WittyProfileName2

There was this bloke who used to sit at the train station close to the uni I was attending at the time, he'd drink cans of alcohol and do a little trainspotting. We talked a couple of times and he gave me some advice that helped me get out of my shell and talk to people a lot more. I must've only chatted with him, like, once or twice but I think it made all the difference in pushing me into making friends in what would otherwise've been a very lonely and isolated part of my life.

Not sure if I'd class it as the craziest moment of my life, but it was like a scene out of a sitcom:

When I was a teenager I briefly worked part-time at a place that refurbished various household appliances. Donations came in through the front and ended up in back with very little looking over. We took all sorts in and the workshop floor was split into various departments based on what appliances they dealt with. I was a new hire and they were still cycling me 'round various departments, my least favourite one was when I was assigned to cleaning out used ovens.

One day this box came in and, like, we opened it up and there were various electronic massaging gizmos. So, my supervisor is pulling 'em out, he passes some of 'em to me to give a lookover to make sure they're clean and do, like, PAT tests and stuff.

I'm plodding along and he gets to work on the rest himself. I'm doing the tests on this thing that's like a plastic plate with this piece on the top vaguely shaped like a pair of cupped hands, when my supervisor calls me over to lend a hand. He's got this black tube that goes a bit wider on one end, about as thick as my wrist. It looked kinda like a torch but with a cap screwed over the bit the light's in.

His hands are a bit slippy so he's having a hard time unscrewing the cap, so he asked me to have a go. Wider end pointed away from me, I wrapped my hand around the cap and gave it a good twist. The first clue I had that something was amiss was that my supervisor went bright red. I asked him what's wrong and just told me to see for myself, so I turn the thing in my hand and see this silicone orifice looking back at me.

That was how I learnt what a fleshlight is.

NO

Tankie has been shifting way beyond its original meaning to just be a vague leftward stab, but being an anarchist and everything I don't think it applies to me just yet

That's a brave person right there, to stand in front of all those tanks.

What happened next? I bet it was something terrible.

When I was still in the closet, I grew and maintained a big beard as part of my attempts at performative masculinity.

Not saying that this is what's happening with most men who're growing 'em out, but sometimes I see a bloke with a well maintained set of facial hair looking absolutely miserable and my egg radar starts shrieking.

No it's just thinly veiled Islamophobia.

Some fascists have an urban myth that since pork is haram, Muslims shot by a bullet covered in lard go to hell.

Chechnya has a lot of Muslims and Ramzan Kadyrov is the head of state of Chechnya, so "Kadyrov orcs" is a dog whistle for Muslims.

It's called the Perineal Raphe. It's the result of the urogenital folds fusing during the development of an embryo.

Baldachin's Blessing.

You get it from hugging Fia in Roundtable Hold.

I once hid in a box for, like, an hour so I could leap out of it at my brother.

"Oh you don't like the idea of always on cameras monitoring every street at all times? Guess you want burglaries to happen all the time."

Statistically, doorbell cameras don't lower this risk of burglaries. A lot of the claims that they do come from companies selling them.

This study found that they actually increase the risk of being targeted by burglars

All the while you are sticking a camera with a history of shoddy cybersecurity to your home.

Look at this case of harassment that involved the use of a doorbell camera and try to pretend my concerns aren't valid.

Innovation is when you make every street a panopticon.

One time I was walking down a street and this woman rushed out of her house and starts yelling that she knows what I've done and she's got it all recorded on her doorbell camera. To this day, I still don't know what I was supposed to have done.

Doorbell cameras.

Let's turn the whole fucking planet into a surveillance state because some people like to jerk themselves off about (typically racialised) fears of petty urban crime.