I wanted to put something clever and thought provoking here, since I'm revamping the whole thing. But the thing is, what I find clever and witty now, will probably embarrass me later. So here's the basics. I'm Takumi, I'm 26, and I'm always changing my mind. I love to make friends so talk to me
So I’ve been ruining my kids lives by saying “weird flex but ok” to everything and when I do it they scream no and tell me they’re running away and I made this lovely photo lemme get it
Ok so I need some help coming up with the absolute worst “to flex on” live memes ever to pretend I’m an even more really lame parent. they don’t have to make sense but they need to be absolutely awful yet believable enough that it isn’t obvious I’m intentionally trying to be more lame
Here’s the ones I came up with so far
“You ever just eat a well balanced diet and exercise daily to flex on heart disease?”
“You ever just boil chilies to flex on your eyes?”
“You ever just be cool to flex on your kids?”
“You ever just use sanitizer to flex on 99.9% of all bacteria and viruses?”
“You ever just turn all the lights and up the heater to flex on Dad?”
Catholic edition:
“You ever just like receive the sacraments frequently to flex on Satan?”
“You ever just like love your Mom to flex on Protestants?”
So I executed the first one in the kitchen then I dabbed and my son didn’t say anything he just set down his pomegranate and walked out the front door with no shoes on and now he’s walking down the street
Dr Seuss: ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!’
Illumination:
Then they got an idea! An awful idea!
THE BRANDS GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA! All the marketers thought, “Why should tickets suffice? With the Grinch selling knick-knacks, why, we’ll be paid twice!”
Forget all the morals! There’s cash to be made. From frosting to forklifts to Grinch Gatorade! Just slap his face on there and tint it with green And prepare for profits, yes, profits obscene!
From a seasonal, festival holiday grump, The Grinch had been played for a capital chump. “No more! Won’t you forget these trinkets?” he pleads. “Christmas isn’t junk! It’s your bonds and your deeds.”
For a moment, they paused. Was there more to this day Than products and placements and big bonus pay? The PR men sniffed and they shrugged and they sighed. Then they threw him some cash and they went back inside.
Thank you! Alright, here we go. This got ridiculous. Beware of minor Drarry in a fairly extreme AU situation.
1) The Weasleys are Gryffindors through and true. The fact that they are not in Gryffindor is the fault of the Sorting Hat, who is either throwing a temper tantrum or saving the world.
Look, it’s just… argh… the Headmaster is fucking useless and the Sorting Hat cannot take any more of this fucking complaining.
The student dormitories and teacher’s quarters are moaning about how they’ve NEVER had so few people and are CONVINCED Hogwarts is shutting down. The kitchen still hasn’t shut up about those poisoning attempts during the war; the library won’t shut up about the OBVIOUSLY inevitable second war coming in about twenty years (also something about time travel, but no one is listening); and the gardens and bathrooms and secret passages and all are still terrified about raids and attacks and murder and another horrible war.
Hogwarts does NOT want another war.
Salazar’s Chamber of Secrets, instead of being any help and calming things of course, is still being a smug and elusive bastard. Helga’s Room of Requirement can’t and won’t be of any help either – they’ve been feeling a little ill lately, although they can’t shine a torch on why exactly. And Godric and Rowena’s rooms are just best left to themselves… they’d probably only make it all worse, actually, risk-taking adventurous arses would probably encourage the castle to rebel or some rot.
But the Headmaster, instead of DOING HIS JOB, is just… fuck knows what the Headmaster is doing, honestly. Raising children to the war and letting Marked students run amok left and right, that’s what he did, and letting everything get out of control so that a war could happen in the first place before that. With this man in charge, the library is probably right and they’ll see another war soon enough.
Something has got to be done, the Sorting Hat knows. But what exactly can it do? All it does is sing a bloody song that no one listens to every year and then sends the little brats off to the house they belong to. Then sits on a shelf for the rest of the year, thinking about how maybe that one ought to have been in Gryffindor after all, or how this one’s bad habits wouldn’t have been encouraged if the Sorting Hat had gone with Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin.
…Oh… Hmm… Now… there’s a thought. It’s something the Sorting Hat would have considered impossible before, but… when the safety of Hogwarts is at stake? Taking advantage of the many loopholes Godric left and using a bit of creative thinking and reasoning? Quite doable, actually.
1982 is a year that does not go as expected. Everyone was rather under the impression that things would finally be going back to normal, what with the war being over for nearly a year and the last few trials and outspoken followers being wrapped up and neatly shoved away or under a rug. FINALLY, everyone thought, a stressless year at Hogwarts.
Heads are full of wondering about the greasy-looking git in Professor Slughorn’s seat, not a one suspecting the devious thoughts running through the tanning of the hat in Professor McGonagall’s hand. Yes, there was a Sorting Song about unity and undiscovered depths and things changing now that the war was over, but that was more or less the same as every year and to be expected.
And then the Sorting Hat sends an Avery off to Gryffindor and an Abbott off to Ravenclaw, despite the families’ respective long and prestigious histories in Slytherin and Hufflepuff.
What the actual fuck is happening, no one says aloud, as a Bulstrode goes off to Hufflepuff and a Longbottom cousin goes into Slytherin.
What the fucking shit, no one shouts like they want to, as a couple Muggleborns go straight into Slytherin and the most purist and illustrious racist families get scattered throughout the other houses among half-bloods and Muggleborns like a particularly gleeful punishment.
Bill Weasley, being eleven years old and not entirely aware of the scandal brewing, goes up to that stool and has the Sorting Hat dropped on his head. Actually dropped, out of Minerva McGonagall’s shaking hand. Something is off, his instincts are certain, but what… fuck knows what.
Mmm… chivalrous, of course, the Sorting Hat mumbles more to itself than Bill. Never met a Weasley who wasn’t… and brave, of course, like you’d expect of a Prewett. Strong sense of justice… yes… and no disinclination to standing up and fighting for it… no matter the toil. More straightforward than cunning, though, and no particular ambitions as of yet… and a passion that needs a focus first…. I supposed it’ll have to be…
“HUFFLEPUFF!” the Sorting Hat shouts, thinking on the side, Shame. Would’ve liked a Slytherin Weasley.
Bill doesn’t think much of it at the time. His main concern is that, unlike his parents, his Weasley uncles, his late Prewett uncles… he’s a Hufflepuff. The first Weasley and Prewett not to go straight into Gryffindor in generations, actually. He hopes they won’t be disappointed in him and that yellow and black will be good colors on him.
“Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.
It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.”
—
EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS.
Depression is not a synonym for being sad or having a bad day/bad week.
