MrsDoyle

Reading the labels on junk I’m tempted by helps me. That much sugar, really? How many calories?!? Palm oil, ugh. And wtf is pentasodium triphosphate?

Also, when I buy a bag of carrots, I peel them and put them in the fridge, so when I feel snacky I can munch a crispy carrot.

That’s not great, I hope life is treating you well now. Keep up the good work here! I love your history posts especially. ❤️

Words to watch out for are things like “attacked”, “bashed” or “slammed” instead of “criticised”; “forced” instead of “chose”, eg “company forced to cut jobs”; “muzzled” or “gagged” instead of perhaps “censored”. The implied violence charges the story emotionally, it’s the most common form of news manipulation. They’re trying to make you feel - usually fear or anger - rather than think.

Crossing the street is a thoughtful thing to do, and I for one appreciate it.

SparQ! (1Gb cartridges, I was never going to fill those suckers.)

I tripped and fell over one time and the racket I made woke my dog up. He looked across at me lying on the floor, yawned and went back to sleep. “Still alive? Jolly good. Wake me again at dinnertime.”

Oh I’m sorry, did I break your concentration?

Aw man, I shot Marvin in the face.

You know what they call a quarter pounder in Paris?

And you will know that I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.

I touch-type, so yes.

What’s bizarre to me is that in the olden days, ie pre-internet, millions of people happily paid up every single day to read the news in a format that was stuffed with adverts. Newspapers, remember them? The ads helped pay production costs. People sometimes bought newspapers FOR the ads - job search, car sales, accomodation, real estate.

I pay the Guardian £75 a year - slightly up from the £60 it was when I first started the online ad-free subscription like ten years ago or whatever. This is because I hate the intrusive nature of online advertising, and I appreciate most of the Guardian’s journalism. It seems like a good deal to me.

Fucking idiot killed his son himself.There was no “virus”. He went with “you’re dead to me”. Vivian said that this is who she is and he killed her for it. He’s the loser - she’s living her truth and he’s blind to who he really is. What a clown.

Planning what will probably be my last ever trip to NZ to visit family, with a stopover in Japan on the way back. Happening in Oct/Nov.

I’ve signed up for donation for dissection. One slight caveat is that the institution - in my case a medical school - can decline to take your body if you’ve died of something infectious or if it’s been too damaged, eg in a crash. If all goes well, they collect the body, and when they’re finished with it they have it cremated. Family can have the ashes if they want. There’s a nice memorial garden with the names of donors. It’s all free… I mean, this is the medical school where Burke and Hare sold their murder victims, so they’re quite grateful to get your corpse for nothing.

I don’t know about the States, but in the UK dog-walking can be a lucrative business.

That kind of biscuit is a scone.

Meanwhile in New Zealand, Scotch pancakes are called pikelets. I made pikelets here in Scotland and someone called them drop scones. Shit really is crazy.