went digging through my closet in search of colored pens
the sheep plushy I bought in wales like five years ago for the kid my sister’s currently incubating (my cat is a fan of its tail)
my old gameboy color, which I hardly ever played, and didn’t think I even still had (it’s pink, in case you care)
all six games I had for it, to wit: barbie pet rescue, hello kitty cube frenzy (I’m not sure that one was even mine…maybe my sister’s?) super mario bros, sabrina the teenage witch, tom and jerry, and HARRY POTTER AND THE FUCKING SORCERER’S STONE. I think I’m gonna see if the batteries are charged, and if they are, give harry a play. It is, apparently, the last game I played, as it is still in the gameboy.
a cassette tape to plug into a walkman to be able to play cds in a car (kinda wanna take it when I babysit tomorrow, see if the kids can figure out what it is and what it’s for)(hell, for that matter, might take the gameboy, too)
a four year old condomgram, which says “safe sex is dandy, and enjoy the candy”. neither the condom nor the attached dumdum are any good anymore. (the condom expired march of this year)(the dumdum is cherry flavored, in case you care)(and the condom is turquoise, which I think is a good color for a never-to-be-used condom)
a bag of halloween M&Ms
three toy tea sets
a box of auntie anne’s pretzel mix (which has probably expired but who cares, I’m gonna make them anyway…eventually)
a lion king poster that’s been waiting to be hung up since I was sixteen
a basket full of mismatched socks (many of which probably have enormous holes in them and need to be thrown away)
and new levels of murderous rage for my closet door
“Would the exemption…extend to employers with religiously grounded objections to blood transfusions (Jehovah’s Witnesses); antidepressants (Scientologists); medications derived from pigs, including anesthesia, intravenous fluids, and pills coated with gelatin (certain Muslims, Jews, and Hindus); and vaccinations (Christian Scientists, among others)? The Court, I fear, has ventured into a minefield.”—
“My youngest flaunts her mind, and frightens away the suitors.”—
- Louis Nicolas le Tonnerlier de Breteuil, on his daughter, the raddest person in history, Émilie du Châtelet. Emilie was a scientist in the 18th century who proved Newton’s ideas on velocity wrong. She also played a role in helping Einstein figure out E = mc2 with E=mv2 (via intuitiveunderstanding)
Also, “frightens away the suitors” = BS. Emilie du Chatelet was a hustler. Fucking Voltaire was her personal man-candy. Her husband was apparently totally cool with it. The historical record did not preserve evidence for or against a threesome.
#girls don’t you go feeling like you don’t got any role models ‘cause you got role models like damn #it just takes a little more work to find out about them is all
“When she was a 27-year-old mother of three, du Châtelet began perhaps the most passionate affair of her life—a true partnership of heart and mind. Her lover, the writer Voltaire, recounted later, “In the year 1733 I met a young lady who happened to think nearly as I did.” She and Voltaire shared deep interests: in political reform, in the fun of fast conversations, and, above all, in advancing science as much as they could.” —pbs.org
Phil’s pen scraped across the page. “No,” he said at last, and it took him far too long to dredge up that single word. Some discussions with Clint were like getting a concussion while drunk; he could almost feel the brain damage setting in but couldn’t work up any concern about it. He set his pen aside. “Is this something you knew about and participated in, or something that was done without your knowledge or consent?” he asked, because that was really the first priority.
He did not allow himself to think about what the next priorities were. Probably murder if this question wasn’t answered properly, but he doubted that was going to be necessary. Clint didn’t seem upset or angry. Just amused.
Clint threw himself onto Phil’s couch. “Aw, are you going to defend my honor?” he asked, grinning as he folded his hands over his flat stomach. “That’s a losing fight there, Phil.”
Phil arched an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m good at those.” He leaned back in his chair, studying Clint. “They’re kind of a specialty.”
“They are, aren’t there?” Clint grinned. “St. Phil, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.”
Also also, in honor of today’s completely non-HP related holiday, let me offer you a post-canon epic that winds its way into and out of the Quodpot World Cup — in a most spectacular fashion. Quodpot is not the point of the story. The point of the story seems to be to bite my nails and make me scream at things, also to give me a lot to think about with regard to Harry’s post-Hogwarts years, the relations between wizards and Muggles, and the general shadiness of Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor both. So I highly recommend it even for non-Quodpot purposes.
why all the merdudes gotta have the cool ass shark fins? why can’t some merladies have cool sharkfins and the merdudes have some sparkly ass beautiful scales that you need metaphors about rainbows to describe
i wanna see a cute merlady with a fucking killer whale for half her body chatting up some cute merdude with a rainbowfish tail ok
“I did not request a video file sent to my phone.”
Clint grinned down at the cutting board. “Well, no, but this is just me being proactive. I was told to work on being proactive on my last quarterly review, why is Hill giving me quarterly reviews now, by the way?”
“It has something to do with a conflict of interest,” Phil said. He sounded like he was chewing nails. “In that Director Fury seems to think that me having to give you your reviews might interfere with our working relationship.”
“But doesn’t that define our working relationship?” Clint spun the knife on the flat of his hand, catching it neatly and stabbing downward with an efficient use of force. The potato never saw it coming. “You’re my boss. You boss me. Then you tell me how I fucked that up.”
“Then we go home and sleep together,” Phil pointed out.
“It’s the natural order of things,” Clint agreed, dicing the potato with a few flicks of his wrist. He considered double dicing, but that was probably a bit much, what with the phone call and all.
“As it turns out, SHIELD is not sure I’ll give you an honest quarterly review, because of the sleeping together part.”