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Alive, Children, and Clothes: MARGORIE MCCALL LIVED ONCE, BURIED TWICE sixpenceee: After succumbing to a fever of some sort in 1705, Irish woman Margorie McCall was hastily buried to prevent the spread of whatever had done her in. Margorie was buried with a valuable ring, which her husband had been unable to remove due to swelling. This made her an even better target for body snatchers, who could cash in on both the corpse and the ring. The evening after Margorie was buried, before the soil had even settled, the grave-robbers showed up and started digging. Unable to pry the ring off the finger, they decided to cut the finger off. As soon as blood was drawn, Margorie awoke from her coma, sat straight up and screamed. The fate of the grave-robbers remains unknown. One story says the men dropped dead on the spot, while another claims they fled and never returned to their chosen profession. Margorie climbed out of the hole and made her way back to her home. Her husband John, a doctor, was at home with the children when he heard a knock at the door. He told the children, “If your mother were still alive, I’d swear that was her knock.” When he opened the door to find his wife standing there, dressed in her burial clothes, blood dripping from her finger but very much alive, he dropped dead to the floor. He was buried in the plot Margorie had vacated. (Source)
Alive, Children, and Clothes: MARGORIE MCCALL
 LIVED ONCE, BURIED TWICE
sixpenceee:

After succumbing to a fever of some sort in 1705, Irish woman Margorie McCall was hastily buried to prevent the spread of whatever had done her in. Margorie was buried with a valuable ring, which her husband had been unable to remove due to swelling. This made her an even better target for body snatchers, who could cash in on both the corpse and the ring.
The evening after Margorie was buried, before the soil had even settled, the grave-robbers showed up and started digging. Unable to pry the ring off the finger, they decided to cut the finger off. As soon as blood was drawn, Margorie awoke from her coma, sat straight up and screamed.
The fate of the grave-robbers remains unknown. One story says the men dropped dead on the spot, while another claims they fled and never returned to their chosen profession.
Margorie climbed out of the hole and made her way back to her home.
Her husband John, a doctor, was at home with the children when he heard a knock at the door. He told the children, “If your mother were still alive, I’d swear that was her knock.”
When he opened the door to find his wife standing there, dressed in her burial clothes, blood dripping from her finger but very much alive, he dropped dead to the floor. He was buried in the plot Margorie had vacated. (Source)

sixpenceee: After succumbing to a fever of some sort in 1705, Irish woman Margorie McCall was hastily buried to prevent the spread of whate...

Apparently, Ass, and Drunk: snarling-through-our-smiles I once lost my keys at a frat house. My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully- disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out do not remember The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I'd never been at a frat house in broad daylight before. A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing. "I lost my keys in here last night, I called back. "I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?" He opened the door and gestured for me o come in. "Go wherever you want." I'd never seen a frat house post-party Derore. Wandering up the stairs a by hungover and still-drunk frat boys sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I'm sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination. I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller- esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed. "Do you like dog movies?" he asked, voice from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket. I told him I did. e mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking my keys. "Sorry, I haven't seen any keys around bere I didn't doubt him. Twenty minutes had passed. I'd searched just about every bedroom and nuclear- at dumn-site of a bathroom in that house. I'd given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates' forgiveness and get a new set copied. As I stood there in the hallway, silently a particularly burly frat boy approached me. "You need help with something? "I lost my keys here last night and I can't find them, I've looked everywhere. "What do they look like? I'll put it into the group chat. He was already pulling out his phone. No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. "Um, it's just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can't miss He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat. "Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck. e turned and left. And with that, A few moments later, I heard a distant and it was getting louder and louder, One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me. "Someone tell the girl!" One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. "Girl! Hey, GIRL! We found your keys, girl!!! They circled around me. I hadn't felt that old, One of them split himself off from the crowd. "Are these -"he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, "your keys? And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring. "Yes,"I whispered. "Oh my god, yes." "EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYY!!" The cheer went up. Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of "no problems" and then, just suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night. gatorfisch THIS is boys will be boys Nice Frathouse
Apparently, Ass, and Drunk: snarling-through-our-smiles
 I once lost my keys at a frat house.
 My drunk ass had actually walked home
 without them, pounded on my apartment
 door, gotten let in by my rightfully-
 disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to
 pass out on the couch. Apparently I
 puked in the toilet before passing out
 do not remember
 The next morning, I schlepped back to the
 frat house. I stood there, right in front of
 the front door. This was a novel
 experience for me. I'd never been at a frat
 house in broad daylight before.
 A boy, presumably, of the house, asked
 me what I was doing.
 "I lost my keys in here last night, I called
 back. "I was seeing if I could go in and
 look for them?"
 He opened the door and gestured for me
 o come in.
 "Go wherever you want."
 I'd never seen a frat house post-party
 Derore. Wandering up the stairs a
 by
 hungover and still-drunk frat boys
 sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food
 and showers like moths to a porch light.
 A few of them threw puzzled glances my
 way. I'm sure they thought I was some
 post-bacchanalia hallucination.
 I entered one room where a boy was
 drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-
 esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of
 his room from his bed.
 "Do you like dog movies?" he asked, voice
 from the fact that his face was squished
 against his pillow and half-buried by his
 blanket.
 I told him I did.
 e mumbled again, pleased, and asked
 what I was doing. I told him I was looking
 my keys.
 "Sorry, I haven't seen any keys around
 bere
 I didn't doubt him.
 Twenty minutes had passed. I'd searched
 just about every bedroom and nuclear-
 at dumn-site of a bathroom in that
 house. I'd given up on ever finding my
 keys and was prepared to beg my
 roommates' forgiveness and get a new
 set copied.
 As I stood there in the hallway, silently
 a particularly
 burly frat boy approached me.
 "You need help with something?
 "I lost my keys here last night and I can't
 find them, I've looked everywhere.
 "What do they look like? I'll put it into the
 group chat. He was already pulling out
 his phone.
 No one ever checks a group chat, I
 thought, but what the hell. It was worth a
 shot. "Um, it's just a ring of keys. The
 keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like
 yea big. Like bright pink, you can't miss
 He nodded, presumably typing this
 description faithfully into the group chat.
 "Alright, I sent the message out. Good
 luck.
 e turned and left.
 And with that,
 A few moments later, I heard a distant
 and it was getting louder and louder, One
 assumes that how I felt in that moment
 was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest
 stampede through the ravine as a horde
 large young men all thundered down
 the stairs, making a beeling for me.
 "Someone tell the girl!" One of them
 shouted, faceless in the mob. "Girl! Hey,
 GIRL! We found your keys, girl!!!
 They circled around me. I hadn't felt that
 old, One of them split himself off from
 the crowd.
 "Are these -"he pulled out a ring of keys
 from his pocket, "your keys?
 And lo, there was the distinctive bright
 millennial pink cat keychain dangling off
 the ring.
 "Yes,"I whispered. "Oh my god, yes."
 "EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
 YYYYYYYYYY!!"
 The cheer went up.
 Turns out he found them in the bathroom
 upstairs. I thanked them again profusely.
 There was a scattered round of "no
 problems" and then, just
 suddenly as
 they descended, they all dispersed, like
 ships in the night.
 gatorfisch
 THIS is boys will be boys
Nice Frathouse

Nice Frathouse

Another One, Bad, and Barbie: er er KINDER SURPRISE 2OG KINGER SURPRISE T-1 1.17 KS GIRLS 20G KINDER SURPRISE GIRL 1.17 bizarre-transmission: findingfeather: wetwareproblem: thoughts-of-an-x-factor: ohgressfuriosa: castiel-knight-of-hell: jen-kollic: thejollity: jen-kollic: hobopoppins: manaphy: wow I didn’t know fuckin chocolate eggs were gendered OKAY LET ME TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT THE FUCKING PINK EGGS. I work at a concession stand in an ice rink. We sell a bunch of chocolate bars and snacks and shit including Kinder Surprise eggs. So one day this woman comes up to the counter with her two little kids, a girl who’s probably about 6 or 7 and a little boy, maybe 3 or 4. The mom asks what they want, the little girl points at the Kinder eggs and says “One of those!”. I asked if she wanted the white or the pink egg. She said pink. The little boy pointed to the Kinder eggs and says “One of those!”. I asked if he wanted the white or the pink egg. He said pink. HOLY SHIT IT WAS LIKE I OPENED THE GATES OF HELL. The mom absolutely FLIPPED and was like “YOU ARE NOT GETTING THE PINK EGG IT’S ONLY FOR GIRLS. YOU CAN GET THE WHITE ONE OR NOTHING AT ALL”. The little boy looked at his mom and said “But I want the same as ______ (whatever the sister’s name was)”. The mom completely ignored him and turned to me and gave me a death glare. “He can have the white egg.” I had to give a little boy a white egg when he wanted the pink so that he could be the same as his big sister and he started crying. The mom just reiterated that the pink egg was for girls and told him that boys don’t cry. And this is why we shouldn’t gender fucking chocolate eggs. This is actually a relatively new thing, originally Kinder Eggs were all white like the ones on the left. I don’t know at what point they decided to make ‘girl’s’ Kinder Eggs, but I do not like it. Holy shit do not even get me started on how moms constantly police their sons’ masculinity. I’ve seen mothers do it WAY more often than fathers. I used to work at a bakery that specialized in creating custom cakes. We had this feature where we could print out any image off the computer and put it on a cake (with rice paper). One day this lady comes in and asks for an image we had of the baby Sesame Street characters. They’re all together with cake and confetti, and she asks, “Oh, well since it’s a boy, can you please change all of the little pink confettis into blue confetti? I mean, he’s a boy, you know.” Confetti. The fucking confetti. It barely covered 5% of the image. Another instance was when a lady asked me for an image of four superheroes to put on her son’s cake because her son was turning four. She admitted to not knowing any superheroes, so I offered the most obvious choice—The Fantastic Four. I pulled up a picture of them and she goes, “Oh no no, we can’t have that. Let’s do another one.” Confused, I pulled up a Justice League one with Batman, Superman, The Flash, and Wonder Woman. Again, she said no. I asked her if she needed anything specific (she didn’t know superheroes, why was she so picky?), and she just said, “Oh, it’s just that he’s a boy, you know? We can’t have a girl superhero on his cake.” I nearly lost my shit. I did temporarily lose my customer service face and ask why, women have been superheroes all the time, Wonder Woman is iconic, etc etc and she was like, “It’s just that my son has been playing with Barbie dolls lately and I really don’t want him to end up… well, you know.” This shit has got to stop. When you teach boys that certain things are only for girls, you’re limiting them and you’re teaching them that girls or “girly things” are bad. If you want gender equality as an adult, you better make DAMN sure that you’re teaching the same thing to your kids. So this woman did not want her son to turn out ‘you know’ and her plan for that was to get him a cake with spandex-clad manly men AND ONLY MEN on it? I don’t think she thought that one through too well… in sociology class we were talking about gender being assigned to objects and one of the male students started saying how forward thinking he is because he buys his daughter sports equipment and “boy toys”. I asked if he’d do the same if he had a son and he said “Of course I’d buy my son sports equipment”. I clarified “No, would you buy him dolls and other toys that are thought of as being for girls”. He turned around and didn’t answer. Parents will pat themselves on the back for letting their little girls play baseball but a little boy with a Barbie is still considered an affront to society Fuck everything. My father was one of these parents (along with several other harmful issues!), and even though I know, for an absolute fact, that his world views and ways are entirely wrong, this shit he tried to ingrain into me still effects me to this day.Parents, don’t ruin your fucking kids by treating them like this. I wonder how much of the “mothers police masculinity more” phenomenon comes back to “when a man fails at masculinity, we call him a mama’s boy and blame her for it.” A lot of it. It doesn’t really excuse it, and as someone who did a decade and a half of childcare I can tell you that for every woman who does as described above there’s one sneaking the Dora the Explorer fruit snacks because those are the ones her son loves but his father will flip his shit. Or being crushed that since he went to daycare he suddenly won’t do “girl stuff” bc the other boys will make fun of him. It’s really sad either way. But when it does manifest that way a huge amount is “I’m not raising a mama’s boy I’m raising a MAN!” And it’s gross. My nephew is 4 and we’ve NEVER gendered things with him, whenever he’s allowed a treat or a toy, we just ask him which one he wants and that’s it, sometimes he picks out cars and superhero toys, other times he wants dolls and pretty pink things, I let him choose his prize at a carnival last summer and he excitedly picked a big hot pink inflatable baseball bat that said “princess” on it, the looks we got from some people were astounding. And even if he does turn out to be “you know”, then good for him, he’ll be wholeheartedly loved and supported.
Another One, Bad, and Barbie: er
 er
 KINDER SURPRISE
 2OG KINGER SURPRISE T-1
 1.17
 KS GIRLS
 20G KINDER SURPRISE GIRL
 1.17
bizarre-transmission:

findingfeather:
wetwareproblem:


thoughts-of-an-x-factor:


ohgressfuriosa:

castiel-knight-of-hell:

jen-kollic:

thejollity:

jen-kollic:

hobopoppins:

manaphy:
wow I didn’t know fuckin chocolate eggs were gendered
OKAY LET ME TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT THE FUCKING PINK EGGS.
I work at a concession stand in an ice rink. We sell a bunch of chocolate bars and snacks and shit including Kinder Surprise eggs.
So one day this woman comes up to the counter with her two little kids, a girl who’s probably about 6 or 7 and a little boy, maybe 3 or 4. The mom asks what they want, the little girl points at the Kinder eggs and says “One of those!”. I asked if she wanted the white or the pink egg. She said pink. The little boy pointed to the Kinder eggs and says “One of those!”. I asked if he wanted the white or the pink egg. He said pink. HOLY SHIT IT WAS LIKE I OPENED THE GATES OF HELL. The mom absolutely FLIPPED and was like “YOU ARE NOT GETTING THE PINK EGG IT’S ONLY FOR GIRLS. YOU CAN GET THE WHITE ONE OR NOTHING AT ALL”. The little boy looked at his mom and said “But I want the same as ______ (whatever the sister’s name was)”. The mom completely ignored him and turned to me and gave me a death glare. “He can have the white egg.”
I had to give a little boy a white egg when he wanted the pink so that he could be the same as his big sister and he started crying. The mom just reiterated that the pink egg was for girls and told him that boys don’t cry.
And this is why we shouldn’t gender fucking chocolate eggs.

This is actually a relatively new thing, originally Kinder Eggs were all white like the ones on the left. I don’t know at what point they decided to make ‘girl’s’ Kinder Eggs, but I do not like it.

Holy shit do not even get me started on how moms constantly police their sons’ masculinity. I’ve seen mothers do it WAY more often than fathers.
I used to work at a bakery that specialized in creating custom cakes. We had this feature where we could print out any image off the computer and put it on a cake (with rice paper). One day this lady comes in and asks for an image we had of the baby Sesame Street characters. They’re all together with cake and confetti, and she asks, “Oh, well since it’s a boy, can you please change all of the little pink confettis into blue confetti? I mean, he’s a boy, you know.”
Confetti.
The fucking confetti.
It barely covered 5% of the image.
Another instance was when a lady asked me for an image of four superheroes to put on her son’s cake because her son was turning four. She admitted to not knowing any superheroes, so I offered the most obvious choice—The Fantastic Four. I pulled up a picture of them and she goes, “Oh no no, we can’t have that. Let’s do another one.” Confused, I pulled up a Justice League one with Batman, Superman, The Flash, and Wonder Woman. Again, she said no. I asked her if she needed anything specific (she didn’t know superheroes, why was she so picky?), and she just said, “Oh, it’s just that he’s a boy, you know? We can’t have a girl superhero on his cake.”
I nearly lost my shit. I did temporarily lose my customer service face and ask why, women have been superheroes all the time, Wonder Woman is iconic, etc etc and she was like, “It’s just that my son has been playing with Barbie dolls lately and I really don’t want him to end up… well, you know.”
This shit has got to stop. When you teach boys that certain things are only for girls, you’re limiting them and you’re teaching them that girls or “girly things” are bad. If you want gender equality as an adult, you better make DAMN sure that you’re teaching the same thing to your kids.

So this woman did not want her son to turn out ‘you know’ and her plan for that was to get him a cake with spandex-clad manly men AND ONLY MEN on it? I don’t think she thought that one through too well…

in sociology class we were talking about gender being assigned to objects and one of the male students started saying how forward thinking he is because he buys his daughter sports equipment and “boy toys”. I asked if he’d do the same if he had a son and he said “Of course I’d buy my son sports equipment”. I clarified “No, would you buy him dolls and other toys that are thought of as being for girls”. He turned around and didn’t answer.
Parents will pat themselves on the back for letting their little girls play baseball but a little boy with a Barbie is still considered an affront to society


Fuck everything.

My father was one of these parents (along with several other harmful issues!), and even though I know, for an absolute fact, that his world views and ways are entirely wrong, this shit he tried to ingrain into me still effects me to this day.Parents, don’t ruin your fucking kids by treating them like this.


I wonder how much of the “mothers police masculinity more” phenomenon comes back to “when a man fails at masculinity, we call him a mama’s boy and blame her for it.”


A lot of it. It doesn’t really excuse it, and as someone who did a decade and a half of childcare I can tell you that for every woman who does as described above there’s one sneaking the Dora the Explorer fruit snacks because those are the ones her son loves but his father will flip his shit. 
Or being crushed that since he went to daycare he suddenly won’t do “girl stuff” bc the other boys will make fun of him. 
It’s really sad either way. 
But when it does manifest that way a huge amount is “I’m not raising a mama’s boy I’m raising a MAN!” And it’s gross. 


My nephew is 4 and we’ve NEVER gendered things with him, whenever he’s allowed a treat or a toy, we just ask him which one he wants and that’s it, sometimes he picks out cars and superhero toys, other times he wants dolls and pretty pink things, I let him choose his prize at a carnival last summer and he excitedly picked a big hot pink inflatable baseball bat that said “princess” on it, the looks we got from some people were astounding. And even if he does turn out to be “you know”, then good for him, he’ll be wholeheartedly loved and supported.

bizarre-transmission: findingfeather: wetwareproblem: thoughts-of-an-x-factor: ohgressfuriosa: castiel-knight-of-hell: jen-kollic: t...

Animals, Bones, and Drugs: Humans of New York 5 hrs "I used heroin for ten years. It wasn't a very good life, as you'd expect. I had my son taken from me. I lost my job at the Fiat factory. I spent all my time trying to find money, find dealers, and stay away from police. I hated myself. I couldn't face anyone. Then one day my friend's dog had puppies. I'd never had a dog before, but I always liked animals- so I told him to give me the smallest and ugliest one he had. The one nobody else wanted. And that's how I got Joe. Joe was the angel of my life. We understood each other. There was no need for words. He followed me around all the time. He slept next to me on the street. The moment I opened my eyes in the morning he would lick my face. He gave me self-esteem. I was a complete loser but at least I could take care of Joe. I could bring him to the park. I could bring him to the vet. I could raise enough money to get his medication. He's the reason I was finally able to quit heroin. Because if something happened to me, what would happen to him? So I got clean. It was hard but I got clean. Joe lived for another thirteen years. He got a tumor in 2012 and held on a few more months. I barely survived it. I was able to stay off drugs, but I promised myself that I'd never get another dog. It's just too painful. But two years ago I found Leica beneath a mobile home. She was all skin and bones. She'd been abandoned. I didn't have a choice. For the first few months I called her Joe. But I had to stop. Because Joe'ss gone. And the name doesn't really matter, anyway. It just matters that I love her." (Rome, Italy) i thought this belonged here a very wholesome story
Animals, Bones, and Drugs: Humans of New York
 5 hrs
 "I used heroin for ten years. It wasn't a very good life, as you'd expect. I had
 my son taken from me. I lost my job at the Fiat factory. I spent all my time
 trying to find money, find dealers, and stay away from police. I hated myself.
 I couldn't face anyone. Then one day my friend's dog had puppies. I'd never
 had a dog before, but I always liked animals- so I told him to give me the
 smallest and ugliest one he had. The one nobody else wanted. And that's
 how I got Joe. Joe was the angel of my life. We understood each other.
 There was no need for words. He followed me around all the time. He slept
 next to me on the street. The moment I opened my eyes in the morning he
 would lick my face. He gave me self-esteem. I was a complete loser but at
 least I could take care of Joe. I could bring him to the park. I could bring him
 to the vet. I could raise enough money to get his medication. He's the reason
 I was finally able to quit heroin. Because if something happened to me, what
 would happen to him? So I got clean. It was hard but I got clean. Joe lived
 for another thirteen years. He got a tumor in 2012 and held on a few more
 months. I barely survived it. I was able to stay off drugs, but I promised
 myself that I'd never get another dog. It's just too painful. But two years ago I
 found Leica beneath a mobile home. She was all skin and bones. She'd
 been abandoned. I didn't have a choice. For the first few months I called her
 Joe. But I had to stop. Because Joe'ss gone. And the name doesn't really
 matter, anyway. It just matters that I love her."
 (Rome, Italy)
i thought this belonged here a very wholesome story

i thought this belonged here a very wholesome story