i am having the time of my life on this website. i’m just dangling from the monkey bars, careening on the swings, the whole playground’s burning and i’m just playing in the sand
i have very long arms
While also on the swings too let’s not forget that
Oh shit how could I forget
I have to use my phone now but I must amend my mistake
All better
Fuck wait it’s also on fire
There we go
NICE
and here we see our gaud in its not so natural habitat having the time of its life
Idk why, but I originally inagined the whole scene during nightime, You’re walking down the street, right around the corner, and ist dark and most things are hard to see, but that hard to miss, because there is this pink blob, playing around, and the whole thing is on fire, and its dangling around, like weird, pink, Lovecraftian spagetti,
BOTH VERSIONS ARE EQUALLY CONSISTENT WITH MY CHARACTER
i had just finished my face paint, which consisted of sickly greenish skin above a gaping, painted-on maw of sharpened teeth. i checked the bathroom mirror.
it was terrifying.
“perfect.” i whispered
i threw on my costume of a raggedy dress and flower crown for my altered “corpse bride” look, grabbed my pillowcase, checked my phone, and headed out.
it was time.
i walked the few blocks down to the rich neighborhood near my house. i got a good haul from the first few houses.
but then…
I heard them
i can’t really describe it in words. you would’ve had to hear it. it was like a mumble at first, getting louder and louder until I couldn’t hear my own thoughts over the whispers. all these voices, screaming at me and somehow still whispering.
then….they seemed to die down. the number of voices lessened until there was one, singing “this is halloween”. it must have noticed me, because it stopped.
it only said one word.
“who?”
“well….m-my name i-i-is Sophia. You ca-can call me…Sophie?” i said, surprised I hadn’t shit my pants yet. the voice was like satan himself was talking perfectly in time with the sweetest old granny you ever met.
“good name. what Miss Sophie doing near gaud’s wood?”
i didn’t know if I had misheard the voice. i looked around. everyone seemed to have left. just me and the still-disembodied voice.
“did you just call yourself God? Like, Bible and crap?”
“NO! GAUD, g-a-u-d! …”
did it just…..they just yelled at me!
“…and I ask miss sophie, what is Miss Sophie here for?”
“i-i-i-im trick or tre-tre-treating.” after this gaud person had yelled at me, I was sure I had shit my pants.
“trick…….trick rr treat? gaud like both those thing. gaud join.”
and then…..they left the woods.
they were the most terrifyingly beautiful creature I had ever seen or even fucking heard of. their skin was pale pink and smooth as glass, glistening in the soft moonlight. they carried themself regally, and, out of decency, had on a loose-fitting wizard’s robe.
“um….what candy do you like, mx gaud?”
“small, round, pretty color. I think are called…..sit….sitkul?”
“oh, skittles! would you like to try to find some?”
“O YES YES GOOD IDEA MISS SOPHIE!!”
they jumped up and down and clapped like a little kid before finally stopping and smiling. I took their cool hand and led them to the nearest house. it was around 8, so things were really begin to kick up.
i knocked on the door. a nice little old woman came out holding a bowl of, you guessed it, packs of skittles. she said some compliment and gave us three packs. we went out to the street.
“oh miss Sophie, thank, thank….”
they said, before tearing open a skittle packet with their teeth and swallowing it whole. they shook their head and looked at me, smiling.
and so, it began. we may as well have looted all the houses that had skittles, but otherwise, it was a blast!
but, of course, around nine-thirtyish, I had to take gaud back to the woods.
“tonight was fun! I hope to see you again next year.”
“yes miss sophie, I will see you next halloween!”
they went in for what I think was supposed to be a kiss, but they really just licked my face. and next thing I knew, I woke up at home. I thought it was a dream, until I saw the note on my bedside table.
god was so fucked up when she made humans like yes let’s give them uhhhhh the capability to love but also let’s give them small caves inside their skull in which to accumulate snot. they’ll love that shit
i love every part of this post
i also love that this implies no malicious intent on god’s part it’s just ‘she was shitfaced what you gonna do’
A Faceless person sits at the table in the center of the room. They are shuffling cards, waiting for you to take your seat. They hum as they deal the hands. You are playing Go Fish.
As you play, you and the Faceless being speak of many things. You speak of knowledge of the near future, approaching events, some fortuitous and many most bleak. The conversation turns to talk of a greater event, the darkest hour yet to come.
The Faceless one comments this: ‘There are many beasts and horsemen in my stables. I have yet to decide which to unleash.’
You watch as features bubble up beneath the Faceless skin–the beginnings of a nose, lips, eyelids, a face protruding from a once smooth expanse. No longer Faceless, the devil stands up, shakes your hand, and makes to leave. It pauses just once, to call back into the room. ‘The cards are a gift.’
You look at the cards and they have changed. They are black, large, inscribed in a language you do not read but which the cards read to you. When the cards start speaking to you, you put them away in their box. Already too many things are unleashed in the world.
Tonight, you spoke with the devil.
The devil looked a lot like you.
there are a lot of shitposts i don’t remember writing but the fact i blocked this out complete is genuinely concerning to me
another weird thing about beer is that it has weird masculinity connections to it. “ya i’ll get a beer, i don’t want none of them girly drinks” Jimothy, you’re drinking wheat juice with a 5% alcohol content and my mixed, fruity, “girly” drink is 40% alcohol and tastes great
O.KAY *CRACKS KNUCKLES* I AM ABOUT TO GIVE YOU AN EDUCATION
BEER IS TRADITIONALLY A WOMAN’S DRINK, IT IS THE MOST FEMALE OF ALL OF THE DRINKS. FOR THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF YEARS, BEER WAS MADE AT HOME BY WOMEN, TO BE CONSUMED BY WOMEN AND CHILDREN–IT WAS ACTUALLY A SOURCE OF NUTRIENTS FOR MANY HOUSEHOLDS. WOMEN CREATED THE CRAFT OF BEER, AND FOR MOST OF HUMAN HISTORY THAT IS WHO YOU’D BUY IT FROM: MANY WOMEN MADE ADDITIONAL INCOME BY BREWING AND SELLING BEER FROM HOME. IT WASN’T UNTIL THE ERA OF INDUSTRIALIZATION THAT BEER BEGAN TO BE BREWED IN FACTORIES. AND ONCE BEER WAS BEING BREWED ON A LARGE SCALE, IT MADE TO START MARKETING IT TO ALL THE MALE FACTORY WORKERS WHO SUDDENLY HAD EXTRA INCOME. HENCE AN AGGRESSIVE MARKETING CAMPAIGN TO RE-BRAND BEER, A DRINK INTRINSICALLY TIED WITH WOMEN’S HISTORY, AS A ‘MASCULINE’ BEVERAGE.
EVEN BETTER, FEMALE BREWSTERS WERE THE ORIGINAL WICKED OLD WITCH. THE TROPES WE COMMONLY ASSOCIATE WITH STEREOTYPICAL WITCHES ARE ACTUALLY BASED ON THE TRADITIONAL BREWSTER. CAULDRONS & HOT STEAMING POTIONS = BEER BREWING. THE WITCH’S HAT: BELIEVE IT OR NOT POINTY HATS WERE ACTUALLY WORN BY BREWSTERS WHEN SELLING THEIR PRODUCT AT MARKETS: THE ENORMOUS HEADGEAR HELPED THEM STAND OUT, AND CLEARLY TOLD EVERYONE ‘YO MOTHERFUCKA GET YOUR BEER HERE’.
CATS AS FAMILIARS: CATS WERE COMMONLY USED TO PREVENT RODENTS FROM GETTING INTO THE WHEAT. EVEN THE BROOMSTICK IS RELATED TO BEER: A BUNDLE OF TWIGS RESEMBLING A BROOM WAS USED AS AD FOR ALEHOUSES
so basically, beer is the ultimate woman’s and witch’s drink
REBLOG ME
fuck u guys, i didn’t spend 20 min fact checking for 3 notes
ok right links fine
i was probably drunk when i wrote this. best i can remember:
all these whiny bastards complaining about my taste in caps lock. I rewrote it for you:
*Sighs heavily and re-cracks knuckles*
Beer is traditionally a woman’s drink, it is the most female of all of The Drinks. For thousands of years, beer was made at home by women, to be consumed by women and children—it was actually a source of nutrients for many households. Women created the craft of beer, and for most of human history that is who you’d buy it from: many women made additional income by brewing and selling beer from home. It wasn’t until the era of industrialization that beer began to be brewed in factories. And once beer was being brewed on a large scale, it made sense to start marketing it to all the male factory workers who suddenly had extra income. Hence an aggressive marketing campaign to re-brand beer, a drink intrinsically tied with women’s history, as a ‘masculine’ beverage.
final bit:
Even better, female brewters were the original wicked old witch. The tropes we commonly associate with stereotypical witches are actually based on the traditional brewster. Cauldrons & hot steaming potions = beer brewing. The witch’s hat: believe it or not pointy hats were actually worn by brewsters when selling their product at markets: the enormous headgear helped them stand out, and clearly told everyone ‘yo motherfucka get your beer here’.
Cats as familiars: cats were commonly used to prevent rodents from getting into the wheat. Even the broomstick is related to beer: a bundle of twigs resembling a broom was used as advertising for alehouses.
so yeah, beer = witch’s brew. other things to check out:
Fermented low-alcohol beverages being the prime source of safe drinking water, for the whole family, for much of human history.
Beer, women, and the invention of the drinking straw (trivia, the oldest known straw is Sumerian, 5000 years old, made of gold and lapis lazuli. )
Monks horning in on the female-dominated brewing economy, the medieval church persecuting female brewsters
Monks adding hops (and making beer gross) in order to lower their libido (and to avoid the temptation of gay sex)
Dionysus, god of winemaking, and his raving, drunken madwomen followers, the Maenads.
Or any of a long list of goddesses associated w/ beer. Tenenet, the ancient egyptian goddess of childbearing & beer brewing. The earliest beer recipe, found in a 3900 year old poem honoring Ninkasi, patron goddess of brewing
And that’s all for now folks. Happy drinking’
no one ever reblogs this version and i wish they would
You, an atheist, have died. All the gods that have ever been line up to offer you their version of heaven if only you believe in _them_. Turns out souls are currency and yours is up for grabs.
There are many Gods. They speak, and I am tired. A mass of voices coiling around me, each telling their own tale. They speak over one another, they talk to me, they do not listen. And I am tired.
Currency. Is this what I am to them?
They will not stop speaking. They offer me things. They will take me to my loved ones. They will gift me joy and music. They will have me serve, in their armies, in their choirs. Some tell me stories of how they made me. From clay. From nothing at all. Some tell me they love me, small as I am, that I am their creation and so their child.
Above all, they repeat their stories. They talk incessantly of their power, their battles, of the ways and reasons they are feared. How long will they talk? Time does not happen here. It is so much effort to stay. Effort to maintain. Effort to exist.
So many Gods. Gods whose names I had already heard. Modern Gods whose human disciples still speak their names. Obscure Gods whose stories were written on tablets, on scrolls, thousands of years before, whose only proof and records were discovered underground, in caves, in ancient lands. Every God there ever was. They are all here with me. They have been talking for years. They repeat their stories. Their stories are important to them. They demand, plead for my attention.
I died knowing I was dying. I died as I lived, believing in no Creator, no great demiurge, and no final salvation from death. Knowing that gods were stories we told. I believed only in the universe. That it existed before me and would continue without me.
And it has.
The voices scream their stories. Why are they so desperate for me? Despite their insistence, I know what I knew before. My truth is unchanged. My truth is of the universe, of its physics and particles, of its probable beginnings, of its possible ends. Of the simple fact of existence.
These gods are not my creator. I was created by a long line of life, of unlikely Life happening and colliding and continuing. Eons. Three, four eons, billions of years all lined up behind me, all of my predecessors, their lives and their stories, they are my chapters and I am their sum. I am the story of Life, in all its improbably glory. And gods are as old as humans, but I am as old as Life, and Life is much older.
I think I’ve solved it. I think I know why they seek us. They want what Life wants. To exist. To continue. They need their legends told, at any expense, because:
We wrote them. I said before: gods are stories that we write and tell. We are their Creators. And this is why they scream for me, for my ears, for my attention. Stories exist only so long as they are told. Gods exist only so long as they have a listener. And I know they have nothing to offer me. There are no rooms, there are no gates, there are no hallways, no crowds for me to join. They only keep me here to listen. If I accept an offer, what then? Will they stop speaking, disappointed, and leave me? Will they keep delaying? Will the god of my choice sweep in, desperate, and keep me here as long as I can be convinced?
All of my being is tired. Life is not meant to persist this long after it is through. My presence and existence, temporary from the start, is loosening and loosening. All of my pieces beg to be released. I was not made to last.
I am through. I have given these voices enough.
So I do what life does when it is finished. I dissolve, and return to the world.
So. Gaud made a post about how to make an easy hard boiled egg or something similar. They said to just put an egg in the microwave for a few minutes. So I, an absolute fool, believed this HEATHEN. so there I was feeling good, I just learned this cool new thing! But I was wrong. So very wrong. I put the egg in the microwave. No big deal. I pushed the 2 minute button. “This will be so cool” I lied to myself. I went to go grab my phone from the living room to document this for tumblr.com as you know, proof. About a minuet in i heard this weird gunshot sound coming from the kitchen. Me an ABSOLUTE IDIOT, ran into the room of danger. The microwaves door had burst open. There was egg everywhere, on the table, under the fridge, across the hall. I never could get it all out. The light had gone out. My innocence died. I’ve had to go therapy for years because of this. I can no longer find it in myself to trust anyone. Not even my closest friends. Gaud ruined me. All because of an egg. I can still smell it. It’s like PTSD flashbacks Everytime I open the microwave. Look, I used to be the smart kid. What happened?
