Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

vrabia:

Have I ever told you guys the true story of the Revolution Christmas Tree?

This one absolutely 100% happened (unlike the drunk zombie geese story which likely only 35% happened, but maybe I’ll tell you about it one day). It happened to my family when I was 4 y/o. 

So imagine Evil Commie Land in the late ‘80s: severe food shortages, no heating (seriously, people slept with their stoves on for heat and sometimes the gas was cut off and came back randomly during the night and carbon monoxide poisoning was a thing). Also large, beautiful, historical chunks of our capital city were being bulldozed into oblivion because our megalomaniac shithead supreme leader wanted to build the biggest fucking thing there was. Anyway, it sucked. 

On top of that we were also technically not supposed to celebrate Christmas, because religion is the opiate of the masses etc. etc. But we did anyway, every year and with great enthusiasm, running as we did on the sweet fuel of go ahead and tell a motherfucker they’re not allowed to do something.

So. Christmas. The way we did Christmas back in the day was to make it as secular and proletarian as possible: officially no church services, no religious carols, no Jesus thingy, no calling Santa Claus Santa Claus (we called him Old Man Frost idk)

The only thing we did exactly the same as regular Christmas, in the privacy of our homes, was the Christmas tree. This is how you got a Christmas tree:

• you went to the marketplace where Christmas tree sellers were
• these were not like, official, state-sanctioned commercial workers, but people with the capacity to somehow provide you with 1 pc. coniferous for Proletarian Christmas celebrating purposes
• I have no fucking idea who they were or how they got them
• anyway, you went to the marketplace where Christmas tree sellers were and you talked to one of them and you told them what kind of Christmas tree you wanted (options were: fir/spruce, medium-ish/small)
• you paid them in advance and agreed on a date where you’d come by and pick your Proletarian Christmas tree
• you picked up your Proletarian Christmas tree, brought it home to the family and decorated it with stuff you inherited from your great-grandmother or your mom made out of candy wrappers like 15 years before
• you celebrated Christmas. Proletarianly. 

So along comes 1989. Shit boils over and by December 21st, we have a violent revolution right on the streets of our capital city. 

Now, I was 4 and my brother was 6 months old and our parents decided that we absolutely cannot go without a regular Christmas in our house, especially now that the world is about to go to shit. We didn’t have anything, presents or nice food or. Anything? Basically. The one thing we had was dad had arranged to get our Christmas tree on the day. So he tells my mom that he’s going to pick it up, and instead of knocking him cold and chaining him to the radiator, like the sensible woman she usually is, my mom goes ok just put on an extra sweater you don’t want to catch a cold haha right?

Let me break this down for you in case there’s any misunderstanding as to what we’re talking about. Outside:

• violent riots
• army
• snipers
• tanks
• plainclothes secret police randomly shooting people dead in the street
• I seriously cannot stress the snipers enough

So off goes my dad to pick up our Christmas tree. And he’s gone for five hours, on a trip that normally takes like 30 minutes at a casual stroll. And the more time passes, the deeper my mother sinks into an all-out nervous breakdown. She’s barely keeping it together, my grandmother is trying to comfort her, while my brother is sleeping quietly, which is a good thing, because at some point there’s a weird rumbling outside our building. 

‘What’s that?’ say I, 4 years old and desperate for some straight, no-bullshit answers

‘Nothing,’ says my mom. ‘Nothing’ is the second stupidest thing to say to an observant, intelligent kid who’s been locked up for a week and kept in the dark about shit that’s very obviously happening just outside.

‘No, really, what is that?’ say I, seriously determined to get a straight, no-bullshit answer. 

Years later, after piecing bits of memories together, I realized there are only so many ways to skirt around ‘It’s a tank, dear’, which is the single stupidest thing to say to a child who’s been locked up for a week if you expect them not to run outside because they want to see, damn it. 

So when my dad finally comes home five hours later, with the goddamn tree, she’s either too exhausted to say much, or doesn’t want to have that conversation in front of her kid, who is seriously right on the brink of smashing something out of frustration. 

It wasn’t until I was in highschool that he told me he’d actually been shot at several times, because sneaking around street corners carrying a large tree is not at all suspicious when everyone is so strung up. Any sniper who might have been around absolutely did not think he was probably a revolutionary agent smuggling weapons or w/e instead of a dad trying to make a nice Christmas for his family BECAUSE WHAT THE ACTUAL EVERLOVING FUCK

So this is the story of the Revolution Christmas Tree, aka the story of how my dad almost got shot lugging around an overpriced bit of spruce in the middle of violent street fighting so his kids could have Christmas. 

There are some levels of parenting you just can’t beat. 

(via bonehandledknife)

mauridianhallow:

virginiaisforhaters:

fuckincutie:

virginiaisforhaters:

fuckincutie:

virginiaisforhaters:

Every time donald trump comes up in conversation I make damn sure to mention that he’s a violent rapist. I don’t want anyone forgetting that.

IS HE
not surprising but I’d never heard that before ??

TW for rape, violent assault:

“After a painful scalp reduction surgery to remove a bald spot, Donald Trump confronted his then-wife, who had previously used the same plastic surgeon.

“Your fucking doctor has ruined me!” Trump cried.

What followed was a “violent assault,” according to Lost Tycoon. Donald held back Ivana’s arms and began to pull out fistfuls of hair from her scalp, as if to mirror the pain he felt from his own operation. He tore off her clothes and unzipped his pants.

“Then he jams his penis inside her for the first time in more than sixteen months. Ivana is terrified… It is a violent assault,” Hurt writes. “According to versions she repeats to some of her closest confidantes, ‘he raped me.’”

Following the incident, Ivana ran upstairs, hid behind a locked door, and remained there “crying for the rest of night.” When she returned to the master bedroom in the morning, he was there.

“As she looks in horror at the ripped-out hair scattered all over the bed, he glares at her and asks with menacing casualness: ‘Does it hurt?’”

Trumps lawyer on the incident: “You’re talking about the front-runner for the GOP, presidential candidate, as well as a private individual who never raped anybody. And, of course, understand that by the very definition, you can’t rape your spouse.”

So basically not only did he violently rape her, it was dismissed with the claim that it is impossible for someone to rape their spouse, which we all know is bullshit.

This is horrible thank you for taking the time to find that for me. I am disgusted

He is a terrible human being, racist piece of shit, rapist, and still an overwhelming amount of people want him to be president. Frankly, it’s terrifying. I will move country if he becomes president.

Spread this shit man

(Source: virginiaisforhaunters, via winjennster)

lycanthropuns:

mangoapplepie:

marauders4evr:

Have you ever thought about how Harry wasted a huge opportunity when he dropped the Resurrection Stone in the Forbidden Forest?

Okay just imagine if he had kept it.

He dies, comes back, defeats Voldemort…

Only now there are over one-hundred people who have died in just The Battle of Hogwarts alone. Not to mention all of those names that were read on the radio throughout the year. (And everyone else who died before then.)

So the Golden Trio gets this idea…

They quickly spread the word and pretty soon, Harry sets up a room in Hogwarts with nothing in it but a desk and a chair. He sits in the chair behind the desk and calls people into the room one at a time.

Harry insists that the Weasleys be the first to enter. And so George walks in, puffy-eyed but smiling, and asks Harry what the big secret is.

Harry then plops an ordinary pebble into George’s hand.

George is very confused until he hears his name being whispered from behind him. George turns and of course there’s Fred. And the two twins are able to properly say goodbye to one another.

Harry then allows the entire Weasley family to come in and they all huddle around Fred’s spirit and are able to say goodbye. And of course Mrs. Weasley drags Harry out from behind the desk and he joins the family hug.

Are you crying yet?

Because I am.

But let’s keep going.

Mrs. Weasley’s hand brushes against the stone and Fabian and Gideon appear to say goodbye to their sister.

After the Weasleys finally leave, Harry brings Dennis in so that he can say goodbye to Colin.

Harry then individually brings in the family member(s) of the unnamed one-hundred students who died during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry then brings in Luna so that she can say goodbye to her mother.

He brings in pretty much all of Hogwarts so that they can say goodbye to Cedric.

He brings in Aberforth so that he can say goodbye to Albus and Ariana.

He brings in those who want to say goodbye to Snape.

He brings in Kreacher so that he can say goodbye to Regulus.

He brings in the rest of the house-elves so that they can say goodbye to Dobby.

And when Harry is done letting everyone else say goodbye to their loved ones, he closes his hand around the stone.

The first one to appear is a beautiful white owl who flies over to Harry and allows herself to be affectionately petted.

Then of course the others appear, just as they did in the Forbidden Forest on that fateful night. Harry doesn’t talk to them for too long, he’s grown up a lot since the Mirror of Erised, but he is able to make peace with his loved ones’ sacrifices.

And even then, he still keeps the stone.

He doesn’t use it again. Not personally, anyway. In fact, he stores it in a dusty box on the mantel in his house. He doesn’t use it. But he doesn’t forget it, either. Because he needs it for one last task.

And when the boy with the turquoise hair is old enough to understand, Harry gently sits him down and places a stone in his hand.

And Teddy Lupin meets Remus and Nymphadora.

Oh scrEW you

Holy fucking shit. *ugly crying* i need a moment

(via adelindschade)

deadmomjokes:

A story for all you Jurassic Park loving peeps out there. I learned about this in my Disaster Response and Emergency Preparedness course that I just started.
In 1992, Jurassic Park was finishing filming on the island of Kaua'i in Hawai'i. The final day was scheduled for September 11. However, brewing out in the Pacific and headed straight for Hawai'i was Category 4 Hurricane Iniki. The crew had been keeping an eye on it, but it was expected that Iniki would turn its course slightly. The afternoon of September 10, however they were informed that it was going to make landfall in a few hours, impacting Kaua'i with the main brunt of it. The crew of hundreds was ordered into the basement of the hotel they were staying in, and they waited it out that night. (Rather hilariously, Richard Attenborough slept through the whole ordeal where others were awake, huddled together and fearing for their lives. When Spielberg asked him about it, he answered, “My dear boy, I survived the blitz!” I guess after that, a little hurricane is just pleasant white noise.)
The next day, after the storm had passed, the whole island was in shambles. Infrastructure was totally destroyed, electricity was entirely knocked out, and radio service was down. The crew had escaped harm, luckily, though the sets were totally destroyed. That’s actually why we don’t see any of Ray Arnold’s journey to the power shed, because that set was ruined during the storm. Anyway, I digress.
The crew comes out of their basement shelter to find total devastation and a city in disarray. Even though help would be arriving soon, since the National Weather Service had been monitoring the storm and knew the island was hit, there would be no way for the relief efforts to begin with the infrastructure so heavily damaged. Airstrips and landing pads had also been demolished in the storm, and hospitals were without power. There was also no (rather, just severely limited) way to move the debris that was keeping citizens from aid.
EXCEPT a gigantic, highly skilled and intelligent film crew with lots of industrial equipment and literally nothing better to do.
Within hours of the storm’s passing, the film crew personnel had dug out their bulldozers and cranes, jury rigged up whatever else they needed from the animatronics, and began blazing a path through the wreckage to the air strip where they cleared the whole landing site, then began working on major city streets. They also used their set generators to help restore power to critical city functions, and their satellite phones to call for extra assistance from the mainland (after they had evacuated their cast, of course).
Even though the ships and helicopters arrived to take the crew home that day, as planned, many (if not most) of the crew stayed on Kaua'i to assist in cleanup and relief efforts.
It’s estimated by Emergency Management officials and experts that if the crew had not been there, the recovery efforts would have been delayed by as much as 3 weeks, as little as 3 days, and several hundred people would have died in the aftermath of Hurricane Iniki.

Hollywood gets a bad rep for being selfish, but they can save lives and I think that’s really cool.

(via clockwork-mockingbird)