just-a-random-nerd

mokadevs:

mokadevs:
hey so maybe switching to threads, infamously managed by one of the worst data scraping companies of all time, isnt the play guys
heres just PART of what they’re trying to track when you download the app:
to list what they attempt to track:
unique identifier
os version
device brand
charging status
device total memory
first name
gps coordinates
screen density
app version
device orientation
headphone status
rotation data
network connection type
city
available internal storage
device language
os build number
accelerometer data
network carrier
available device memory
last name
postal code
email address
gender
system volume
timezone
app name
country
state
screen resolution
cookies
device model
birthday
android advertising id
please for the love of God, dont download threads.
addendum: threads is so bad that it’s literally banned in All Of Europe because it violates the GDPR, aka General Data Protection Regulation.

(via shrimpsisbugs)

(via submalevolentgrace)

garbage-empress:

garbage-empress:
nature really dumped all its weird ass eukaryote points into the SAR clade
this thing looks like a coral but is made of a single cell and is more closely related to malaria. ok. fine. whatever.

(via handageddon)

punkitt-is-here:

posting this over here too!

(via handageddon)

yeomanstuff:

crinosg:
blackcattails:
prokopetz:
prokopetz:
Mario creepypasta fundamentally doesn’t work because you know what Mario would actually do if we saw some dimension-warping hundred-handed cosmic horror? He wouldn’t lose his mind; he’d take one look at that Shin Megami Tensei looking fucker, pull out his dorky little mushroom-shaped cell phone, hit the fourth number down on his contact list, and go “hey, Kirby, I think-a one-a your boys got lost”.
“Or he’d just fight it himself” no, he would not, for two reasons:
This represents a fundamental misunderstanding of Mario’s central plot structure. Mario always gets his ass beat in his initial encounter with an outside context problem, then spends the bulk of the game going around gathering allies and kicking the legs out from under the outside context problem’s support structure.
This sort of thing clearly falls into another protagonist’s idiom, and Mario is a union man – he’s not going to scab on Kirby. Perish the thought!
“I wouldn’t take-a the food from another video game mascot’s plate!”
“I don’t think Kirby gets paid for this.”
“That’s-a not what I said.”
*off-screen vacuum sounds*
Well I mean its not like Mario hasn’t fought weird bad guys before.
Like remember that this guy;

This guy:
This lady
THIS lady
And these fucking things.
Are all Mario enemies.
I mean yeah, in the mainline games its usually Bowser, but when you extend out to the RPG’s shit gets weird.
Mario checks to see what the control scheme is before deciding to call Kirby or not.

(via bewarewoof)

subrosadraco:

jupiter-suggestion:
consider the sperm whale and the squid. an ancient rivalry that dates back millions of years. we know the whales eat the squids. we know the squids do not make it easy for them. we know this because of the scars the whales carry, scars on the outside of their body, and on the inside as well. how badly must you want something to endure wounds inside your mouth? inside your gut?
consider the whale, who is harmed by what sustains her. consider the squid, whose flesh is soft and delicious but refuses to go down easy.
This post is about lactose intolerance I can smell it.

(via handageddon)

shortmexicangirl:

shortmexicangirl:
‘can i copy your homework?’
'yeah just don’t make it obvious’
the like to reblog ratio being almost the same is so funny, people are NOT happy with at this update lmao

(via handageddon)

chaumas-deactivated20230115:

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.
Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.
Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.
You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.
As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.
Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.
This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.
A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

plastidecor:

(via caratgeuse)

txttletale:

txttletale:
i gotta say i agree that exposing children to algorithmic content feeds is going to make them grow up with one billion new kinds of mental illnesses and it’s a serious societal problem that urgently needs addressing but it makes me v. v. v. uneasy when i see posts going around that identify this issue and come to the conclusion ‘this is why it’s important for parents to know what their kid is doing online’ and uh girls there are a lot of kids out there who would be dead if their parents knew what they were doing online
“yeah this aspect of capitalism is extremely alienating and traumatizing” and im nodding and smiling and then they add “which is why we must retreat to the safety of the family” and i start abruptly high-pitched screaming like a fire alarm

(via killinguwithumbrellas)