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kiddthemaniac:

cliomancer:

kiddthemaniac:

A shoujo manga about a dubiously sentient puppet girl who really wants to be friends with everyone.

This is…definitely an interesting read.

Oh gosh this was so good.

Did you finish the prequel, too? IMHO, 16-Sai's actually a little bit better than the first one, if only cos she actually gets to make a lot of awesome friends as there's more time for everyone's relationships to develop.

Plus there’s a ridiculously over-the-top weeaboo English teacher which cracks me up far more than it should.

And the flashbacks to Sumire’s primary school years are also pretty damned funny.

I read that first and I might finish 17-sai before I go to sleep.

They were such good friends. ;_;

Someone walks over to our step to say hello. She bends at the waist, looming over Brooke.

Brooke doesn’t look up. She doesn’t stop stripping her stick.

Dig. Pull. Dig. Pull.

Our visitor reaches out a hand and cups it below Brooke’s chin.

I freeze. Oh God.

She uses the hand to pull Brooke’s head up by the jaw.

A thin line of panic starts somewhere deep. I know that Brooke is going to scream. 5,4,3,2 …

She does scream, but not in the way that I expect.

“I HATE BEING TOUCHED!!” she shouts.

I am flabbergasted.

Words. Self-awareness. Communication. Self-advocacy.

I know the sentence will need to be reformatted. But I am drenched in pride.

I turn to Brooke. “Great job telling us how you feel, Brooke. Really great job.” I hope that my words send a message to both of them. I stand with my girl.

Our visitor is undaunted.

“I just want to see that beautiful face,” she says. “Lift up for me.”

I am stymied by etiquette. By deference to our host. By generational difference. By convention.

Brooke is not.

She lifts her head as instructed. And growls.

This has probably been posted before, but this knocks me for a loop - a blogger and her autistic daughter had the opportunity to meet Suzanne Wright of Autism Speaks, and this is how one of the noisiest voice in the autism community treated her daughter.

What knocks me for a loop isn’t so much Wright’s awful behavior. It’s the unbelievable strength and self-advocacy that the blogger Jess’s daughter, Brooke, shows when someone violates her personal space. It’s her mother backing her up for making sure someone knows that they are not permitted to touch her unless she says it’s okay. Honestly, it’s heartening. I hope Wright felt real fucking uncomfortable. She should.

(via chantrykomori) YOU GO, GIRL!!!!! (via primadraggle)

thegirlwhocriedfoxface:

heyjohnimhomo:

this scene really got me. I think it’s a perfect example of people’s views on abortions. 

For 75 years 1000+ children have been sent into the arena to fight for survival for the enjoyment of the richest people. Then along with that there are a million+ children across the other districts living in abstract poverty. All of them too, fighting for survival. The chance for them to move up in the world is virtually impossible because they don’t have the tools to do so and the people above them have kept them down as much as possible. 

However the idea that a foetus, a blob of cells, is at risk and suddenly they stand up and protest. 

Too much value is placed on the unborn, and not enough on those already alive. 

(gifs)

SOMEONE FINALLY SAID THE THING *THANK YOU*

pitchercries:

idhren:

pyrrhiccomedy:

pikestaff:

This town in Russia is called Zheleznogorsk.

Their flag and coat of arms is a bear splitting the atom.

image

That is all.

*kicks down door, knocks over end table, vase crashes to the floor*

No that is NOT all, because Zheleznogorsk is really interesting.

It was a secret city, established in 1950 in the middle of Nowhere, Siberia for the purpose of researching nuclear weaponry and producing massive quantities of plutonium, the facilities for which were hidden inside a hollowed-out mountain. It appeared on no maps, and had no census data. Although more than 100,000 people lived there at one point, satellite imagery would have shown only a fairly small mining town. The mountain complex contained 3,500 rooms and three plutonium reactors, which were kept cool by one of the mightiest river in Siberia. The space had been excavated by tens of thousands of gulag slave laborers, who removed more rock from inside the mountain than was used to build the Great Pyramids. Protected under the granite peak of the mountain, these facilities would survive a direct nuclear attack.

No one called it “Zheleznogorsk.” Officially, it was “Krasnoyarsk-26,” which is something like naming a city ‘Arizona-17.’ Residents traveling outside the city called it Iron Town, if they had to refer to it at all. They were under strict instructions never to reveal to anyone the actual business of Krasnoyarsk-26. 

And life there was fantastic. People living and working in the secret city received some of the best wages in the Soviet Union. There were sports stadiums, public gardens, a movie theater, and the shortages notorious in the rest of the USSR were unknown. The best nuclear scientists in Russia lived in a sealed-off utopia. 

A third of all the nuclear weapons produced in Russia during the Cold War were powered by fuel from Zheleznogorsk. At the time, the image of the great Russian bear ripping an atom apart wouldn’t have seemed very funny at all.

I love the history side of Tumblr

UM, SO. MY GRANDFATHER ACTUALLY BUILT THIS TOWN, AND HELPED RUN IT FOR MANY YEARS.

He was a (Jewish) university student with a degree in electrical engineering (he volunteered for military service after his dad was killed in WWII and served during wartime even though he was underage and medically prohibited from serving in the military. He faked his papers and went to “avenge his dad” at 17.)

Anyway, after the war he started uni and graduated with a Master’s in engineering 5 years later, in the early 50s. He was then due to receive his mandatory 3 year assignment (as all Soviet uni students did - higher education was free, but you spent your first three years working wherever they sent you), except instead he was tapped by the KGB, for reasons he wasn’t clear on until his death (he has several relatives declared Enemies of the State during Stalin’s purges, and he was Jewish, so not exactly a prime candidate for top secret work.)

Anyway, they sent him to the middle of nowhere, Siberia, where he lived in a tent in the wilderness with a few other guys, and was in charge of building a city. It took over a year before any of his immediate superiors even moved out there, because it was literally in the middle of a snowy forest. My grandfather was in charge of making a city plan, laying roads, building houses, building the nuclear facilities, all of it. Eventually he and tent-mates moved into temporary houses, and then eventually real houses. 

He wasn’t a nuclear scientist, he worked on the logistical side of the city, but he continued to run it until he left. They were in charge of all the infrastructure, including work inside the nuclear reactors. He was involved in an accident once, where a “minor” bomb exploded and knocked down a bunch of protective walls and he was in the hospital for a while, with radiation poisoning among other things. 

Some of the most gruesome stories my grandfather used to tell were about supervising the prisoners who were extracting rock from the mountain. It was not only slave labor, it was also a death sentence. They were not given safety equipment and the rock dust would quickly settle in their lungs. Since they had nothing to lose the prisoners did everything to prolong or fuck up the process of carving the mountain. They’d set clever traps that would only be discovered months later and delayed construction. To be clear, tampering with this system, or with the fates of the prisoners, was considered treason, punishable by death. Similarly, any serious fuck up in constructing the town and facilities my grandfather was in charge of, would have similarly meant a conviction for treason and a potential execution for my grandfather. 

Eventually on one of his vacations back home my grandfather met my grandma, they wanted to get married but she had to get security clearance before they let her move to a secure zone. This was actually a huge problem, and my grandparents lived apart for months when my grandpa had to go back to work and my grandma wasn’t allowed to join him. You see, my grandmother, who was 11 when WWII broke out, had to account for every single day during the war to prove she had actually been in a concentration camp the whole time and hadn’t been aiding the Germans and their allies (my grandmother was Jewish). If even one day was unaccounted for she’d be considered too risky to let into a place like Krasnoyarsk-26. She had to produce documents, witnesses, etc. 

Eventually my grandparents were reunited, and life in Krasnoyarsk-26 was indeed pretty awesome. They had everything, no expense was spared. My grandmother, who had a teaching degree, became the teacher of the small school they eventually established for the children of the residents.

Probably my favorite story is how my uncle was born. My grandmother’s relatives obviously didn’t know anything about where she was, but she did write letters and tell them she was pregnant with her first child (she was also the firstborn, so it was the first grandchild for the family). Her mother, my great-grandmother, insisted on coming over to help her during and after the birth, as otherwise it was just my grandparents living on their own in their little apartment, and my grandfather would obviously not get any paternity leave. 

This was strictly forbidden, no unathorized people were allowed into the town, and my grandfather wrote to his mother-in-law telling her as such. This did not even slightly deter my great-grandmother, who, among other things, managed to pull 5 little girls through Nazi concentration camps all on her own. She completely ignored my grandfather, packed her bags, went to Krasnoyarsk (the actual, non-secret city) and started asking questions about this mysterious Krasnoyarsk-26 and where she might find it. Eventually she actually managed to figure it out and showed up at the gates of Krasnoyarsk-26 asking for my grandfather. Since he was well known and well liked my grandfather was alerted to deal with the problem, and my great-grandmother made it clear to him that she wasn’t leaving. He had to sneak her in through a secret passage, basically making a long journey in the snow, and eventually illegally brought her into the city. This is probably my favorite story about my great-grandmother.

Eventually my mom was born, and as a child started having health issues. She got sick a LOT and the doctors told my grandparents that she wouldn’t survive another Siberian winter. My grandmother took her back to the south of Ukraine, to live with family, and my grandfather had to find a way to quit his job and join them. You have to understand you didn’t just quita top secret nuclear facility in the Soviet Union. No rules applied here, there were no workers’ unions. You worked there until your services were no longer needed. 

My grandfather explained the situation to his superior, and his superior literally pulled out a map of the Soviet Union and said “point to any place on this map and I will find a sanatorium for your wife and children where they can live as long as they like, at the state’s expense, and enjoy every comfort and top notch medical treatment. We can do that for you, but you have to stay here.”

My grandfather refused and said he wouldn’t stay without his family, and his family couldn’t live here anymore, so. They actually eventually did let him go! He counted himself exceptionally lucky. 

And then of course when he came home to Ukraine and was reunited with my grandmother he found that because the work had been top secret, it was like his record didn’t exist, and antisemitism in the real world was so severe that no one would give him a job as even a lowest level engineer. He spent months going to interviews, sending his paperwork everywhere and trying to cash in every favor he could just to get any kind of work. Eventually a friend from uni set him up somewhere, with a lower wage and a lower level position than he deserved going purely by his years of experience, nevermind the kind of work he actually did. 

I only found out about all this in bits and pieces, and the majority of it started making sense in my head when my grandfather started sharing more, closer to when he died. I actually had no idea about any of this until I joined the military and became an intelligence officer. My family always used to laugh or not get why I couldn’t tell them things, but my grandfather suddenly started displaying a lot of sympathy and understanding for my position. 

"There are secrets I signed my name to that I’ll never tell anyone," he used to say. And i’d say "but grandpa, it’s been 60 years! It’s all been declassified, besides!" And he’d say "that doesn’t matter. I signed my name and I gave my word. I can talk about what daily life was like, but I’ll never talk about happened in the classified facilities. Not even when they make shows about it on television. I’ll never betray the promises I made."

One part that was super fun/surreal though was comparing classification and information security protocols with my grandpa. “Oh did you do that as well? How interesting!”

cobra-23 asked:

You say all cops are bastards but the first thing you will do if you get robbed is call the cops.

waroncops:

free-metis-army:

maxlibertarios:

waroncops:

i don’t call the cops.

there’s nothing they can do for me that i can’t do for myself.

waroncops.tumblr.com

Typical

There are alternatives to calling the cops.  For example you can file an notarized affidavit with any court that does the exact same thing as filing a police report.  Well it does everything except get the cops to investigate.  I might file a police report and an affidavit if a firearm or my truck was stolen.  These things usually have ways to prove they are mine built right into them.   But if someone stole my goddamn crescent wrench it’s almost impossible to prove which wrench is mine .  The cops wont put the effort into finding a $100 wrench that they would a registered firearm or automobile.  

No matter what is stolen the affidavit is probably more powerful in the event of a problem than the police report.  The police report doesn’t get filed into the public record until charges are laid with the court.  Police have been known to “forget” to do their job and it’s not a stretch to say the report never got transferred from the cop’s notebook to their recording system.  But when you file an affidavit it becomes public record.  For the courts or police to lose or improperly file an affidavit is a very serious problem as compared to losing or improperly handling a police report.  The police lose or refuse to file reports all the time.

The affidavit is more powerful for many reasons.  The most important is that the police rarely have the time to follow up on these things.  They need to fill their ticket and arrest quota.  Chasing down a wrench that can’t be effectively proven to be the one in question isn’t a priority.

Another benefit is that an affidavit keeps the injury private.  When you have a cop file a police report the injury is transferred to the government.  It’s now their injury and you willingly surrendered all of your rights to it.  For example did you ever notice that all charges laid in court have a monetary value attached to them?  The charges might be “petty theft of a wrench valued at $100” and the value of the charges could be set to $500. What’s that $500 about?  If the thief is convicted do you ever see the money?  Not if you called the cops. You surrendered that right when you brought the cops about it.  The crime went from a private injuryto a public one.  So not only will the thief be sentenced to way too much time in prison for theft but you don’t get your rightful compensation for the injury.  Now the judge gets your compensation added to his retirement fund or something.  Is it any wonder why Judges are so rich and that they get considerably richer as they move up the judicial ladder?

Another thing a police report does is subjects a petty thief to inhumane punishment.  Why should they go to prison over your stolen wrench when they could just pay you the $500 and return the wrench?  What benefit is there to society to subject another human being to those monsters in the “justice” system?  Don’t you really just want your wrench back and compensation for the time and money the theft caused you?  Is a wrench really worth all that inhumane treatment?  Geez man if I get my wrench back and compensation for having to go buy a new wrench in the mean time what more can I really ask for?  Is it worth risking the thief being brutalized in prison over?

The police, judges and lawyers all conspire to keep this from you.  Either they aren’t allowed to tell you or they hide it because they all aspire to move up in this scam.  So by safeguarding the scam for those higher on the ladder they are safeguarding their future as well.  If this information was more widely known the whole balance of power could shift.  These guys won’t give you the information that could render them obsolete.

thank you.

This is pretty interesting information.

I wonder if the UK has similar things available.

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