While taking a nap today I dreamt there was a hazard sign called “never found” which was used to indicate a location where people disappeared never to be seen again
Wayne was gay. It was obvious. He was unable to stay in the closet even if he wanted to. To make matters worse, he was also Black. From a bullying standpoint, that was not a great combo. Both Black and white students made fun of him relentlessly. He was ostracized from the only community that may have given him protection. Only us theater kids stuck up for him, but not to significant effect.
Wayne was bullied so much that at one point he finally snapped and attacked his bullies with a lunch tray. I was actually seated in perfect line of sight and just sat there chewing my soggy fries in stunned silence. It didn’t even seem real as I was witnessing it. The image of him wailing on his main bully as the food on his tray flew off is permanently logged into my long term memory.
The bully he attacked had blood all over his face and went straight to the nurse. Other than superficial cuts, he was not injured.
Before the attack, Wayne went to teachers for help. He went to guidance counselors for help. He went to the principals for help.
He did all of the things you were supposed to do. No one helped him. They wagged a finger at the bullies and warned them to stop.
Wayne’s lunch tray melee was the only thing that worked. His bullies stayed far away from him. But a week later Wayne was expelled and the bullies were given no punishment.
So… no.
No one in my school talked about being trans.
Because the only way to survive being openly queer was to bash people with a lunch tray.
as much as the concept of Jesus being a fairly normal lad has its charms, im personally very intrigued by the idea of him being just… extremely weird. not even in a mystical sense, just…….staggeringly BIZZARRE.
you go to the well to get some water, and here’s Miriam’s boy, staring at the sky, completely still. his expression is unreadable. you hazard a hello and ask how he’s doing, and he slowly, unblinkingly, lowers his gaze on you (he’s 8 and is missing his frontal teeth, not that this is making you any less uncomfortable) and says “I cannot speak of the state of my being, Nathan son of Saul, my brother, but rejoice for the water you shall take today will be as pure as the soul of the children of Heaven”
…you start sweating
normal person in 1st century Nazareth: making my way downtown, walking fast
*sees J boy, 8 yo, staring at you from across the street*
normal person: walking faster
even funnier, the only person 100% on board with his Prophetic Kid Talk is his mother Miriam, an otherwise placid, absolutely normal woman around 25 or so
kid JC, coming home at twilight, a single white dove following him and chirping with weirdly human-like precision:
moth̫́er,̦͌ ̮̉i h͙̉av͔̽e ͓͗b̘̃r̞̓o̮͘u̲̒gh̟͒t̺́ you a do̗͐ṽ͙e̢͘ ͈̾m͒͢a͈̽dē̝ ỏ̘f ͈̓c̆͜l͔̂aỷ͇ aṋ̑d̳̿ g͢͞i̹̾fted̖͡ ̻͐it ͓͂w̖̿it̎͜h t̥̃h͙͒e ̨̒m̧̂i̡̍ŗ͒â̫cḷ̔è̤ ̛̻of̞̅ l̘̈i̛̦fè̳
Miriam: ! that’s my little boy :) now let’s go get ready for dinner :)
her husband Yosef, a carpenter who only marginally got signed up for this:
This post is so Christian, but it’s the spicy kind of Christian that gets you murdered by other Christians for heresy, so I’m torn.
literally biggest form of compliment i’ve ever gotten
that means the angels are babysitters then
here have more
You guys really need to read Christopher Moore’s Lamb, if you haven’t.
Always reblog Cryptid Jesus
I made more. cause it’s fun
I love that you guys used their actual names
I did not consider Eldritch Baby Jesus.
You’re all basically quoting from the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, you know. It describes Jesus’s life from ages 5 to 12. And yeah, He’s the archetypical Creepy Child, striking a kid dead for accidentally bumping into Him, striking neighbors blind for daring to complain about Him…you get the idea.
patrick bateman: *licks a strawberry icecream he got from an icecream truck* hm yummy ice cream
his internal monologue: look at me . eating processed flavoring. There is no strawberry in here. It’s but a pastiche of the real deal. An ice cream with artificial flavoring, a momentary joy. Tested countless times in a lab, masquerading as if it’s authentic, genuine. Me and a strawberry icecream are alike in that sense: gentle on the outside, palatable and unassuming. The only difference is that I don’t come with nutrition facts advising of any warning signs concerned parents will scan over, and by the time I strike, itll be too late
disclaimer i have never seen this movie I just think the soul of this guy possessed me
disclaimer revoked i just watched this movie and this was dead on
