… and so sherlock and john never met. the end.
THE SHOW WOULD CONSIST OF JOHN LIMPING AROUND LONDON AT VARIOUS SPEEDS
“Who’d want me for a flatmate?” John asked, completely serious at the notion that anyone would actually want to room with him. He glanced at his old colleague when he heard him chuckling. “What?”
“Nothing, I just remembered a funny joke.” He said with a smile. It probably had something to do with two flatmates or something. John didn’t inquire.
“Oh.” He responded simply, returning his gaze to his cup of coffee. After a few minutes of silence, John looked up to ask Stamford a question but stopped when he saw a curious look on the man’s face. He almost seemed horrified. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Stamford stuttered. “It’s just…” He seemed to be trying to get a look at John’s back. “I just thought I saw something on your back.”
A couple days later, John saw something in the papers. It shouldn’t have bothered him, really, he didn’t even know this “Sherlock Holmes” character. He just couldn’t put his finger on why it made him so sad to find out that the so-called “consulting detective” had been victim to another one of those recent suicides.
NO NO NO
John pauses by a police box on his way to the store to get some milk. He smiled a little at the old timey appearance of it. “They just don’t make them like that anymore,” he said, a little wistfully. He jumped when the door flew open.
"You!" the man with the bow-tie snapped. John looked around in surprise but he was the only one around.
"M-me?" he asked, half pointing at himself.
"Yes, you. Don’t you know you jumped the tracks? You were supposed to be there to save that brilliant ridiculous idiot! But no, someone dipped their fingers in the time stream and messed everything all up. I will need to have a word with this person, but for now we need to get you back on track come on," the madman said, grabbing John by the arm and pulling him towards the box.
"Wow wow excuse me I don’t even know you!"
"Nor are you supposed to! But I can’t just let things go all willy-nilly topsie turvey here! Some one has got to save Sherlock Holmes and It might as well be us, eh?"
"I don’t know any Sherlock Holmes," John protested.
"Yes, and that might be the biggest crime here," the man said and finally succeeded in dragging John into the box.
"He killed himself, the papers said, and…oh my," John trailed off, looking around him in surprise. "It….it…."
"Yes, it is bigger on the inside I know. Come on, we’ve got a flatmate for you to meet!"
(in which Moriarty somehow got a hold of time travel tech and fucked everything up and the doctor is just the man to fix it)
Don’t harm yourself tonight
Don’t commit suicide tonight
You are beautiful from the inside and out. You have the strength to get through tonight. I know you can do this. Remember that I love you and I care.
For the Men Who Still Don’t Get It, written 20 years ago by Carol Diehl.
She wrote a post about the history of this poem that is worth reading.
all women were bigger and stronger than you
and thought they were smarter
women were the ones who started wars
too many of your friends had been raped by women wielding giant dildos
and no K-Y Jelly
the state trooper
who pulled you over on the New Jersey Turnpike
was a woman
and carried a gun
the ability to menstruate
was the prerequisite for most high-paying jobs
your attractiveness to women depended
on the size of your penis
every time women saw you
they’d hoot and make jerking motions with their hands
women were always making jokes
about how ugly penises are
and how bad sperm tastes
you had to explain what’s wrong with your car
to big sweaty women with greasy hands
who stared at your crotch
in a garage where you are surrounded
by posters of naked men with hard-ons
men’s magazines featured cover photos
of 14-year-old boys
tucked into the front of their jeans
and articles like:
“How to tell if your wife is unfaithful”
“What your doctor won’t tell you about your prostate”
“The truth about impotence”
the doctor who examined your prostate
was a woman
and called you “Honey”
you had to inhale your boss’s stale cigar breath
as she insisted that sleeping with her
was part of the job
you couldn’t get away because
the company dress code required
you wear shoes
designed to keep you from running
And what if
after all that
women still wanted you
to love them.
*imporant discussion about the fetishization of lesbian women in the porn industry and mainstream media and harassment of lesbian couples*
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FANFICTION OF GAY MEN ON THE INTERNET
does anyone have the pic of the japanese girls posing with the word egg on a chalkboard
‘Toy Stories’ is the result of an 18 month round the world trip where Galimberti visited a variety of countries and cultures and took photographs of children and their toys. Galimberti would often take part in a child’s games prior to arranging the toys for the photograph. He says:
“The richest children were more possessive. At the beginning, they wouldn’t want me to touch their toys, and I would need more time before they would let me play with them […] In poor countries, it was much easier. Even if they only had two or three toys, they didn’t really care. In Africa, the kids would mostly play with their friends outside.”
Despite some differences, Galimberti found similarities between children living worlds apart. Even in different countries, some children’s toys played the same function: protecting them from dangers and things they feared in the night.
The Italian photographer also found that many children were attached to toys that reflected the world that surrounded them in their particular area. A boy from an affluent Beijing family loves Monopoly because he enjoys the idea of building houses and hotels, while another young boy living in rural Mexico loves trucks because they travel through his village on the way to the sugar plantation everyday.
A lovely point Galimberti made about his experience was that toys haven’t changed all that much since he was a kid.
“I’d often find the kind of toys I used to have,” he says. “It was nice to go back to my childhood somehow.”
imagine being stuck in a room surrounded by everyone you’ve ever had sex with
imagine being stuck in a room surrounded by everyone you’ve ever thought about having sex with