mySIS TER JUST ASKED ME “can a human being orgasm on a bed of ice”
and i responded “only if youre into coldplay”
AND WE JSUT SLOWLY REALIZED WHAT I JUST SAID
Every time I think of the black market, I actually imagine a market, with little stalls selling illegal things like nuclear weapons and organs.
when i was a kid i used to incorporate it into all my games, and i asked my dad if we could visit it on our next holiday. fun times.
my legs feel so smooth wo- oh my god i missed an entire spot: a memoir
and if any of you white people respond with “wait but I didn’t do that. that was in the past”
i need you to check your privilege
and then drink bleach if you think your hands aren’t dirty
Guilt doesn’t transfer from generation to generation. I am not magically accountable for something my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather MIGHT have done. Also;
>social justice blogger
>telling people to kill themselves
I love that there’s a blog called “this is white culture” that is solely devoted to bad things white people did, not their cultures at all. So I guess I can make a blog called “this is black culture” and post gang and crime records and that’s 100% okay. Or “this is Muslim culture” and make it all about terrorism.
But wait, you cry. Not all black people are criminals and not all Muslims are terrorists. That’s unfair! And racist!
WELL GOLLY GEE DO YOU THINK SO? Because saying that all white people are responsible for the Atlantic slave trade sounds pretty racist to me, given that, you know, that was between the African slaveholders and the British and Americans and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with my ancestors, who were incredibly poor farmers and serfs from Ireland and Lithuania who had to flee to America at around the turn of the century (by which time slavery had already been abolished in the US) because they were being treated like slaves. Even if they had been living in America at the time when slavery was legal they wouldn’t have been able to afford a slave; in fact they probably would have been working with them in the fields and treated about the same, since the first slaves in America were actually white serfs. But please, tell me more about how dirty my hands are because of circumstances surrounding my birth that I could not control and continue to treat me differently based on the color of my skin without actually knowing anything about my heritage, I’m sure that isn’t racist at all!
^somebody needs to give you a medal
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
And that’s when you met me.
“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”
“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.
“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”
“Yup,” I said.
“I… I died?”
“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.
You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”
“More or less,” I said.
“Are you god?” You asked.
“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”
“My kids… my wife,” you said.
“What about them?”
“Will they be all right?”
“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”
You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”
“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”
“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”
“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”
“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”
You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”
“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”
“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”
I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.
“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”
“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”
“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”
“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”
“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”
“Where you come from?” You said.
“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”
“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”
“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”
“So what’s the point of it all?”
“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”
“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.
I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”
“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”
“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”
“Just me? What about everyone else?”
“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”
You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”
“All you. Different incarnations of you.”
“Wait. I’m everyone!?”
“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.
“I’m every human being who ever lived?”
“Or who will ever live, yes.”
“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”
“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.
“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.
“And you’re the millions he killed.”
“And you’re everyone who followed him.”
You fell silent.
“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”
You thought for a long time.
“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”
“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”
“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”
“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”
“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”
“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”
And I sent you on your way.
yesss i found it again! one of my all time favourite reads.
Philosophy went to the max right here
OI SCROLL BACK UP AND READ ALL OF IT!
I was really intrigued by this
philosophy went to the max? Philosophy came, shot me in the shoulder and said i was never shot because the gun never existed because I’m not real and the pain I’m actually feeling is the beginning of the big bang theory in another time zone
really tho the fictional character that’s been treated the worst by its writers is Scrat
I FOUND A TUTORIAL ON HOW TO MAKE DILDO POPSICLES IM LEGITIMATELy DYING OF LAUGHTER RN
This was in Cosmo today
That awkward moment when you moonwalk into MJ
I wonder how many people on here have heard of me. like have seen my url and thought, oh i’ve heard of her.