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Very Silly Concept: a show called "Accessibility Nightmares" but it's structured exactly like Kitchen Nightmares. An accessibility specialist goes to different establishments and helps them make their businesses more accessible.

The accessibility specialist asks why the door at the top of the small set of stairs has a wheelchair symbol on it. The owner replies that's the accessible bathroom. The camera zooms in on the specialist as they process this information.

A customer with a service dog comes in to a restaurant. The hostess tells them they don't allow dogs. The accessibly specialist looks over at the hostess like

And there are web accessibility episodes too. The accessibility specialist stares at the white text on the light pink background of the home page like

The specialist asks why not a single product picture has alt text, and the business owner says "Well I mean, it's makeup, why would a blind person be shopping for makeup?" The specialist just

The specialist asks the web designer how a screen reader user is supposed to complete the captcha portion of the password reset process when there is no audio alternative. The designer admits they don't know.

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TiL (click to go to the thread, which probably has more interesting tidbits I missed).

Bonus:

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can i come over and implant false memories of us being childhood friends?

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Actually the portrait of Charles is red to represent enthusiasm, energy, determination, passion, strength, leadership, and love. It doesn't matter that it looks like he's walking through fountains of blood spilled by the British empire! Some of you people need to learn color theory

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my friends playing through hzd and his computer should be able to run the game pretty smoothly but it keeps fucking it up and he sent me a screenshot and I have to keep restraining myself from looking at it because it makes me want to laugh so hard I throw up

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Even without words, we can communicate through our eyes.

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To-cat-ata in B by sympawnies

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Remember, being kind is punk rock. Being overly polite due to anxiety is prog rock. A hug is alt rock unless it goes on too long then it's folk rock. Empathy is third wave ska. Being mean, though, is not punk rock. Bc being mean is pop punk

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Not what I expected coming from John Green

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Me, on the welcome desk in the library: Good morning, how are you today?

Customer: I have welcomed Jesus into my heart and so I am well today and every day.

Me, a little unnerved: Okay then! Is there something I can help you with?

Customer, digging around in his bag and pulling out an iPhone in a box: Unfortunately, Jesus can't help me with this fucking phone, so I came to the library.

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The year is 2030.

At the Cincinnati stop of her "world tour", Taylor Swift ends her set. As she walks off the stage, she leans into a nearby mic and says "oh by the way, I'm lesbian".

She's still milking a public relationship with a man named Chett Whitesman, so this is met with a combination of cheers and confusion. Immediately, the media mobilizes. They have to intercept her before she gets onto her private jet, and ambush her for an interview. Luckily, this has become much easier these days. Since the release of her 2027 album, "The Carbon Emissions of my Heart", T Swizzle has performed a ritual sacrifice of an endangered species on live camera every time she boards her jet, a #girlboss way of saying that her emotional pain can only be healed by the tortured screams of drowning polar bears.

(Since this practice started, a devoted faction of Swifties have started a carbon negative algae farming commune, with the express intent of negating taytay sweezie's contributions to climate change. Apparently "her tortured soul deserves to pollute without guilt". They haven't even come close to their goals.)

Taytor Twift is intercepted after this ritual, as she's walking up the steps of her plane. When asked what the lesbian statement was about, she nonchalantly says "oh, I thought it was clear that was a joke. Anyways, G T G!" , before biting into the still beating heart of an emperor penguin.

During her flight, discourse on the newly renamed twitter-X-ElonIsExtremelyVirile Corp goes nuclear like it never has been before.

There's a camp of swifties thoroughly convinced that her relationship with Chett is all a beard so that she can still keep touring in the New Christian Republic of Florida, and the interview at the plane was deepfaked.

A different camp of Swifties feels insulted and betrayed that she would be anything less than a paragon of allyship. To them, this is the worst slight the queer community has ever experienced.

A third camp of Swifties insists that she *is* dating Chett, and is also a lesbian. They get insulted that anyone would police Taylor's labels. Comparisons to the Boulder, Colorado shooter are made.

A group of non Swifties tries to point out that everyone is fucking insane and that 'ole taytay regularly tear gases pride rallies to make way for her promenade to stadium venues, and who the fuck cares about this shit and point out that what a billionaire celebrity does for five minutes of PR is not worth your attention or discourse, nor does it warrant harassing other people for the labels *they* use, and isn't it really fucked up that Taylor is making a joke of how people describe their identities? They are promptly doxxed, harassed, and banned.

Bi lesbian discourse is off the charts. Nothing Taylor said has anything to do with it, but it happens anyways.

A lone transsexual who actually goes outside once in a while tweets "hey guys isn't it kinda fucked up that 2.4 billion people have been displaced by mega storms this year that her jet contributes to and is also specifically designed to fly over" and is promptly doxxed and harassed off the platform.

After an exhausting 9 minute plane ride, Tailing Swiffer lands in Columbus for the next performance of her world tour. She unveils a new single that contains the line "ride my horse after dumping him, stepping up onto my SAD dle".

All is forgotten. All is quiet. The Swifties continue as usual, moving on to the next discourse about these lyrics.

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dr house if he was a pikmin

#tumblr seems to have figured out I'm rewatching house md

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how do we know you're actually spider-man and not just some imposter

how many other guys with spider powers do you know.

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look, guys, this may seem ironic coming from a person with Verbose Disease, but I'm about to tell you the secret to winning social media: shutting the fuck up. you have a controversial discourse opinion? shut the fuck up and no one will know. can't participate in a boycott for various reasons? shut the fuck up and no one will know. you think or do something Problematic that has no bearing on anyone but yourself? shut the fuck up and no one will know. you haven't been keeping up on a pressing social issue? shut the fuck up and no one will know. your mind is a wonderful place where you can have all the bad takes in the world and they're all perfectly insulated from everyone and everything unless you try to excise them on a grand scale. you can take the mental L all by yourself without using a public platform as a confession booth and face zero repercussions and it'll be just fine. open up a damn diary and explain yourself there.

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yeah

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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.

#I fucking love this site

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fun funeral facts

embalming, the process of chemically preserving a corpse, is typically not required by law. unless you need to transport the body long-distance or postpone the burial, it’s 100% a vanity thing.

a body still rots in air-tight conditions. so “protective” or “sealed” caskets are basically a scam, and anything fancy like metal is a waste of money.

want a beautiful casket for a viewing, but think burning or burying an expensive piece of hardwood is a waste of money and trees? rentals exist.

you don’t need a coffin for cremation. the minimum requirement is that the body be in a “cremation container,” which is a simple cardboard box.

home funerals are an option. you don’t need to hand the body over to a funeral home, and you can keep their involvement to a minimum.

natural burial sites exist. you can have your unembalmed body straight up thrown in the dirt to be tree food, if you want.

there are a lot of funeral homes that will prey on your ignorance and vulnerability in order to get as much money out of you as possible. they may imply optional certain services are legally mandatory, steer you away from cheaper options, charge additional costs for what’s supposed to be all-inclusive services, etc.

one person’s death is another person’s profit. know your rights, do your research, and apply the same scrutiny you would to any other business.