E is for Evelyn

six grand is a lot of money to piss away…

Because of growing up with a narcissist, you’re used to being criticized to death, and for the tiniest thing, so when you graduate from your university and get a job, it may hurt to hear negative feedback about your work. Because you’ve never experienced healthy, well-intentioned and helpful input from others about how you’re doing, you only associate feedback with hatred and oppression and shame and rejection and attempts to violate your sensibilities - your dignity - your humanity. Feedback was always to make you the bad one - the wrong one.

Other people — people whose parents were not narcissistic - give their children positive reinforcement and supportive feedback. Those people have learned to associate feedback with assistance - with helpful kindness. They won’t go to “crazy-land” like you will when they get their performance review. They will feel helped. You will feel attacked. They will feel curious. You will feel inadequate. They will feel openness. You will feel fear. They will say, “Thank you, I’ll work on that”. You will go home and cry.

And you probably do the only thing you’ve ever seen people do when they’re criticized - you get defensive and criticize right back. You have to, right? The person must be out to get you - that’s what feedback IS - a personal attack!


This is a really great article about how being parented by disordered people influences your behavior even after you’ve left crazyland—like you’ve picked up a case of fleas that you just can’t shake.

(via vastderp)

[Reblogging this for resources, and also because it applies to Rose, Dave, Eridan and Tavros, all of whom grew up with at least one intrusive and disordered parent.]

(via brainbent)


When people are all “omg can mere science explain how beautiful nature is” do they realize that beauty is a subjective concept manufactured by electrochemical activity in their brains so that they can stay relatively calm as they struggle not to die on a ball of death and rot whirling around an inconceivably gigantic fireball among hundreds of trillions of other similar fireballs adrift in infinite nothingness?



every time people talk about lovecraft im violently reminded that people dont use lovecrafts writing as a springboard to examine why and how a writers personal fears can be retooled so that they can tap into universal fears that are all based on a handful of very simple root causes (lovecraft’s was “the unknown and unknowable”). instead people just want to talk about cthulhu forever and ever.

reminder that call of cthulhu is a story about waking up and getting owned by a boat and going back to bed

Thank you this is why Rev and I feel Cthulhu is really just some cosmic four-dimensional equivalent to a manatee


Cosmic fourth-dimensional space manatee with insanity inducing burps and farts.

Such a precious babbu.

when you say "Like that old story “they’re made of meat"" what story is that?


"They’re Made out of Meat" was a short science fiction humor story written by Terry Bisson in 1990, about two aliens discussing the human species. It’s short enough I can post the whole thing, though here’s Terry’s official blog which collects a lot of his writings.

"They’re Made out of Meat"

"They’re made out of meat."


“Meat. They’re made out of meat.”


“There’s no doubt about it. We picked up several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, and probed them all the way through. They’re completely meat.”

“That’s impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars?”

“They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don’t come from them. The signals come from machines.”

“So who made the machines? That’s who we want to contact.”

They made the machines. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Meat made the machines.”

“That’s ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You’re asking me to believe in sentient meat.”

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in that sector and they’re made out of meat.”

“Maybe they’re like the orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage.”

“Nope. They’re born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn’t take long. Do you have any idea what’s the life span of meat?”

“Spare me. Okay, maybe they’re only part meat. You know, like the weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside.”

“Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads, like the weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They’re meat all the way through.”

“No brain?”

“Oh, there’s a brain all right. It’s just that the brain is
made out of meat! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“So … what does the thinking?”

“You’re not understanding, are you? You’re refusing to deal with what I’m telling you. The brain does the thinking. The meat.”

“Thinking meat! You’re asking me to believe in thinking meat!”

“Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal!  Are you beginning to get the picture or do I have to start all over?”

“Omigod. You’re serious then. They’re made out of meat.”

“Thank you. Finally. Yes. They are indeed made out of meat. And they’ve been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years.”

“Omigod. So what does this meat have in mind?”

“First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the Universe, contact other sentiences, swap ideas and information. The usual.”

“We’re supposed to talk to meat.”

“That’s the idea. That’s the message they’re sending out by radio. ‘Hello. Anyone out there. Anybody home.’ That sort of thing.”

“They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?”
“Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat.”

“I thought you just told me they used radio.”

“They do, but what do you think is
on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat, it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat.”

“Omigod. Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?”

“Officially or unofficially?”


“Officially, we are required to contact, welcome and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in this quadrant of the Universe, without prejudice, fear or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing.”

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?”

“I agree one hundred percent. What’s there to say? ‘Hello, meat. How’s it going?’ But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?”

“Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can’t live on them. And being meat, they can only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact.”

“So we just pretend there’s no one home in the Universe.”

“That’s it.”

“Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you probed? You’re sure they won’t remember?”

“They’ll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we’re just a dream to them.”

“A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat’s dream.”

“And we marked the entire sector

“Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?”

“Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again.”

“They always come around.”

“And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the Universe would be if one were all alone …”



Drawn by Ursula Vernon.

Apparently, a debate about sexism in the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer’s Association of America exploded with predictable vitriol from an assortment clueless, old white guys who think they created and own the writing scene, one of whom characterized fed-up…



I was looking through the huge folder I devoted to favorite artwork by friends and acquaintances and suddenly found these adorable little guys by bunny bennet.

We used to talk long, long ago and I recall these were for a neopets or pokemon-like idea of theirs. I hope they don’t mind me sharing them, they’re still awesome designs. The last one was an H.G. Wells martian!


These comics look adorable
Pharaoh man’s sass


These comics look adorable

Pharaoh man’s sass


So every so often I go through phases where I just watch a bunch of old cartoons from my childhood to see if the storytelling holds up. This week it’s Hey Arnold.

Did you guys now they actually did a show about addiction??

There’s this character called Chocolate Boy who is obsessed with chocolate - he’s always covered in the stuff and seen eating it at all hours of the day. In one episode he even stowed away on a bus for another grade’s trip to a chocolate factory.


In the episode Chocolate Boy, a few bullies realize he’s got this addiction and they use it to shame and humiliate the kid, and eventually get him to agree to a bet: if he goes two weeks without chocolate, they’ll give him a 10 Lb. bag of the stuff. When he agrees, the bullies get a lackey to follow Chocolate Boy around and make sure he holds up his end of the deal.


After a few hours of being relentlessly tailed by the bullies’ lackey, Chocolate Boy finally enlists the help of titular character Arnold to help keep him off chocolate. Arnold agrees, but his friends all tell him that it’s impossible.


Cure Chocolate Boy? Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. I know you’ve done some near-miraculous things in the past - help Pigeon Man and Stoop Kid, find Mr. Hyuhn’s daughter, save Mighty Pete and free that turtle from the aquarium, save the boarding house AND settle the teacher’s strike… I mean, that’s quite a resume, but get real! You can NEVER get Chocolate Boy off chocolate!


Well, Arnold is the title character, so he’ll try his damnedest anyway.

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Since Ragnarok didn’t end up happening, I figure this is what happened.

Somebody did the thing.



Since Ragnarok didn’t end up happening, I figure this is what happened.

Somebody did the thing.