Red delicious apples being named ‘delicious’ is one of the biggest deceptions of the human race.
Omg I hit the reblog button so fast
i feel this on a spiritual level.
They were, at one time, delicious, but some fuck-up, let’s call him George, came along.
George decided the red delicious apples weren’t “red” enough, so he started to breed them so they became more red; however, as he did that, the delicious flavor was also bred out, but everyone thought they were better because they had a more consistent color.
They used to be delicious but not red, and now they are red but not delicious.
🤔🤔 I had a feeling they used to taste a lot better than they do now. Stupid humans screwing with everything
Why is my name always used for bad shit 😦
But seriously, just eat Red Gala apples
or Pink Ladies
Ew. Eat honeycrisps. Love yourselves.
Fuck that Granny Smiths are where it’s at.
Granny Smiths are a crock of shit
YOU COME IN TO MY HOUSE AND YOU INSULT PIEMAKING APPLES. WITHOUT GRANNY SMITH YOU WOULD HAVE NOTHING HOW DARE
fuji apples tho
Granny Smiths are good for pies and nothing else.
I like the classic macintosh to eat, but if I can get winecrisp I am golden (delicious)
PINK LADY OWNS MY ASS
You haven’t had apples till you’ve had ambrosia apples
All of y’all can eat my ass. Granny Smiths are the best and have the perfect amount of tang. Macintosh aren’t as good a substitute.
BRAEBURN OR NOTHING
Royal Gala or go home
HONESTLY IF YOURE HATIN ON GRANNY SMITHS YOU CAN UNFOLLOW ME RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY
One time I ate a Pink Lady at peak apple season and I almost cried
like excuse me but fuji???? is the best???????? you all can go dunk your heads
Things are heating up in the apple fandom
*bangs fists on table* HONEYCRISP APPLES ARE THE MOST PERFECT! Juicing? Fuck yeah! Eating? You bet your taint! Baking? Best fuckin recognize pal!
Honeycrisps are for people who want to eat candy so they go with a fucking candy-ass apple instead.
ALL OTHERS BEND TO THE POWERHOUSE OF GRANNY SMITH. GET PUNCHED IN THE TONGUE WITH TART, QUENCHING DELICIOUSNESS.
Sam memorized the filing system from the Library of Congress, knowing right away it was “Science”. This makes me imagine all those days he spent in the library doing research for a hunt, wandering up and down the stacks, falling asleep in the mythology section.
I love Dean’s little smirk at the end. He’s like “See look how smart my little brother is. That’s my Sammy for you.”
I’ll bet Sam can do Dewey Decimal as well. And I bet the MoL have their own arcane cataloguing system, and mastering it has been one of Sam’s favorite things in the last year. And, you know, even in the magic climate control of the bunker, some of the collection is not in the best shape. Sam is going to start reading up on preservation and conservation. He’s going to get into rare books, because that is one amazing collection they’ve got, and if he doesn’t look after it, who will? He’s going to sign up for the occasional session of Rare Book School, a few days in summer when he’s not hunting or dealing with the end of the universe, just getting into codicology. And you think with the kind of books and manuscripts Sam’s dealing with it’s just the texts that are significant? No, I bet there are arcane and magical things with typefaces and bindings and watermarks and scripts, and Sam is going to be figuring out whole new layers of meaning. He’s going to find a few, scattered scholars from the organization Aaron’s grandfather was in, and from other organizations in other traditions, and he’s going to visit some other libraries. And he’s going to do it in a sweater vest, because it feels right on him, it doesn’t feel like one of their disguises, it feels like who’s he’s becoming. And maybe peering at glosses will eventually put a strain on his eyes, and he’ll need glasses.
@thebibliosphere look what I found? I saw it and thought of you.
in a good way, i promise!!!
I love the caption that says “they’re baaaack” both implying there is more to this, and the author is a 1980s equivalent of s shit poster.
I have. THREE. Of these books. They are a collection of short stories featuring the ridiculous fantasy tropes of women warriors. It’s a group of lady writers taking the piss out of lazy male fantasy writers and they’re FANTASTIC. If you ignore the shitpost covers.
TO AMAZON USED MARKETPLACE
I was gonna add that these books were fucking great.
READ THESE. They are so funny and clever and they take a literary morningstar to the patriarchy.
There are six books in this series. Five of them came out between 1995 and 2004; Book Six came out in 2015 after an 11-year hiatus, so here’s hoping for more. They are, in order:
Chicks in Chainmail
Did You Say Chicks?!
Chicks ‘N Chained Males
The Chick is in the Mail
Turn the Other Chick
Chicks Ahoy! (trade omnibus of the first three books, no new stories)
Chicks and Balances
One of the things I love best about the series is that the various authors will often write short stories for them about the same set of characters: there are several stories about the Ladies’ Aid & Armor Society, a support group/workers union for women in the army; merc-for-hire Hallah Iron-Thighs and her partner in violence Gerta Dershnitzel; single mother/also merc-for hire Rivakonniva; etc.
So yes, go out and buy them, they are so fun.
Also edited by the same person, but not in the same series:
Bonus note: I met Esther Friesner a couple of times and she’s exactly what you’d expect from the editor of these. Lovely lady, 100% tumblr-before-tumblr-was-tumblr.
reblogging for the fangs for the mammaries. i must go find this book.
To celebrate the Fanfiction Writers Appreciation Day on August 21st, and following this post, here’s what you can do to show your favorite fanfiction writers how grateful you are for their work!
Whether you are just a reader or a writer as well, on August 21st:
Go on AO3, FF.net, Wattpad or any other fanfiction website, even Tumblr, and leave comments on your favorite fics. It doesn’t matter if you’ve already reviewed them, just do it again. It doesn’t even have to be a long comment, just show your appreciation. Tell the writers how much you love their fics. Let them know what they mean to you.
Since you’re there, give kudos, favorite their fics, vote, like them.
Send your favorite writers an encouraging message. Tell them how much you love their work. Tell them which of their fics is your favorite and why. Tell them why they’re important to you.
Make a post recommending some of your favorite fics to your followers so that they have a chance to read them as well and share them with others. Spread the word.
Make this a very special day for your favorite writers, but remember to nurture them often. They spend countless hours working on plots, developing characters and creating worlds that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for them. And they do it for free, of their own accord and frequently during their free time. It takes hard work and commitment and love for what they’re doing. And they do it for them just as much as they do it for you, so appreciate it.
They give you infinite ways in which your favorite characters find love, go on adventures and get to experience different lives, new challenges. They give you unimaginable versions of your favorite stories that you’ll just never get to see in the official storyline. They give you the opportunity to fall in love with your favorite characters all over again. Be grateful for that and don’t be afraid to express it.
Show your favorite writers how much you appreciate them and you might just make their day. And a writer who knows that their work is loved is a happy writer. Never forget that. Always share your love 🙂
I learned something new and horrifying today which is… that… no submarine is ever considered “lost” … there is apparently a tradition in the U.S. Navy that no submarine is ever lost. Those that go to sea and do not return are considered to be “still on patrol.”
?????
There is a monument about this along a canal near here its… the worst thing I have ever seen. it says “STILL ON PATROL” in huge letters and then goes on to specify exactly how many WWII submarine ghosts are STILL OUT THERE, ON PATROL (it is almost 2000 WWII submarine ghosts, ftr). Here is the text from it:
“U.S. Navy Submarines paid heavily for their success in WWII. A total of 374 officers and 3131 men are still on board these 52 U.S. submarines still on patrol.”
THANKS A LOT, U.S. NAVY, FOR HAVING THIS TOTALLY NORMAL AND NOT AT ALL HORRIFYING TRADITION, AND TELLING ALL OF US ABOUT IT. THANKS. THANK YOU
anyway now my mother and I cannot stop saying STILL ON PATROL to each other in ominous tones of voice
There’s definitely something ominous about that—the implication that, one day, they will return from patrol.
Actually, it’s rather sweet. I don’t know if this is common across the board, but my dad’s friend is a radio op for subs launched off the east coast, and he always is excited for Christmas, because they go through the list of SoP subs and hail them, wishing them a merry Christmas and telling them they’re remembered.
Imagine a country whose seamen never die, and whose submarines can’t be destroyed…because no ones sure if they exist or not.
No but imagine. It’s Christmas. A black, rotting corridor in a forgotten submarine. The sound of dripping water echoes coldly through the hull. You can’t see very far down the corridor but then, a man appears, he’s running, in a panic, but his footsteps make no noise. The spectral seaman dashes around the corner and slips through a rusty wall. He finds himself at the back of a crowd of his cadaverous crew-mates. They part to let him through. He feels the weight of their hollow gaze as he reaches the coms station. Even after all these years a sickly green light glistens in the dark. The captain’s skeleton lays a sharp hand on his shoulder and nods at him encouragingly, the light sliding over the bones of his skull. The ghost of the seaman steadies himself and slips his fingers into the dials of the radio, possessing it. It wails and screeches. A bombardment of static. And then silence. The deathly crew mates look at each other with worry, with sadness; could this be the year where there is no voice in the dark? No memory of home? The phantasm of the sailor pushes his hand deeper into the workings of the radio, the signal clears, and then a strong voice, distant with the static but warm and kind, echoes from the darkness; “Merry Christmas boys, we’re all thinking of you here at home, have a good one.” A sepulchral tear wafts it’s way down the seaman’s face. The bony captain embraces him. The crew grin through rotten jaws, laughing silently in their joy. They haven’t forgotten us. They haven’t forgotten.
I am completely on board with this. It’s not horrifying, it’s heartwarming.
Personal story time: whenever I go to Field Museum’s Egypt exhibit, I stop by the plaque at the entrance to the underground rooms. It has an English translation of a prayer to feed the dead, and a list of all the names they know of the mummies on display there. I always recite the prayer and read aloud the list of names. They wanted to live forever, to always have their souls fed and their names spoken. How would they feel about being behind glass, among strangers? Every little thing you can do to give respect for the dead is warranted.
I love the idea of lost subs still being on patrol. Though if you really want something ominous, let me say that the superstitious part of me wonders: why are they still on patrol? If they haven’t been found, do they not consider their mission completed? What is it out there that they are protecting us from?
kototyph 