Euphoriaphone posted:

i've seen this pic a few times, but this time i made myself contemplate it for a few minutes. how are these real books that exists? they're each like, 250 pages. how do you write 500 pages of fiction about real people? when you're plotting out the book and you have to develop characters for obama and biden, how do you reconcile your characters with their living, breathing actions you see on tv every day? how can you write so many pages while furiously jacking yourself off the entire time?

quote:

Shipping is as much a part of any fandom as fanart, roleplaying and cosplay. There will always be couples to root for, romances to support, and sexytimes to be imagined in great detail. What makes fandom so striking is its ability to use familiar tropes in unique and creative ways to explore the vast parameters of pop culture. What may seem as simple as wanting two characters from a TV show to get together can actually encompass endless ideas about culture, society, our own desires and the vast landscape of entertainment. We ship because we want, and because we know that deep down, there are few things as satisfying as a happily ever after.

Shipping real people has always been a touchy subject in fandom, especially as this previously fringe community practice has found its way to the mainstream. It's one thing to ship Jamie and Clare from Outlander, but when the focus shifts to the real-life actors behind those characters, the ethics blur.

Real person fanfiction (RPF) isn’t an objectively terrible thing like some people believe it to be. When you think of it as simply another way for fans to create narratives and dive deep into the unexplored, all while using the pre-existing structure of real people, then it’s perfectly fine. What is Hamilton, if not the ultimate piece of RPF? Shakespeare wrote some of his best plays by taking historical kings and queens — some of whom were relatives of his greatest fan, Queen Elizabeth — and making them into rip-roaring entertainment for the masses. How many times have you watched a sci-fi or horror with a villain based on Jack the Ripper? Finding new ways to retell history and the figures who defined it has been a part of the Western literary canon for as long as words have been used to tell stories. RPF is merely the evolution of that, albeit with far less respectability.

One RPF fan anonymously told us of its appeal. "My interest in RPF started when I was a lot younger, back when actually gay characters were hard to come by outside of things like Queer As Folk, which was a groundbreaking show, but it wasn't the only representation 14-year-old me wanted to see as a young pansexual (nor was it the most appropriate). So when the emo scene came around and Gerard Way and Frank Iero started making out on stage yet being cute and caring friends outside of that, or Ryan Ross wrote about the sun and the moon in reference to Brendon Urie... it became a mystery to decipher [via] lyrics, actions in interviews, rumors, and poems on MySpace/LiveJournal. It began with wanting something more real than what fiction offered. I didn't want tragic stories that were all about sex, I wanted depth and something more than what media offered. The mystery, connecting the dots, it was fascinating, fun, and left so much room to fill in the empty spaces with fanfiction/tin-hatting with friends. Writing the fanfiction was much more freeform too, because you could practically write completely original content and merely change the names to whichever RP pairing it was."

Within fandom circles, RPF has always presented problems. In 2001, the legendary site Fanfiction.net banned fic about real people, but the ban has never been 100% effective, with examples of RPF available throughout the site in various categories and written in an array of languages. A quick browse of the celebrities and real people subcategory of Archive of Our Own reveals hundreds of RPF choices, from Smallville to Shadowhunters to Ukranian history. The Marvel Cinematic Universe alone has over 3,100 RPF fics to its name (for those of you wondering, the most popular pairing is Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan). Clearly, business is booming, but the boundaries between real and fiction remain blurrier than ever.

RPF also remains something of a fandom-accepted punching bag. Fics featuring original characters, especially female ones who are paired off with big-name celebs, are seen as one of fandom’s weaker elements.

One anonymous RPF fan who wrote reader-insert stories explained why they wrote such fics. "I suppose writing the reader-insert RPF gave me a greater sense of power, and more pleasure and satisfaction as both a writer and a fan, than writing the regular sort of fanfic. One fic got me a lot of scorn, and even a threat of being banned from the forum where I posted it — even though they had no rules against posting it. I was considered to be letting down the side or making his fans look bad. As if none of them had ever fantasized about something similar!"

Shipping is great! We heartily support your right to explore fandom and the pop culture you love through whatever creative means you choose. However, when you love something, you need to be able to tackle its flaws, particularly when they become a public nuisance, and this particular brand of RPF gone rogue has become impossible to ignore. RPF has its ups and downs, and both are worth exploring.

Fanfiction is more popular than ever, but it’s also arguably more visible to the outside world than we’ve ever experienced. What was once the little secret you never told anyone about is now a publishing phenomenon, with agents proudly scouring fic sites looking for highly-viewed stories they can shave the serial numbers from and publish as original. Talk show hosts forcing their endlessly uncomfortable celebrity guests to live-read the RPF written about them has become its own cruel sport. All of this leads to the question of what happens when such things cross the line. When does RPF go from a fun and commonly explored side of fandom to something altogether more suspect? And when do the people being shipped call for a time out on it?

We could be here all day naming the tin-hat RPF ships of geek fandom, but we’ll narrow it down to a few of the most prominent examples. Robsten (Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart) remains a big one after the two co-starred in The Twilight Saga, but there were also the Domlijah fans, believers in a true romance between Dominic Monaghan and Elijah Wood during the filming and promotion of The Lord of the Rings trilogy; the shippers for Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe of Outlander fame; the occasionally infamous Supernatural fans convinced in the love of its two leading men; and more recently, Supergirl fandom has various RPF ships that have crossed those lines.

Sometimes, the results of this tin-hat approach have been less than savory. Robert Pattinson’s ex-fiancée, the musician F.K.A. Twigs, received racist and violent harassment on social media from Robsten shippers, and the actor talked about the strain such conspiracies put on his life. The spouses of both Supernatural stars, Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, have faced hate from shippers and accusations of being hired beards. While not directly related to any ship, the fringe fandom conspiracies surrounding Sherlock and Doctor Strange star Benedict Cumberbatch, which includes claims that his wife has entrapped him in marriage with a fake child, caused him to directly call out the menace. This side of RPF is and always has been a small minority of the community. As with most things in fandom, the loudest and most aggressive voices tend to capture the lion’s share of attention. For those in fandom who wish to avoid these tensions, it can be difficult, and also impede on their ability to be fans.

Our RPF fan explained further. "Negativity and judgment toward RPF has always existed, but I think it only really started creeping up once things like show hosts asking the celebrities about the ships and making them uncomfortable started happening and when people started getting really fringe and actively stalking the real SOs. After the fringe people started getting more attention, that's what people and celebrities started to believe all RPF was like, so for the more casual majority of the fandom it became something to not talk about, like an underground trade. Number one rule, don't talk about fight club — I mean, RPF. It damaged the fandom for sure, going from a place with rules of never mentioning it to the people to fringe shippers screaming the ship at them and media talking about it, for me I left the 'fandom' a while back because of the negativity spread by scary and hostile fans."

What makes the tin-hatting subset of RPF so fascinating is that every fandom plays by the exact same rules. With some minor details changed, each of them stick to a surprisingly rigid list of business and psychological explanations that “prove” their ship is undeniably real. There is always some shadowy public relations organization forcing the pair in question to pretend their love is fake; there will always be paparazzi shots circled in MS Paint and analyzed beyond reason for “proof.” Every conspiracy relies on the insistence that various individuals are either hired to be fake spouses for the true lovers or they are forcing people into it on pain of death; the press is always part of the dark plan to keep the truth hidden; and all of this is completely obvious to anyone who isn’t a total sheeple, yet only the tiniest sliver of the population is ever apparently aware of it. No matter how outlandish the conspiracies become, and they’re often beyond ludicrous (from fake babies to secret hand signals), they’re familiar tools of the tin-hatting game.

RPF is going legitimate in a new and unforeseen way. Fanfic used to be a no-go area, one whose creativity came with clearly defined boundaries of legality, yet now it's a profitable commodity. Post-Fifty Shades of Grey, anything goes. We've already seen novels published from One Direction RPF written on Wattpad, and the site even announced last year that it would partner with major YouTube stars to bring fanfic about themselves to life. As a growing side to the ecosystems of fandom and celebrity, this is an unexpected turn, but not one people are especially shocked by. Fandom breeds enthusiasm about its subjects, and that cannot help but bleed into real life in some capacity. If there is a thriving hub of creativity in any corner where money can be made, a company or brand will find it. Our culture is ceaselessly fascinated by celebrities, and that can’t be kept apart from fandom.

Wikipedia posted:

FanFiction.net also hosts one of the longest works of fiction ever written. The Subspace Emissary's Worlds Conquest, a Super Smash Bros. fanfiction written by FanFiction.net user AuraChannelerChris, gained media attention for its length of over four million words at the time of notice, more than three times as long as In Search of Lost Time written by Marcel Proust, and is still being written. The longest fanfiction on the site is The Loud House: Revamped, a crossover fanfiction of The Loud House which is over 9,500,000 words long as of May 2021.

Some Guy TT posted:

https://mobile.twitter.com/disclosetv/status/1405631148001267719

Excelzior posted:

if we're going to have neofeudalism I wish we had like neon lances and robosteeds at least

Pepperoneedy posted:

First Lady Dr. Jill Biden, PhD Ed.D., Esq.

Cpt_Obvious posted:

The eugenics thread.

Excelzior posted:

Democrats would rather sacrifice every single one of their professed virtues for the HOPE of a single Republican vote than make any concession to the left

quote:

Could Buffalo become a city without a mayor?
NEWS
by: Al Vaughters

Posted: Jul 26, 2021 / 08:55 PM EDT / Updated: Jul 27, 2021 / 10:49 AM EDT

BUFFALO, N.Y. (WIVB) – Could Buffalo become a city without a mayor?

The Buffalo Common Council is studying a change in the city’s form of government which would abolish the office of mayor.

University councilman Rasheed Wyatt says Buffalo is one of the poorest cities in the country, and it has been that way for more than 40 years.

Governance at City Hall has also been the same and Wyatt says it is time to change.

“I think it would be insane for us to continue with this same form of government that has not yielded the results that we would have thought,” Wyatt said.

Wyatt says Buffalo should look at changing its form of governance, abolishing the office of mayor in favor of a city manager who answers to the common council.

“This model, I think over time, will prove itself that it could be the model that could help us turn that tide so we are not talking about being the third poorest city in the nation,” he added.

The common council approved Wyatt’s resolution, which directs council staff to study a possible change in the city’s form of government.

Mayor Byron Brown says Buffalo already has a person to manage the city’s affairs – and it is the mayor – who, Brown points out, has done many good things for the city.

“Well there is a huge difference,” Brown said. “The mayor is elected by the people, is directly accountable to the people.”

There are 62 cities in the state of New York and about a dozen have a city manager – but only two of those cities are run without a mayor: Batavia, which has a city manager who is hired and directed by the city council, and Long Beach City on Long Island.

“Currently, everybody votes for the mayor,” UB political science professor Shawn Donohue said. “What would replace it would be, if you can get five of the nine common council members to agree on the city manager, they would pick who is in charge.”

Donohue also points out city manager form could make governance less democratic.

“You have, let’s say 55 to 66 percent of the city, [they] could be in a position where they’ve got a lot more than their fair share of resources from the city, why would you ever want to give that up?” Donohue said.

As long as that majority of councilmembers keeps their people happy, Professor Donohue told us, why would they want to share with the minority faction?

He also says the change would require a referendum, and that is not likely this election cycle.

quote:

Buffalo police investigated a complaint in 2018 that a man was suspected of dealing drugs from the Fruit Belt house of Democratic mayoral nominee India B. Walton, according to police reports and Walton's former landlord.

The owner of the house said he forced Walton to leave after confronting her about complaints of a constant flow of people in and out of the Lemon Street house that led the landlord and a neighbor to believe that drugs were being sold there. The man, according to court records, was released three years earlier from prison for selling cocaine.

Mayoral Democratic primary winner India Walton is interviewed at her campaign office on Jefferson Avenue, Tuesday, June 29, 2021.

Neither Walton nor the man were charged, and police reports obtained by The Buffalo News do not indicate that police had proof of drugs being sold in Walton’s home.

eviltastic posted:

I've always been partial to Larry Gonick's guess of "Yahu-wahu".

Some Guy TT posted:

https://mobile.twitter.com/StevenOverly/status/1427683466808897537

thread title plz

loquacius posted:

https://twitter.com/taylorswiftly93/status/1428965246874521602?t=Vwr02utNqAvmq_aSWDLmxg&s=19

PoontifexMacksimus posted:

Hm, sucks. To my mind the only really fruitful way to interface with Lovecraft poo poo is to start by making the racist subtext text and see what that can tell you about its place in the greater culture. It's been done well elsewhere; I guess they didn't succeed in making it cohesive and meaningful?

docbeard posted:

I kind of want to hear the tortured logic that casts a term that white people used to describe other white people as racist.

But I don't want to hear it badly enough to actually dive into this.

quote:

https://www.etymonline.com/word/carpetbagger

carpetbagger (n.)
also carpet-bagger, 1868, American English, scornful appellation for Northern whites who set up residence in the South after the fall of the Confederate states seeking private gain or political advancement. The name is based on the image of men arriving with all their worldly goods in a big carpetbag. Sense later extended to any opportunist from out of the area (such as wildcat bankers or territorial officers in the West).

quote:

[A]n opprobrious term applied properly to a class of adventurers who took advantage of the disorganized condition of political affairs in the earlier years of reconstruction to gain control of the public offices and to use their influence over the negro voters for their own selfish ends. The term was often extended to include any unpopular person of Northern origin living in the South. [Century Dictionary]

Some Guy TT posted:

i read an interesting book review once that argued the dichotomy of king jr vs malcolm x is very misleading because they influenced each other and by the time of their deaths king jr was noticeably more militant while malcolm x was noticeably more conciliatory

of course no one likes to talk about this because the big compromises were king jr questioning the efficacy of democracy at all and malcolm x deciding that not all crackers were irredeemable racists

Excelzior posted:

ram dass in hell posted:

BlueAnon

Organ Fiend posted:

They're trying to convince themselves.

Democrat voters believe, as an article of faith, that as bad as the Republican party is, the Democrats are better. They can not accept the idea that the Dems are as bad or worse than the Republicans. To crack-ping and accept this idea would send them spiraling into an abyss of existential dread and depression, so fortify their mind against any sort of "Dems actually bad" ideas.

The reason why the Succ Zone makes D&D so angry is that every time we talk about how Tara Reade was raped or how Donald Trumps concentration camps were built by Obama and left open/expanded/made worse by Biden, its like firing a cannon at the walls of the fortress of their mind. This is why they have to ban any sort of "Dems bad" discussion in D&D (and to be fair, in every other forum as well) because if those walls fall, the abyss will take them.

We, on the other hand, have already been crack-pinged thoroughly and have made our peace with the abyss, so it isn't scary for us anymore.

Nonsense posted:

https://twitter.com/marcrod97/status/1441103652941271057?s=20

empty whippet box posted:

what is the point of switching from no to present?

Yinlock posted:

of course in reality, the pro-genocide side sees her as an anti-semite and the anti-genocide sees her as spineless and amoral

which is usually how centrist triangulation goes

Sedisp posted:

If we were to accept Haitians into this country that could increase the level of child poverty in this country. Shame on you Cspam

quote:

And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply PREVAIL. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave...

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high water mark — that place where the wave finally broke, and rolled back.

icantfindaname posted:

brexit's not gonna end up happening b/c the british courts are sane, and america's going to elect donald j trump as president

I said come in! posted:

We are going to make a child rapist and white supremacist the president of the free world.

Hieronymous Alloy posted:

theoretically he could be impeached. Would require congress to act. Could in theory happen as the result of the Trump University stuff too.

Mendrian posted:

Like seriously anyone looking at this election and saying it's 'about the issues' or that the president doesn't matter, you're loving delusional, you're a lunatic. The culture wars are real. There are women and PoC who deal with poo poo every day whose enemies are being validated by this election. Sexism and racism are the loving issues you asshats.

toanoradian posted:

https://twitter.com/bradheath/status/796196451428823040

Turns out the minorities are still the minorities.

Roman Reigns posted:

Clinton's going to lose, Trump will be president and Republicans will have control of the Senate, House, and likely the Supreme Court.

Accept it, take it in. Shits going to be bad.

But it won't be the end of the world.

Help Im Alive posted:

https://twitter.com/girlwithatail/status/796197071640412160

Tortoiseburger posted:

You know I was looking forward to watching Freepers melt down all night as Hillary pulled ahead, but honestly the arzying in this thread has been way more entertaining.

She is going to win Michigan

She is going to win Wisconsin

She is going to win Pennsylvania

She is going to win New Hampshire

Crazy Ted posted:

A lot of people hate the Clintons. Irrationally. Strangely. Bizarrely. Unexplainably.

They believe they've done things that there is absolutely no proof of. They think they've murdered dozens of people over a 40-year reign of terror. They think Bill has raped multiple women. They think Hillary was personally okay with the deaths at the Benghazi compound. They think that she was literally stashing and sharing Top Secret documents on her private e-mail server. They think her loving aides take part in Satanic rituals.

quote:

The Bride in Her Head
By Lena Dunham

July 10, 2015
Like most little girls, I had a fluffy white approximation of a bridal gown that I wore around our house until it lay in tatters. I often begged my tomboy cousin to play groom, a job she bore with sufficient humor. A wedding was, I imagined, an incredible day, better than your birthday, Halloween, and Hanukkah combined, with all eyes on you—a chance to be the star of your own show.

This wedding fever had not been contracted from my mother. Like many feminist women of the eighties, she had married with some hesitation. She wore a sharp suit and spectator pumps to a morning ceremony in the basement of a synagogue. Her opinion of weddings seemed to be much like mine is now on sex in public places: enjoy yourself but get it done fast, and let’s please not get caught. Her wedding photos seemed to me an utter waste of time and resources. She wasn’t even wearing her signature red lipstick. Sometimes, I would take her wedding shoes out of her cedar closet and try them on, hoping to absorb some of their special power.

Eventually, I outgrew my bridal fantasies and moved on to other areas of imaginary play (being the President’s daughter, joining a sorority). But, when I was eleven, my babysitter Noni got engaged, and wedding mania swept our home once more. We spent every day after school flipping through bridal magazines and discussing the details: Sleeves or strapless? Hair up or down? Surf and turf or chicken? My mother would come home to find us deep in wedding plans, drawing up seating charts and designing place cards. This had to be a confusing sight for a woman who had once given me a T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of handcuffed suffragettes. My work as junior wedding planner could only have been a disappointing mystery to her.

When Noni walked down the aisle, in a dress encrusted with every shiny doodad in the known universe, her enormous family filled the church with the echoes of their sobs. I cried, too, but for a different reason than I had expected: I was embarrassed. Something about the spectacle of the ceremony—Noni being handed off from father to husband like a doll at a yard sale—struck me as patronizing, outdated, and terrifying.

As a teen-ager, I continued to imagine my wedding, but now it was an alternate version, informed by my newfound status as a self-proclaimed “weird girl.” Recently, I found a drawing from tenth grade, an anime-inspired rendering of someone meant to be the adult me wearing a shredded lace gown and combat boots. Beside the image, I had listed details of the wedding: Tofurky would be served. The White Stripes would play, followed by Sade. My mother would walk me down the aisle. But, despite my self-regarding rejection of tradition, despite the riot grrrl costume, there she was, drawn in my own hand: thin, blond, breasts perky as hell, and veil perched daintily. A bride all the same.

In college, we talked endlessly about the politics of marriage, its mercantile origins, its role as an organizing principle of the patriarchy. A full seminar was devoted to the issue, in fact, with letter grades and all, in which we debated why we should or shouldn’t engage in such an archaic act when our L.G.B.T.Q. friends and family couldn’t. If we got married, weren’t we supporting and promoting a bigoted and outdated institution? Finally, I could sense a certain moral logic behind the queasiness of watching Noni at her wedding, getting shoved toward her husband like a kid being forced into the first day of kindergarten. (It should be noted that I may be the only child who sobbed at the end of “The Little Mermaid” because Ariel had to leave her father.) But my friend Audrey put it best when she raised her hand and told our professor, “I object to the marriage-industrial complex. But I want that dress. So now what?”

“I’m never getting married,” I told my friend Isabel while we floated in the Dead Sea. We were twenty-two and smeared with mud. “It’s a tool to oppress women and eliminate their freedom,” I added. “Plus, who wants to make out in front of their parents?”

She was newly in love, high on connection. “You’ll take that back the minute you meet someone you like,” she said.

Three years ago, when I was twenty-five, I met a bespectacled musician named Jack. He had a passion for John Hughes movies and driving on the Jersey Turnpike. His belief in, and insistence on, true equality for L.G.B.T.Q. citizens was no small reason why I fell in love with him, and, early in our relationship, I watched him struggle with the decision of whether or not to perform at a straight couple’s wedding. He discussed the matter at length with queer friends, concerned that it might be a form of betrayal (ultimately, he was given their blessing, though he seemed fairly tortured about it anyhow). The struggle was real and raw for Jack, and so it somehow became understood, between us, that we wouldn’t even consider marrying until every American had the same right. And I said it proudly whenever I had the chance, with the grandiosity and intimations of sacrifice you hear from certain lesser vegans.

According to a June 30th article in Time, we were not the only ones who felt this way, as straight couples across America eschewed the idea of a celebration that their L.G.B.T.Q. friends and family could not participate in with a shared sense of freedom. While my own queer sibling considers marriage barely radical enough to scratch the surface of their consciousness, many of the couples profiled in Time felt that, without national marriage equality, their weddings would be a flat-out attack on the queer people they love. Jordan Davis, one of the men profiled in the piece, said, “I was boycotting marriage because I have family members who would say we don’t need marriage equality. They thought [the gay-marriage debate] was someone else’s problem, so I was trying to make it their problem, too.” (Full disclosure: Jack and I are also mentioned in the piece, among a slew of public figures who announced that they, too, were waiting—though some, such as Brangelina, jumped ship in favor of good old-fashioned romance, in Château Miraval, France.)

I proudly wore our anti-marriage badge, though I did cut a rug at assorted straight weddings. But sometimes, in a moment of deep gratitude, I would mutter these words to Jack, unbidden: “Marry me.” They became a kind of code, a way of giving a million other kinds of loving thanks. I wasn’t serious, I told myself. It was like when I tell my dog to “get a job.” But I also liked that our anti-marriage plan wasn’t absolute, and that it teased at a brighter future for all (a future where I might get to wear the fluffy white dress).

That future, of course, arrived not long ago, when the Supreme Court ruled that marriage is a right for all, regardless of gender identification or sexual preference. Like so many people around the country, I awoke to dozens of joyful messages from friends and family, rainbows and hearts and a sense that at least one great victory for human rights had been achieved in our lifetimes. What a joy, to have a morning like that, knowing how many people felt affirmed and liberated, knowing that Pride weekend in New York would be an explosion of hope and glitter.

Soon after, another kind of text started to trickle in: “Now you can get married!” “Hello, bride to be

Grapplejack posted:

Ff8 loving rules god I love how insane that game is.

BitcoinRockefeller posted:

I thought bodegas were the push carts that sold things for the longest time because of how new yorkers talk about them like they are so unique, and you don't see those a lot of places. That they think a convenience store that's independently owned is some special thing and not the same as every local gas station in any podunk town is mind blowing.

Vim Fuego posted:

You ever use your celebrity platform to spread hatred... on weeeeeed???

is pepsi ok posted:

libs be like "why is everyone unhappy with the captain of this sinking ship? he gave such a powerful speech about how we should remain calm and offered everyone a free drink coupon."

Ted Kaczynski posted:

Ship of Fools

Once upon a time, the captain and the mates of a ship grew so vain of their seamanship, so full of hubris and so impressed with themselves, that they went mad. They turned the ship north and sailed until they met with icebergs and dangerous floes, and they kept sailing north into more and more perilous waters, solely in order to give themselves opportunities to perform ever-more-brilliant feats of seamanship.

As the ship reached higher and higher latitudes, the passengers and crew became increasingly uncomfortable. They began quarreling among themselves and complaining of the conditions under which they lived.

“Shiver me timbers,” said an able seaman, “if this ain’t the worst voyage I’ve ever been on. The deck is slick with ice; when I’m on lookout the wind cuts through me jacket like a knife; every time I reef the foresail I blamed-near freeze me fingers; and all I get for it is a miserable five shillings a month!”

“You think you have it bad!” said a lady passenger. “I can’t sleep at night for the cold. Ladies on this ship don’t get as many blankets as the men. It isn’t fair!”

A Mexican sailor chimed in: “¡Chingado! I’m only getting half the wages of the Anglo seamen. We need plenty of food to keep us warm in this climate, and I’m not getting my share; the Anglos get more. And the worst of it is that the mates always give me orders in English instead of Spanish.”

“I have more reason to complain than anybody,” said an American Indian sailor. “If the palefaces hadn’t robbed me of my ancestral lands, I wouldn’t even be on this ship, here among the icebergs and arctic winds. I would just be paddling a canoe on a nice, placid lake. I deserve compensation. At the very least, the captain should let me run a crap game so that I can make some money.”

The bosun spoke up: “Yesterday the first mate called me a ‘fruit’ just because I suck cocks. I have a right to suck cocks without being called names for it!”

It’s not only humans who are mistreated on this ship,” interjected an animal-lover among the passengers, her voice quivering with indignation. “Why, last week I saw the second mate kick the ship’s dog twice!”

One of the passengers was a college professor. Wringing his hands he exclaimed,

“All this is just awful! It’s immoral! It’s racism, sexism, speciesism, homophobia, and exploitation of the working class! It’s discrimination! We must have social justice: Equal wages for the Mexican sailor, higher wages for all sailors, compensation for the Indian, equal blankets for the ladies, a guaranteed right to suck cocks, and no more kicking the dog!”

“Yes, yes!” shouted the passengers. “Aye-aye!” shouted the crew. “It’s discrimination! We have to demand our rights!”

The cabin boy cleared his throat.

“Ahem. You all have good reasons to complain. But it seems to me that what we really have to do is get this ship turned around and headed back south, because if we keep going north we’re sure to be wrecked sooner or later, and then your wages, your blankets, and your right to suck cocks won’t do you any good, because we’ll all drown.”

But no one paid any attention to him, because he was only the cabin boy.

The captain and the mates, from their station on the poop deck, had been watching and listening. Now they smiled and winked at one another, and at a gesture from the captain the third mate came down from the poop deck, sauntered over to where the passengers and crew were gathered, and shouldered his way in amongst them. He put a very serious expression on his face and spoke thusly:

“We officers have to admit that some really inexcusable things have been happening on this ship. We hadn’t realized how bad the situation was until we heard your complaints. We are men of good will and want to do right by you. But — well — the captain is rather conservative and set in his ways, and may have to be prodded a bit before he’ll make any substantial changes. My personal opinion is that if you protest vigorously — but always peacefully and without violating any of the ship’s rules — you would shake the captain out of his inertia and force him to address the problems of which you so justly complain.”

Having said this, the third mate headed back toward the poop deck. As he went, the passengers and crew called after him, “Moderate! Reformer! Goody-liberal! Captain’s stooge!” But they nevertheless did as he said. They gathered in a body before the poop deck, shouted insults at the officers, and demanded their rights: “I want higher wages and better working conditions,” cried the able seaman. “Equal blankets for women,” cried the lady passenger. “I want to receive my orders in Spanish,” cried the Mexican sailor. “I want the right to run a crap game,” cried the Indian sailor. “I don’t want to be called a fruit,” cried the bosun. “No more kicking the dog,” cried the animal lover. “Revolution now,” cried the professor.

The captain and the mates huddled together and conferred for several minutes, winking, nodding and smiling at one another all the while. Then the captain stepped to the front of the poop deck and, with a great show of benevolence, announced that the able seaman’s wages would be raised to six shillings a month; the Mexican sailor’s wages would be raised to two-thirds the wages of an Anglo seaman, and the order to reef the foresail would be given in Spanish; lady passengers would receive one more blanket; the Indian sailor would be allowed to run a crap game on Saturday nights; the bosun wouldn’t be called a fruit as long as he kept his cocksucking strictly private; and the dog wouldn’t be kicked unless he did something really naughty, such as stealing food from the galley.

The passengers and crew celebrated these concessions as a great victory, but the next morning, they were again feeling dissatisfied.

“Six shillings a month is a pittance, and I still freeze me fingers when I reef the foresail,” grumbled the able seaman. “I’m still not getting the same wages as the Anglos, or enough food for this climate,” said the Mexican sailor. “We women still don’t have enough blankets to keep us warm,” said the lady passenger. The other crewmen and passengers voiced similar complaints, and the professor egged them on.

When they were done, the cabin boy spoke up — louder this time so that the others could not easily ignore him:

“It’s really terrible that the dog gets kicked for stealing a bit of bread from the galley, and that women don’t have equal blankets, and that the able seaman gets his fingers frozen; and I don’t see why the bosun shouldn’t suck cocks if he wants to. But look how thick the icebergs are now, and how the wind blows harder and harder! We’ve got to turn this ship back toward the south, because if we keep going north we’ll be wrecked and drowned.”

“Oh yes,” said the bosun, “It’s just so awful that we keep heading north. But why should I have to keep cocksucking in the closet? Why should I be called a fruit? Ain’t I as good as everyone else?”

“Sailing north is terrible,” said the lady passenger. “But don’t you see? That’s exactly why women need more blankets to keep them warm. I demand equal blankets for women now!”

“It’s quite true,” said the professor, “that sailing to the north imposes great hardships on all of us. But changing course toward the south would be unrealistic. You can’t turn back the clock. We must find a mature way of dealing with the situation.”

“Look,” said the cabin boy, “If we let those four madmen up on the poop deck have their way, we’ll all be drowned. If we ever get the ship out of danger, then we can worry about working conditions, blankets for women, and the right to suck cocks. But first we’ve got to get this vessel turned around. If a few of us get together, make a plan, and show some courage, we can save ourselves. It wouldn’t take many of us — six or eight would do. We could charge the poop, chuck those lunatics overboard, and turn the ship to the south.”

The professor elevated his nose and said sternly, “I don’t believe in violence. It’s immoral.”

“It’s unethical ever to use violence,” said the bosun.

“I’m terrified of violence,” said the lady passenger.

The captain and the mates had been watching and listening all the while. At a signal from the captain, the third mate stepped down to the main deck. He went about among the passengers and crew, telling them that there were still many problems on the ship.

“We have made much progress,” he said, “But much remains to be done. Working conditions for the able seaman are still hard, the Mexican still isn’t getting the same wages as the Anglos, the women still don’t have quite as many blankets as the men, the Indian’s Saturday-night crap game is a paltry compensation for his lost lands, it’s unfair to the bosun that he has to keep his cocksucking in the closet, and the dog still gets kicked at times.

“I think the captain needs to be prodded again. It would help if you all would put on another protest — as long as it remains nonviolent.”

As the third mate walked back toward the stern, the passengers and the crew shouted insults after him, but they nevertheless did what he said and gathered in front of the poop deck for another protest. They ranted and raved and brandished their fists, and they even threw a rotten egg at the captain (which he skillfully dodged).

After hearing their complaints, the captain and the mates huddled for a conference, during which they winked and grinned broadly at one another. Then the captain stepped to the front of the poop deck and announced that the able seaman would be given gloves to keep his fingers warm, the Mexican sailor would receive wages equal to three-fourths the wages of an Anglo seaman, the women would receive yet another blanket, the Indian sailor could run a crap game on Saturday and Sunday nights, the bosun would be allowed to suck cocks publicly after dark, and no one could kick the dog without special permission from the captain.

The passengers and crew were ecstatic over this great revolutionary victory, but by the next morning they were again feeling dissatisfied and began grumbling about the same old hardships.

The cabin boy this time was getting angry.

“You drat fools!” he shouted. “Don’t you see what the captain and the mates are doing? They’re keeping you occupied with your trivial grievances about blankets and wages and the dog being kicked so that you won’t think about what is really wrong with this ship — that it’s getting farther and farther to the north and we’re all going to be drowned. If just a few of you would come to your senses, get together, and charge the poop deck, we could turn this ship around and save ourselves. But all you do is whine about petty little issues like working conditions and crap games and the right to suck cocks.”

The passengers and the crew were incensed.

“Petty!!” cried the Mexican, “Do you think it’s reasonable that I get only three-fourths the wages of an Anglo sailor? Is that petty?”

“How can you call my grievance trivial? shouted the bosun. “Don’t you know how humiliating it is to be called a fruit?”

“Kicking the dog is not a ‘petty little issue!’” screamed the animal-lover. “It’s heartless, cruel, and brutal!”

“Alright then,” answered the cabin boy. “These issues are not petty and trivial. Kicking the dog is cruel and brutal and it is humiliating to be called a fruit. But in comparison to our real problem — in comparison to the fact that the ship is still heading north — your grievances are petty and trivial, because if we don’t get this ship turned around soon, we’re all going to drown.”

“Fascist!” said the professor.

“Counterrevolutionary!” said the lady passenger. And all of the passengers and crew chimed in one after another, calling the cabin boy a fascist and a counterrevolutionary. They pushed him away and went back to grumbling about wages, and about blankets for women, and about the right to suck cocks, and about how the dog was treated. The ship kept sailing north, and after a while it was crushed between two icebergs and everyone drowned.

Shipon posted:

if anything it's even more of a "gently caress you", yeah we know you're suffering but we're not doing anything but empty platitudes deal with it peasant

the_steve posted:

Sounds like some real purity testing unicorn wanter talk right there.

gradenko_2000 posted:

okay. sure.

The Pussy Boss posted:

where's the lie

Chillgamesh posted:

I don't know who needs to hear this but rich people should give me lots of money to do whatever I please with, in order to ease their consciences

mawarannahr posted:

that test is racist bullshit that only a democrat would use as a metaphor to try to own someone. welcome to the party!

Pamela Springstein posted:

is there a new cool zone thread?

https://mobile.twitter.com/jmartNYT/status/1446565628471545858

black man shot 7 times in the back while reaching into his car

PostNouveau posted:

AP (and IB) classes are a lot easier to make egalitarian. Just don't put a gate in front of them and let anyone sign up for them.

Yeah yeah you and everyone else in this thread we can probably dispense with the obligatory 2 pages of posts of "I was a smart kid and now I'm a worthless acoholic".

quote:

“If you’ve spent time in a Black barbershop or a hair salon, you can understand some of the complexity and potential contradictions around different Black folks’ view,” said Phillips.

yellowcar posted:

also what kind of barber shop has a single chair in the middle of the room and absolutely zero mirrors anywhere

No Exit posted:

GARCIN: Still there? Now listen! I want you to do me a service. No, don't shrink away. I know
it must seem strange to you, having someone asking you for help; you're not used to that. But if
you'll make the effort, if you'll only will it hard enough, I dare say we can really love each other.
Look at it this way. A thousand of them are proclaiming I'm a coward; but what do numbers
matter? If there's someone, just one person, to say quite positively I did not run away, that I'm
not the sort who runs away, that I'm brave and decent and the rest of it—well, that one person's
faith would save me. Will you have that faith in me? Then I shall love you and cherish you for
ever. Estelle—will you?

ESTELLE [laughing]: Oh, you dear silly man, do you think I could love a coward?

GARCIN: But just now you said—

ESTELLE I was only teasing you. I like men, my dear, who're real men, with tough skin and
strong hands. You haven't a coward's chin, or a coward's mouth, or a coward's voice, or a
coward's hair. And it's for your mouth, your hair, your voice, I love you.

GARCIN: Do you mean this? Really mean it?

ESTELLE: Shall I swear it?

GARCIN: Then I snap my fingers at them all, those below and those in here. Estelle, we shall
climb out of hell. [INEZ gives a shrill laugh. He breaks off and stares at her.] What's that?

INEZ [still laughing]: But she doesn't mean a word of what she says. How can you be such a
simpleton? "Estelle, am I a coward?" As if she cared a drat either way.

ESTELLE: Inez, how dare you? [To GARCIN] Don't listen to her. If you want me to have faith
in you, you must begin by trusting me.

INEZ: That's right! That's right! Trust away! She wants a man—that far you can trust her—she
want's a man's arm round her waist, a man's smell, a man's eyes glowing with desire. And that's
all she wants. She'd assure you you were God Almighty if she thought it would give you
pleasure.

GARCIN: Estelle, is this true? Answer me. Is it true?

ESTELLE: What do you expect me to say? Don't you realize how maddening it is to have to
answer questions one can't make head or tail of? [She stamps her foot.] You do make things
difficult... . Anyhow, I'd love you just the same, even if you were a coward. Isn't that enough? [A
short pause.]

GARCIN [to the two women]: You disgust me, both of you.

quote:

In a well-known passage from his ‘Existentialism and Humanism’, Sartre deployed the dilemma of a young man in France in 1942, torn between the duty to help his lone, ill mother and the duty to enter the war and fight the Germans; Sartre’s point is, of course, that there is no a priori answer to this dilemma. The young man needs to make a decision grounded only in his own abyssal freedom and assume full responsibility for it.

An obscene third way out of this dilemma would have been to advise the young man to tell his mother that he will join the Resistance, and to tell his Resistance friends that he will take care of his mother, while, in reality, withdrawing to a secluded place and studying.

There is more than cheap cynicism in this advice. It brings to mind a well-known Soviet joke about Lenin. Under socialism; Lenin’s advice to young people, his answer to what they should do, was “Learn, learn, and learn.” This was evoked all the time and displayed on the school walls. The joke goes: Marx, Engels, and Lenin are asked whether they would prefer to have a wife or a mistress. As expected, Marx, rather conservative in private matters, answers, “A wife!” while Engels, more of a bon vivant, opts for a mistress. To everyone’s surprise, Lenin says, “I’d like to have both!” Why? Is there a hidden stripe of decadent jouisseur behind his austere revolutionary image? No-he explains: “So that I can tell my wife that I am going to my mistress and my mistress that I am going to my wife. . .” “And then, what do you do?” “I go to a solitary place to learn, learn, and learn!”

gradenko_2000 posted:

cured by shifting to eruditocracy. it's a healthy compromise between gatekeeping the vote to those who have bothered to care enough to educate themselves but not gatekeep hard enough to bar people who really want to vote