelp. “This is him. This is Me Boy.”
“Me Boy is not coming back with us,” said his counselor. “You’re going to leave Me Boy behind on the beach where he belongs.”
The campers loudly mourned the loss of Me Boy. They insisted on giving him a Viking burial at sea, which just consisted of pushing him solemnly off the back of the rowboat into the water and watching him drift away in the surf.
That was only the beginning. Me Boy would be back.
The campers, in true camp fashion, possessed some kind of cultic hive-mind and a predisposition for bizarre memes. Me Boy would not be forgotten. They started telling each other stories about Me Boy and how he would one day rise again. There were warring factions with contradicting dogmas about Me Boy. Only when the gardener allowed them to take home a zucchini she had harvested did they find their god, born anew.
Me Boy, The Zucchini That Was A God, became the whole unit’s mascot. The kids would bicker over who got to carry him. They built nests and carriers for Me Boy and brought him to different activities, fiercely defending him from those that would do him harm. One child appointed himself the Voice of Me Boy and would translate the zucchini’s divine wishes into human speech.
It got out of hand. Me Boy had become a distraction, a fixation, a violent controversy. Something had to be done.
My friend, their counselor, took it upon himself to kill Me Boy. The children wailed in despair as he chopped their God into refreshing slices. With this sudden turn of fortune, followers of Me Boy turned to theophagy. “We must eat him to preserve his power!” they cried. Boys who would otherwise never have touched a vegetable ate greedily of this sacrament, eager to let Me Boy live on within them.
For a time, it seemed that peace and order had been restored, and the religion had already faded into its silver age. But only for a time.
In the last few days of camp, the religion of Me Boy splintered into several denominations. Every meal yielded new vegetable matter said to be a reincarnation of Me Boy, only for opposing groups to dismiss these as false prophets. Some believed that Me Boy was gone. Others believed his spirit lived on, intangible, omnipresent. Some believed he had found a new vessel inside a carrot, a pear, a slice of cantaloupe… even inside a child. There was chaos, and strife, and heartbreak without the guidance of Me Boy.
I told this week’s campers the story of Me Boy. Big mistake. They were absolutely delighted by it and started running around shouting and bringing me various items to examine to determine if they were, in fact, vessels of Me Boy. They had me tell the story four or five times over, and, when I refused to repeat it again, they’d tell it themselves.
We went to the garden on Thursday and the kids spent the whole time collecting vegetable offerings for a zucchini they deemed an appropriate Me Boy proxy. On Friday, we had to come up with an impromptu skit to perform in front of a hundred or so people, and my campers forced me to narrate the story on stage while they acted it out behind me.
I love how it’s “The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and MISTER Hyde” as in, yeah, they are basically two sides of the same person but only ONE has a doctorate
#unless your bitch ass second personality helped you write that thesis it is your fucking doctorate
mister hyde is a shady douche who mugs people and beats up prostitutes, what are the chances he ever helped study for that degree anyway
billie joe armstrong is like…the definition of chaotic good. a prime example of this is the fact that one time at a green day concert this guy in the pit was harassing a young girl so billie stopped the show to help her. however, his way of doing so was to jump into the audience, dropkick the guy directly in the face, and then fight him in a crowd of screaming fans
This is missing the best part – when he saw the guy, he tried to be like “Dude, stop” and when the man didn’t stop pushing the girl around he screamed “Fine! You wanna fight? I’ll fucking fight you, then!” and leapt directly into the crowd
as requested 😉
YESSSSS THANK YOU ❤
punk as fuck
i love that they went directly from brawling to playing ‘nice guys finish last’ like was that next on the set or were they throwing shade
forget wanderlust, sonder, all those words for vague dreamy feelings… what I’m asking for is a concise word for the feeling you get when someone makes an assumption about you that’s 100% correct but you really don’t like that anyone was able to make that assumption. for now I’m calling it a fuckor
“he asked me ‘you main junkrat right’ and a wave of fuckor wracked my feeble body”
Hello #hockey fans. I have learned a lot about your sport since I became a serious fan 1 week ago, and now I feel ready – since the #playoffs are upon us – to provide my fellow #newbies with a guide to the teams involved!!!! Here without further ado, Rave Sashayed’s Super Accurate Guide to the Stanley Cup Playoff Matchups. Pick your favorite!!
Toronto Maple Leafs: Two dozen interchangeable blond teens named “Match Marstonder.”
Washington Capitals: One big yelling man (Russian) for scoring, one big yelling man (Canadian) for punching, one handsome yelling man (also Canadian) for making the other team’s goals not happen, and several others (Swedish ???) for yelling. They are all each other’s moms and they are my favorite.
WINNER: The power of narrative is generally on the side of The Big-Hearted Band of Misfit Teens, but also every 2016-17 indicator suggests that the Bad Guys Will Always Win, so the CAPS, probably.
Pittsburgh Penguins: A talented robot engages in bizarre rituals to help him lead an erratic parade of banged-up nice boys. One of them is a very beautiful French Canadian, but you will not see him in the playoffs because he got extra banged up :(, but you might see him in a suit in the audience SO who are the real winners here? Us, that’s who. On the other hand, this team made me want to sex this person, so maybe I specifically am not a winner.
Columbus Blue Jackets: The Columbus Blue Jackets could shut out every game they ever played and people would still be like “look at these scrappy little underdogs go!” I think this is because “Blue Jackets” is a very cute name for a team, like what your 4-year-old nephew would nickname a team that had a real, normal name.
WINNER: The Rust Belt
New York Rangers: Speaking of names, every Rangers player’s name was created by a Captcha generator, which is why we all have to pretend that “Ty Ronning” and “Jesper Fast” are regular things to call human beings. Spry 74-year-old Henrik Lundqvist leads this team, wearing a suit.
Montreal Canadiens: The Canadiens are also called “The Habs,” which is short for “Les Haberdashers,” because of their distinctive homemade fur hats. Carey Price, the only goalie permitted to ride a horse onto the ice nightly, has never said a single word aloud and communicates by glaring. These people traded PK Subban and then tried to be like “ohhhh we’re still friends” but I will never forgive them.
WINNER: Carey Price Has Done Nothing Wrong Ever In His Life
Boston Bruins: These dudes make me nervous. At any moment I feel they could travel to Toronto and shove all the Maple Leafs into lockers.
Ottawa Senators: INEXPLICABLY not called the Ottawa Otters??? ???? ????? ??????????? what the fuck
WINNER: SenOtters
Nashville Predators: PK IS HERE!!! PK IS SPEAKING!!! EVERYBODY SHUT UP!!!!! PK Subban chooses his game day Löoks based on “a show I used to watch, Boardwalk Empire.” The Predators are my favorite team that I don’t care about.
Chicago Blackhawks: No offense, but gross.
WINNER: PREDATORS
Minnesota Wild: Lumberjack strippers.
St. Louis Blues: I have never heard of these people.
WINNER: There are no winners here.
Calgary Flames: These guys are precious. One of them is named “Johnny Hockey.” One of them charmed me via Bananaphone. I’m a huge Calgary Flames fan, probably.
Anaheim Ducks: Once before I knew anything about hockey I was at trivia & there was a question about who played the Kings at Dodgers Stadium and someone was like “Ugh whatever, just put ‘The Mighty Ducks.’” This was the correct answer and we were all thrilled and surprised to discover they are a real team. (We did not win the trivia night.)
San Jose Sharks: The Sharks have a CAT MASCOT based on a CAT who RAN ONTO THE ICE and was ADOPTED by one of the PLAYERS! The Sharks are my sweet and special boys for this reason and no other.
Edmonton Oilers: Is “Oilers” is the grossest possible name a sports team could have without being openly racist? Probably, and even if it isn’t, I hate it.
WINNER: SHARKS
People keep asking me why “Oilers” is a gross name, and like, what about it is NOT gross?? “What does your team do?” “Oh…..they’re oilers. They like, ahhh, oiling. Just oiling. They’re some oily….oily boys.”
I am delighted to learn about the greatest fan-team hockey interaction of all time, which apparently involved the St. Louis Blues, so now I’m rooting for them but I still forgot they were a team immediately after reading that post. They are called “Tony X and the Sweatshirts” as far as I’m concerned. I love Tony X and the Sweatshirts.
just moving along like everyone else 