Did you know that JRR Tolkien wrote an unpublished epilogue to Lord of the Rings? It’s achingly, beautifully wistful in the way that only Lord of the Rings is. I revisited it recently because I’m guesting on my friends’ LOTR podcast, and THAT reminded me that I drew a comic of the epilogue back in 2021 (all text is entirely canon). Anyway I thought folks on this website might enjoy it!
Star trek tos always makes me laugh whenever theyre like “yo… a planet… an m class planet.. with astonishing similarities to earth… it looks just like Earth… wow the atmosphere makeup is Just Like Earths.. wow.. parallel evolution of planets and culture is amazing.. we MUSNT go into the implications of this …. it looks just like the back lot of paramount studios.. what a coincidence.. Judy garland is here…”
yeah i drive the truck that isekais all those lonely 20yo NEETs and bored salarymen. it’s a really hard job. they keep sending me to workplace counselling after each hit. “it’s normal to feel guilt at ending someone’s life,” they say. how do i tell them that’s not what makes me feel guilty? “but it’s okay. he’ll live a better life in another world.” yeah, with 100 girls who could have lived normal lives but got drafted into being in these boring dudes’ harems. how many women’s lives have i ruined. and they don’t even know. they don’t even know
it’s really embarrassing how much self control i have to exert when you put me in front of a tray of convenient and tender meat like if you put meatballs in front if me the fuckers are gone in milliseconds. same true of roadted brussels sprouts or basically anything that’s a nice little dense and textured morsel. i am the hors that d'ouvres
do not stand at my plate and snack. that shit’s all mine. please give it back. i am the dozen hors that d'ouvre. i am the meatball’s gentle curve. i am the cracker’s butter crunch. i am a thousand grapes for lunch.
the honeymoon phase dying is a lie straight people started to console each other over never finding partners who actually like them.
I’ve been with my butch seven years, she’s turned into eight or nine different versions of herself at least and there’s been a new honeymoon period with each one every time, she’s constantly becoming someone new and interesting who ought out to be wooed and teased and ardently courted, I wake up every morning bowled over with delight that she’s still here and still alive and still tickled pink by the bare fact of my existence, I did not spend nearly thirty loveless touchstarved debilitating years in the wasteland to take any of this for granted now
ALT
