The older boys, Rhyan and Dustin, were athletes and hunters. While they were out chopping wood with their dad, Chasten says, “I would be inside reading Harry Potter or singing Céline Dion at the top of my lungs while my mom and I were dusting the cabinets.”

For the love of God, take your sons hunting.

(Q.v.; q.q.v.)

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.02.10 20:57. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

And most people have to choose between those things at the very outset of their work. Um and so in a sense like it’s like OK say you’re you’re you’re Aimee Terese. You have to basically tell the story of how the um progressive movement um you know considered in its whole as a century-long American phenomenon – of course it existed before the Soviet Union as well as after it. Um and you have to basically tell the story of how um uh the uh professional/managerial class – have I got the terminology right? – uh how the professional/managerial class basically um um you know takes over from the workers and does these bad things. […]

Um you know and so, the fact that this revolution, which was never about the goddamn workers, then threw the workers under the bus and decided it would be about identity politics is in fact completely consistent with its entire nature from beginning to end! It’s not even surprising at all, and so basically [laughs] you know for someone like Aimee who I’m sure is crazy and wonderful um not to mention big and natural um [laughs] you know haha it’s um um the um um um um I apologize for that, uh, Aimee, if you’re listening um um uuum uuum the um I’m repeating a comment that someone else made um and and the um um the um uh this is not my joke and and I don’t even – I have no even knowledge at all of the subject and and the um um

Ladies and gentledykes, your thought leader of the New Right (cf. Malice’s The New Right, pp. 138–139 inter alia).

Then, of course, there’s how he writes.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.02.09 13:05. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

I banged out this whole list entitled “Here’s what Windows users think they know about typography”:

  • Typography does not exist. How can it exist? I’ve never heard of it.

  • Even if typography might exist, it can’t be important. Now that I think of it, I know typography isn’t important. I knew that all along.

  • Even if it might be important, I already know everything anyone needs to know about it.

  • If somebody else shows up claiming to be an expert on typography, well, I am just as much of an expert. I use Microsoft Word and I can make jokes about Comic Sans.

  • I have a right to be angry at anyone who questions my skills in typography or how much I know about it. (How dare you.)

  • Apart from Comic Sans, which I can make jokes about, no font can ever be better than any other font.

  • No layout can ever be better than any other layout.

  • Typography is just “aesthetics.”

  • Microsoft Word documents do not have “typography” and don’t need it.

Waaay too long. As I wrote before: “I do not know how to explain to Windoids, NPCs, basic bitches, and other nonentities who have so little going for them that I can sum them up in catchphrases that beauty has value.”

So I boiled everything down to this:

Typography doesn’t exist,
it isn’t important,
and I’m really good at it anyway

Use that as a cudgel. I do.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.01.25 19:19. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

…as one of the previous century’s greatest type designers, Eric Gill, was.

Still, this plucky Norwegian, who runs a small-batch-artisanal type-design atelier that would be non-viable without 333,000 kroner in government funding in 2016 and 2018 ($48,000), operates within the same colourspace of opprobrium as Gill.

Stefan seeks to limit the words one may typeset in his boutique fonts. Licenses for commercial and demo (“test”) fonts both contain this wording (at ¶3[d]):

The Fonts may not be used in a manner or in combination with material that is offensive or punishable. This includes (but is not limited to) expressions of racism, xenophobia, homophobia, sexism, gender discrimination or other expressions of intolerance violating human dignity and well[‑]being.

Hence that American homosexualist writer married to a Norwegian, Bruce Bawer, is now illegal. Yes, the value proposition here is you pay money to license a typeface and a foreigner will try to stop you from writing certain words in that font.

I did the obvious thing: I downloaded Stefan’s test fonts, fired up my licensed copy of InDesign (lovingly coded by non-Whites), and typeset a PDF.

What might it take to equate a living designer with a deceased pedophile? Some of us are big on principle and know WRONG when we see it. Here Ellmer Stefan is about to go full Breivik. Never go full Breivik.

Don’t write cheques for 333,000 kroner that you cannot cash

“Any dispute arising from this License Agreement is governed by Norwegian law, and shall be settled by the City Court of Oslo,” Stefan’s licence “agreement” threatens. (“So if you want to set your hate speech in e.g. Vulture, I am gonna send my birds after you!”)

See you in court, then. I’ll be needing halal food on the plane ride over.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.01.24 17:19. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

By which I mean the only non-progressives or anti-progressives with a brand: Europa Invicta (Flickr album thereof).

  • Conservatives still cannot design

    Sweatshop workers assemble TRUMP 2020 banners typeset in Arial

    – but Europa Invicta has done well more than the bare minimum here:

    Four posters from Europa Invicta, including armed solder captioned EUROPEANS DON’T APOLOGIZE
    1. Images from European or White antiquity

    2. Consistent typography (Gotham – no doubt Jonathan Hoefler, our Whitest type designer, will be mortified), and indeed consistent translucency to such type

    3. Square format that the kids prefer these days

  • Then Europa Invicta, who are not Identity Evropa (“Ev”ropa), go and spoil it all by doing something stupid with their best slogans.

    Young man and woman on poster: WHEN YOU’RE WHITE, THERE’S NO UPGRADE. DON’T MIX
    1. Type and layout are wrong

    2. Type is fundamentally incorrect in embarrassing ways (neutral apostrophes that collide with nearby letters)

    3. Cannot decide whether linebreak, comma plus linebreak, or no apparent linebreak are meant to break up clauses

  • Then there’s using the wrong frigging quotation marks:

    Poster uses « and » in Winston Churchill quotation

All told, though, wildly superior (these people are all about hierarchy) than Æsthetica Europa.

Next I will discuss the anti-progressive meme æsthetic of severely saturated red/green/blue gradients, reminiscent of the absolute greatest 1980s lighting and interiors (and indeed key to the Æsthetica Europa vocabulary).

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2020.01.01 14:44. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Books are terrible; publishing is an oligopoly with a progressive agenda; dumbass Millennial girls, with no history reading professionally-edited copy, now professionally edit and typeset copy. Books are terrible.

Out of the 150-odd books I bought, borrowed, downloaded, or simply blew through in 2019, a few were nonterrible even if their typography nonetheless was.

  1. Saving Beauty by Han Byung-Chul.

  2. Peak: The New Science of Athletic Performance [subtitle continues for some time – Ed.] densely and with good typography covers everything from mindset to constituent molecules. I’m still picking my way through it (again: dense).

  3. Bronze Age Mindset indeed is a poorly-assembled print-on-demand paperback. Yet this “book” is conceptually viable only as fungible electronic text. Akin to Don Norman’s just-noticeable difference, Bronze Age Mindset is just original enough to be captivating and memorable. (Q.v.)

  4. Sexual Landscapes by James D. Weinrich, while rather eccentrically typeset, offers a voice I’ve never encountered before in presenting academic arguments to laypeople. He’s delightful. Weinrich’s section “What happens when sissies and tomboys grow up?” is the only original contribution to that topic. (By a wide margin – positively not “just original enough.”)

  5. You’re on an Airplane: A Self-Mythologizing Memoir by Parker Posey must be experienced in the authoress’s voice.

  6. Dave Addey goes into well more than the level of detail you would reasonably wish for in Typeset in the Future: Typography and Design in Science-Fiction Movies. More really is more in this kind of design criticism, whose tone recalls that history of synthetic voices with the perfect title, How to Wreck a Nice Beach.

    (Indeed, should we not informally refer to Addey’s book as Typeset in the Futura [q.v.]?)

  7. Provocations by Camille Paglia assembles everything from AOL screenshots to AOL chat sessions.

    In John Waters’ aperçu, there are some people for whom Deborah Harry is Elvis. Paglia achieved originality so vast you have to be blind, or blinkered, not to read in awe.

Three books all but permanently reset my outlook in the broadest sense. (Wat means‽)

  1. The hugely disturbing Jaws: The Story of a Hidden Epidemic (Sandra Kahn) rewrote my beliefs about sleep apnea and childhood orthodontia. I was unaware I had any such beliefs.

    I was not wrong to notice an onslaught of chinless pencil-necked geeks in living memory, many of whom, this book proves via X‑rays and photographs, will suffer from blocked airways for a lifetime. What seems contradictory on its face is that correcting such underbites the wrong way in childhood also leads to blocked airways.

    If you fancy the opposite of the pencil-necked geek (fellas with necks as wide as their earlobes are separated), well, guess which other group can’t breathe through a night’s sleep, either.

  2. The Courage to Be Disliked by Ichiro Kishimi vitiated its purpose when the ostensible philosopher engaged in dialectic with the ostensible student was shown to be female. But, like Jaws, The Courage to Be Disliked effectively rewrites unexamined truths as it reveals a non-Freudian theory of the human mind (the Adlerian philosophy). Freudianism is so steeped in our psyches that it is shocking to imagine not cause and effect as primary human motivator (this happened as a boy; I am unhappy now as a man) but purpose (one is unhappy because it serves a purpose). If any apple cart deserved to be upended, I see now it is Freud’s.

    (In a Smithee-like oddity, searching even LC catalogue records [and sources beyond] reveals no translator credit.)

  3. Beauty by Stefan Sagmeister (and ostensibly Walsh, but let’s be serious) tells readers that some things are valuable because they are beautiful. To its detriment, Beauty is the kind of designed object that will be read only by those who already accept that beautiful things are valuable.

    • I do not know how to explain to Windoids, NPCs, basic bitches, and other nonentities who have so little going for them that I can sum them up in catchphrases that beauty has value.

    • Where I would fault Sagmeister is his inability to recognize that his own demimonde, namely progressive New Yorkers and Europeans, are the only faction in our society that militates against beauty, quite often with billyclubs, “concrete”-laced “milkshakes,” and bike locks.

    • Sagmeister cites research, which I tracked down and read, that shows artistically educated subjects find asymmetry beautiful while normals do not. That finding conforms to my own experience with postmodern architecture (cf. Charles Jencks’ photo cutlines). (Photo of some of Sagmeister’s citations.)

    • Spiekermann (q.v.) is one of who knows how many designers claiming their job is to make the world marginally less ugly. No wonder we – “we” – have failed when we’ve aimed so low.

      Still, I do think there has to be a 21st-century way of teaching Windoids, NPCs, basic bitches, and other nonentities the first step (it’s a lulu) in understanding that one can communicate visually, not just in words.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2019.12.31 12:33. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Even more bons mots from the discussion forum (q.v.) that, like all parts of the Internet, decays and rusts into an outcropping that gives you tetanus when it carries out surprise anal.

  • “One Boy, One Special Boy”:

    I was reading an article about Luca Guadagnino in the New Yorker. The article quotes from a book about Klaus Mann: “There is only one face you love. It is always the same.” I started to think about that. As I search over the men I have been attracted to, loved, wanted, I noticed that they all had similar faces – whether known or celebrity.

    I have no idea who owned that first face that I loved. But I wonder is that just type or a covert desire for the first face? Is it the face or the person and we cannot divorce the face from the traits that we desire? I love Nick Lachey’s face. But he is just the face – not the original person.

    I concede I find Nick Lachey, which name is pronounced Lashé, adorable. I concede further that Armond White is correct about the director whose name is a random assemblage of Scrabble tiles: “By making Elio so precocious yet intense, with none of the usual adolescent banality, Guadagnino reveals he is more than a little in love with the memory of being jailbait.”

  • I did have therapy for a long time… and for some reason as a result I was able to talk to and be friends with men, straight men in particular, a lot more than before. There was one time I only really felt comfortable with women and gay men who were totally non-threatening. I don’t even know why this change took place – probably just a general gain in confidence. And the fact that I had a male therapist who I learned to trust, and like, must have helped a lot. I wasn’t seeking to change this particular trait in my therapy. But it happened, and I’m actually even more comfortable with men now than women.


    I can just imagine all you pretentious, snobby little effeminate boys when you were young, dissing your hard-working parents because their way of life wasn’t good enough for you because it didn’t align with what you saw on Dynasty.

  • Body image: “Upper-middle-class GOOP thinspo asceticism. No, thanks” versus:

    In hindsight, I think I had a big problem with food for a long time. I was naturally skinny with a fast metabolism, but I also got off on the idea of looking different and having my appearance surprise people. Thin was very much the thing in the ’90s, and I guess I liked my eyes being larger by default and clothing always fitting me easily.

    …and I won’t lie and say that I felt hungry and weak constantly. I actually seemed to run on a lot of energy, but in hindsight it was definitely nervous energy and adrenaline. I would stay up late studying, and ride out waves of hunger just to see if I could do it. And I could. And you can too.


    It’s obvious you aren’t really listening to advice right now, but the truth is your body needs fuel and your muscles need exercise and that’s what will see you through a life of health and comfort. You have no idea the problems osteoporosis can cause, and people who are malnourished deal with that at a young age. Even though I’m eating healthy now, three times a day, my bones are starting to make cracking noises and stiffen and I just don’t feel anywhere near as limber as I used to. Also, your body naturally gets colder as you age. Fat and muscle protect you from that.

    I realize we live in a society where the æsthetic is to look like a cartoon character with a big head and an impossibly tiny waist and delicate hands, or to look like some super-jacked superhero athlete…. But wanting to look a certain way in a photograph is not your job. Your job is to take care of the one thing that you own, which is your body. So stop playing these games and telling yourself it works great and there will be no consequences. There will be. You can bet on that.

    Plus, if what you’re worried about is appearances, having no fat in your face will make you age incredibly fast. I look at guys my age now who I suspect were athletic in their late teens and early twenties, and ate regular full meals, or even the guys who were only moderately active and ate full meals, and their faces still look full. I have a slight hollow look to my face, probably from years of seeing how little I can eat and still be functional. I’m not hideous by any means, but I think I understand now why actresses and even some actors end up getting fillers put in. Having a round face looks a lot nicer than being Skeletor. Plus everyone who hugged me when I was growing up said it made them uncomfortable because I was so bony.

    Having a little muscle or a little fat is actually really appreciated by those who have to look at you and touch you. That’s why someone like Gwyneth Paltrow, for example, isn’t thought of as being sexy in the least. She’s bony. Sure, that means she fits into designer clothes and gets on a magazine cover, but she is far from being a sex symbol.

    I guess there’s no convincing you, but please take these words to heart and reconsider what you’re doing. Nobody who loves you in any real way will tell you to skip meals and starve yourself for the sake of a look. When there are times of war, and people don’t have access to food, they aren’t walking around feeling great about their collarbone is finally protruding, or having no fat on their [abdomens]. You need to eat. It’s healthy. And there’s a lot of delicious food out there that’s healthy for you and won’t make you obese! Go try some new dishes. Eating is really a joy. It doesn’t mean you’re a pig.

    Please speak to someone about changing this interior monologue that you have going about how much better it is to be thin. You’ve been duped by a society that doesn’t really make much sense. And at some point you’re going to start to see the consequences of what you’ve done by denying yourself food several days a week. Treat your body with TLC.

    …which by itself has to be the greatest contribution DataLounge has ever seen, with a perfectly modulated tone.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2019.12.24 20:56. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

Some discussion fora are even more disreputable than DataLounge and RealJock. Some fora’s names even dare to eschew interCaps.

  • T777:

    The more common hot successful women would be lawyers, or those who got in on the ground floor of a startup that succeeded (which only a very small percent do).

    LOL. The real world isn’t like television, Harjit.

    Lawyerettes are glorified paralegals who will leave the practice as soon as they get a shiny rock on their insectile little finger or they’re soon-to-be-embittered, hard-drinking career womyn with visible cellulite sag underneath their Ann Taylor loft pantsuit.

  • Not T777:

    The modern normie desires to live in a sitcom as this is the highest ideal to be pursued under ZOG. 21st-century man may be over-medicated, physically weak, lonely and disposable, but gee whiz his life sure is wacky. Thus, modern customer service and even workplace relationships are predicated on curating the optimal sitcom experience.

    Imagine spending your morning under your goofy, fun-loving boss who lets all his employees know that he plays Thundercats video games on his i‑phone. His quirks (he’s probably a furry) ultimately remind you that HE IS HUMAN, just like you, and you should just excuse his ambitions and sociopathy as part of his immaturity, his major character flaw, which is also what makes him so authentic.

    Lunchtime arrives. You go grab a quiche and a macchiato at the local coffee shop. You exchange some banter with the cutie waitress (her name is Liz and she thinks you’re gross) while her boss acts all cantankerous in the background (he used to loudly announce that he was the quiche Nazi every day to let customers know he was very serious about his quiches while also not being very serious, until Donald Trump made Nazi jokes problematic). You come back to the workplace only to see your wacky boss dancing in an ironically bad fashion to Macklemore’s “Dance Off.” A coworker performs the appropriate sigh while another rolls her eyes, to signal to your boss that the desired effect was achieved. You work for the next few hours while an American-born Asian coworker bumps rap music in the background, preferably Ice Cube’s “It Was a Good Day” or 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.” (nigger music in the workplace, that’s crazy).

    Then, after you drive home listening only to THE FINEST MACKLEMORE (“Thrift Shop,” “Penis Song,” “Bush Song,” a replay of “Dance Off,” all classics), you order some Chinese food which you will drink with kombucha, recommended to you by your wacky friend, who amongst his many eccentricities is a kombucha enthusiast (the name sounds funny), while you catch up on your favorite sitcom, Aziz Ansari’s Master of None, and laugh at how the flustered Dravidian getting sassed by a quirky waitress reminds you of Liz back at the coffee shop, and how she’ll totally date you once make enough self-deprecating jokes about how your life is going nowhere (at the same time, you of course appreciate how you eating fast food alone in your apartment while watching a sitcom is just like how the sitcom protagonist eats fast food alone in his apartment while watching a sitcom).

    Yes, once Liz sees how authentic you are, she’ll be sure to go out with you just so she can hear more wacky stories about how your ex-girlfriend cheated on you with her MMA instructor while you were off at your father’s funeral. You smile to yourself softly while Aziz Ansari makes a joke about how pathetic his orgasm sounds in the background.

    Today was a good day.

    Cf.Human Capital” by Mencius Moldbugman:

    It’s Monday. You don’t want to come into work but you must, so at least you just want to complete your work as quickly as possible and get out.

    That isn’t going to happen. You are not in the office to work. You are there to participate in social rituals and humiliate yourself.

    You enter the office and the resident NPCs ask you how was your weekend. They don’t care but you answer anyway. You think of a safe & meaningless reply to end the ritual and not get into trouble. You tell them you walked in a park when really you lay in bed depressed & exhausted.

    The NPCs tell you what they did. You don’t care, but they tell you anyway. They tell you about the amazing brunch they had. They tell you how great their kids are doing. You try to walk away but out comes a phone and now you have to look at photos of the brunch.

    You hate eggs benedict but smile anyway. Jane from Finance has returned from holiday. She wants to tell everybody about her week in Florida. You try to look disinterested but she shows you a video of her son at the Epcot Center.

    You check your E‑mails. You have 120 unread messages.

    You go for a coffee to get away from the morning chatter. You order a black coffee and hope you can get through the day without speaking to anyone. You order a black coffee and the barista asks for your name. You are the only customer and you don’t want to give your name.

    The barista says you must give a name. You argue but she just blinks.

    You tell her your name. Five minutes later she hands you a latte. You don’t complain and just leave. It’s better this way.

    Back at the office you bump into Jack from IT. You hate Jack. He asks you about your weekend and then shows you a video of his son at the Epcot Center.

    He asks you for lunch but before you can refuse he’s sent you an invite for 12.30.

    The restaurant only serves eggs Benedict.

    You sit down at your desk and begin clearing your E‑mails. 50% of them are chain arguments where half of the company had been copied in to play witness to a misunderstanding about dirty coffee cups in the pantry. The other 50% are from people trying to put their work onto you.

    You begin to tackle the 60 E‑mails from people trying to offload their duties onto you. You reply to each one by one. After you click the final send button you check your inbox and you now have 60 out-of-office replies.

    It’s lunchtime. Jack drops by your desk so you can’t escape. Over lunch you joke about how anyone who asks for a lunch appointment always wants something more than lunch.

    Jack laughs. He says you have a good sense of humour. Then he asks you to join the company social committee.

    Finally you get back to your desk. You can’t close the door and work in peace because you work in an open-plan office. Someone behind you is playing rap music loudly on headphones. You try to concentrate but you can’t because you work in an open-plan office.

    Jane comes by your desk with birthday cake. It’s the birthday of Zoë in HR. She offers you a slice. You tell her you’re on a strict keto diet. Jane raises an eyebrow and gives you a look.

    You eat the cake.

    Five minutes later you receive an E‑mail asking you to give $5 for the cake.

    There is a commotion by the door and a chorus of oohs and aahs. A woman who has been on maternity leave for a year has popped in to show off her baby. Work stops completely as everyone leaves their desk. You try to work. The baby is now beside you. You’re being asked to kiss it.

    The mother asks when you are going to have a baby.

    You don’t even have a girlfriend because you work late every night and are too depressed to leave the house at weekends.

    The mother then tells you she is expecting again and will have another year off.

    You will do her work.

    An E‑mail lands into your inbox.

    “Can we have a quick meeting at 4pm.”

    You reply: “Yes.”

    They reply: “Thanks. Please send me an invitation and book a meeting room.”

    It’s already 3pm. There are never rooms available at 4pm.

    You reply that there are no rooms available but she is welcome to swing by your desk.

    She never replies.

    A week later you discover she complained to your boss that you were unprofessional.

    A girl from Comms stops by your desk. She is taking photos for the company website.

    She asks you to hold up a sign saying “I support women in leadership!”

    90% of your management are already women.

    You hold up the sign and give a thumbs up. You’re tired. Your smile hurts.

    You turn back to your PC. A message has arrived that this Sunday will be Family Day and “they” hope “you” will be there.

    You look at the names of the people organizing the Family Day. They are all childless middle-aged women. You read more and note that attendance is compulsory.

    David from Contracts replies to the E‑mail that he can’t attend the Family Day because his son has a football match that day and it’s the finals.

    The childless middle-aged women respond to David that attendance is mandatory.

    There can be no family fun outside Family Day.

    A supplier E‑mails you about a long-overdue invoice. You E‑mail the invoice to Jane from Finance and ask on the status.

    She replies and asks you to attach the invoice.

    You grit your teeth, reattach the invoice, and click send.

    Jane then asks why have you sent her an invoice.

    You try to concentrate one last time, but somebody has hit a sales target and the song “We Are the Champions” blasts over the speaker. It’s impossible to focus.

    You look at the overweight tired people high-fiving each other by the sales desk.

    They don’t look like champions.

    You never wanted your life to be like this.
    This is not how you imagined life to be aged 35.
    You studied hard.
    You worked hard.
    You did all the right things. Said all the right things.
    Yet here you are being asked to give $5 for Zoë’s birthday cake in an open-plan office.

    You wonder if there are other better jobs. You check LinkedIn. You notice your company has posted a photo of you smiling, holding up the “women in leadership” sign with the hashtag #greatplacetowork written underneath.

    All the other companies say they are #greatplacestowork too.

    You realize there is no escape.

    Even though you have unfinished work you decide to leave on time today and just go home to lie on the bed.

    Jane from Finance notices your sad frown as you leave.

    “Somebody had a bad case of the Mondays today!” she jokes.

    Everybody laughs.

    At least tomorrow will be Tuesday, you tell yourself.

    But it will be the same.

    It will always be the same. It will always be Monday.

    Until you die.

    Your alarm goes off and you force your head from the pillow.

    It’s Tuesday.

    You half-recollect faded dreams of childhood summers and flying like a bird but it’s Tuesday so there’s no time for that. Today you must complete your work.

    Maybe Tuesday will be your good-news day.

    You arrive at the office early so that you can get a head start. You switch on your PC and immediately a screen pops up saying you must restart in order to install essential updates. It gives you no choice to refuse.

    You click restart and wait.

    And wait and wait and wait…

    You are staring at a blue screen and your PC won’t turn on again.

    You call the IT helpdesk but you’re early so nobody answers.

    You go buy a coffee to kill time. The coffee queue is long with the morning rush. Your supervisor scolds you for being three minutes late when you return.

    You call the IT helpdesk and a heavy accent tells you that you must use your PC to log a helpdesk ticket.

    You explain you cannot open your PC so you can’t log a service ticket.

    The heavy accent says you must log a ticket.

    After ten minutes you hang up.

    You walk physically to the IT department. Deepak & Prakash ignore you while they have a fervent conversation in Hindi. Eventually you raise your voice and ask for help. Deepak says you must raise a ticket.

    Saira from Sales arrives and asks for help. She is assisted immediately.

    You stand your ground as you have no other choice.

    Deepak asks if you have tried turning your computer on and off.

    You roll your eyes, swear under your breath, and say “yes.”

    Finally Deepak agrees to check out your PC.

    Deepak sits down at your desk. He turns the PC off and then on again.

    The PC now turns on immediately with no problem whatsoever.

    Deepak glares at you. When he’s gone you notice that one of your French chocolates hase disappeared.

    It’s now 11am.

    You open Outlook and wait for the folder to update. Suddenly you hear a “Hi!” It’s Zoë from HR. She wants to thank you for the birthday cake and then proceeds to monologue about how her husband (who works in banking) plans to treat her for her birthday weekend.

    It’s now 11.30.

    Politely – meekly – you gently tell Zoë that you have enjoyed the conversation but have work to do. She looks at you and says “Well, you have a nice day.”

    Finally you open your E‑mails. Five minutes later you receive an E‑mail from Zoë saying she did not appreciate your tone just now.

    Zoë thinks that you could work on your workplace language and that tone “is something you can work on.”

    She thinks it will help to make the office a #greatplacetowork.

    She sends you an invite for an all-day training on “Respect” for tomorrow. She signs off with “Kind regards.”

    For a moment you sit silently pondering the meaning of the words “kind regards.”

    You receive another E‑mail that says it is a “gentle reminder” about the compulsory Family Day this weekend.

    You try to think when was the last time somebody wrote sincerely to you.

    It’s lunchtime. You buy a sandwich as all you want to do is eat at your desk and zone out watching an anime episode for 30 minutes.

    Just as you’re about to put on your headphones someone taps you on your shoulder. It’s Ian from Sales. He tells you how he is “smashing it” in Q4.

    After 20 minutes of Ian telling you how much he is “knocking it out of the park” you make your excuses and go to the toilet for some peace and quiet.

    The male toilet has disappeared overnight. Now there is an “All-Gender Toilet” and the door is decorated in rainbow hearts.

    You go through three stalls before you find one that hasn’t got a used tampon floating in the basin or discarded on the floor.

    You put on your headphones and watch ten minutes of anime in the toilet. This is the best part of the day.

    In the next stall you overhear Ian crying.

    Ian starts to mumble to himself between his sobbing.

    “You’re a corporate tiger, Ian! You’ve got this! Q4 is gonna be your quarter!”

    You wonder how much Ian is really “knocking it out of the park” and leave. A woman glares at you as you leave the all-gender toilet.

    You get back to your desk and you can’t enter your PC again because your 30-day password has expired and you must create a new one.

    You try the name of your first dog, mother’s date of birth, primary-school address… all are rejected for not being strong enough.

    You try them all again with added capital letters and symbols but they still fail. Eventually you give up and input a string of 20 random letters and numbers.

    You’ll never remember it so you write it down on Post-It and stick it to your desk for future reference.

    An E‑mail arrives from Jane in Finance. They won’t process your invoice because there is a new procedure and you failed to follow it correctly.

    You ask where this new process was announced. She tells you it’s on the intranet’s Finance page.

    You never knew you had an intranet.

    You go onto the intranet page and it tells you that all invoices must now be submitted through a new Oracle system.

    Sighing, you click the link to download the Oracle system.

    A pop-up springs open and says you don’t have administrative permission to download new software.

    You call IT to ask them to download the new invoice platform.

    They tell you to raise a service ticket.

    You raise the ticket.

    It’s now 5pm and nobody has replied to you.

    You call IT again but they’ve all left for the day.

    Desperately, you search the office for someone who can potentially help. You bribe the autistic guy in the corner office to help you get round the IT permissions.

    Finally you submit your invoice on the new system. A pop-up tells you that the deadline for invoices was yesterday.

    Most of the office has gone home.

    A few people that you hate stop by your desk to tell you not to work too late.

    “I can’t work late like you,” chuckles Jane from Finance. “I have a family to look after.”

    You don’t even have a girlfriend.

    Jane thinks you should “get one.”

    The office lights dim around you and the A/C shuts down. They are all automated to power down after 7pm to help the company achieve its Sustainability Goals.

    You know this because you attended a meeting on the firm’s sustainability goals presented by two McKinsey consultants in suits.

    Sweltering in a dark office, alone and hungry, only the light from your PC illuminates your surroundings.

    You have achieved absolutely nothing once again.

    Luckily, there is always time tomorrow to complete the unfinished tasks. Wednesday is a new day.

    As you switch off Outlook, a “gentle reminder” from Zoë in HR pings in reminding you that you have an all-day training session tomorrow.

    She signs off: “Kind regards.”

    You awake from a terrible dream.

    No. That’s wrong. You awoke into a terrible dream.

    It’s Wednesday. It’s halfway through the working week.

    You’re 35. You’re halfway through your life.

    Neither is looking bright right now.

    On the train to work you spot an advert for a job site. It’s a multicoloured garish image of happy people with bright teeth and sharp suits.

    You look around at your fellow commuters. Everybody looks like shit.

    You wonder where these great jobs are and return to your phone.

    Today is an all-day training, so you arrive early to clear your E‑mails before it starts but once again you’re locked out of your PC.

    You succeed in grabbing Kumar from IT. He tells you that security saw your Post-It note with your password written on it so blocked your access.

    You get angry. You explain that you really need to access your PC.

    Kumar replies that you were locked out for your own safety and security.

    You ask how long you will be locked out for. Kumar says 24 hours. You decide to watch anime in the toilet until the training starts.

    You go to the pantry to make a tea before the hell begins.

    It’s impossible not to notice that someone has placed a photo of Greta Thunberg in the pantry and removed all the plastic cups.

    You use a paper cup. It collapses as soon as you pour the tea in.

    Now you have wet pants.

    Susan from Legal walks past and sees your wet pants. Susan is 63 and entitled to a final salary pension.

    You’re not.

    She doesn’t give a fuck.

    “You should bring your own cup,” she says. “Gotta go green!”

    She shows you her cup. She thinks it’s really funny.

    You don’t.

    You enter the training. The room is full of desperate-looking men staring downwards and women holding pens.

    “Welcome!” shouts HR Zoë. “Looks like someone had an accident!” She points to your pants and everyone laughs.

    This is a respect seminar. It doesn’t matter. You’re a man.

    Everyone is asked to introduce by stating three funny facts about themselves.

    Janet: “I have two adorable kids, make a mean lasagne, and I looove my coffee!”

    Everyone laughs.

    John: “I’m from Ohio, visited Trinidad twice, and I looove my coffee!”

    Everyone laughs.

    It’s your turn. You say:

    “I think Nietzsche was overly optimistic. I once shared a beer with Mel Gibson. I enjoy hot toddies made with real Martinique rum on a toasty cozy evening.”

    Nobody laughs.

    “Does he have a drinking problem?” you hear one woman whisper to another.

    The training begins and Zoë turns on a PowerPoint presentation.

    The first slide is a 500-word intro entitled “What is Respect?”

    Zoë proceeds to read out every single word even though it is right there on the screen.

    You internally sigh. Everyone else nods their heads sagely.

    After reading out Slide 1 she says:.

    “We are gonna work hard today but we’re also gonna have a lot of fun!”

    She clicks to the next slide.

    It’s a photo of a cat in a tree with the words “Hang in there!”

    Everybody laughs.

    You are asked to get into groups and create something called a “mind map” about a topic that is important to the company and helps build respect within the group.

    Your group chooses “Equity.”

    Out comes a flipchart and you are given a marker pen. You will see a lot of both today.

    Janet takes the lead and asks the group to say words related to Equity. You reel off 12 in an instant.

    That was wrong.

    The point of the exercise isn’t to just give correct answers. It’s to discuss and share.

    Over the next 20 minutes the group slowly repeats your 12 words.

    You begin to wonder if you just got a bad group. You look over to the other groups.

    One is whooping & hollering. You don’t understand why.

    The other is taking it very very seriously. You don’t understand why.

    You look outside the window. The autumn leaves are beginning to fall.

    You look back to your group’s board.

    It is now covered in meaningless statements like “Carpe Diem,” “Be there” and “Fair + Equal.”

    You vaguely recall being forced to do similar activities in primary school and speculate silently how this is meant to train you on anything.

    Once completed, every group has to volunteer one person to read out their words to the rest of the group.

    You are volunteered.

    You read out all of the words written on the flipchart even though everyone in the room is capable of reading.

    Actually, you’re not sure on that.

    You break for lunch. Since it is a training day you must go with the group for a team lunch.

    Nobody likes Pizza Express, but everybody is afraid to state a strong opinion so the easiest option wins out.

    The group orders a Hawaiian pizza. You hate Hawaiian. You smile anyway.

    The bill arrives and it is declared that everyone should pay an equal share.

    That sounds simple.

    Janet says she only had a starter so should only pay half.

    John is gluten-intolerant so only had a Coke and doesn’t want to split.

    So you all agree to cover their share.

    The waiter comes. Nobody has cash. The waiter says they can’t split the bill across different cards.

    Everyone looks down and goes silent.

    Eventually you volunteer to pay the bill. Zoë says you can claim it on expenses. It will take you three months to clear it through expenses.

    You head back into the training room.

    For the next hour you are asked to perform role-plays.

    Dutifully, you act out a fake situation that would never be resolved in real life as it is resolved in the role-play.

    Every role-play receives applause no matter how bad it was.

    Everyone is told they’re doing great.

    Everyone is told that they are so lucky to work somewhere with such passionate, intelligent and dedicated people. Best of the best.

    As you’re told this you glance over to Janet. She is picking wax out of her ear with a ballpoint pen.

    Zoë makes a special announcement.

    She has managed to pull some strings and you are about to receive training on something that is guaranteed to bring you up to the next level.

    You wonder what it is.

    A 50-year-old lesbian walks in and declares you’re about to do Laughter Yoga.

    For the next hour you are all instructed to roll on the floor and laugh hysterically.

    You join in because it feels awkward to walk out. You’re worried of the consequences if you leave.

    The old lesbian instructs you all to bark like dogs.

    Apparently it helps your chakras.

    Finally… finally it comes to an end.

    Before you can go home you are asked to fill in a feedback form about how useful the training was.

    You know that Zoë from HR will read every form.

    You give the training five stars and sign off your enthusiasm with 17 exclamation marks.

    You don’t even bother to check your PC on the way out. You just want to go home.

    You just want this nightmare to end.

    But it won’t end.

    Tomorrow is Thursday and you’re only 35.

    There will be many many more Thursdays.

    The alarm rings. Every single BEEP drilling it’s way into your skull. You reach out for the SNOOZE button. Just ten more minutes, please. Ten more minutes wrapped in the blanket not having to think about work.

    You hear the pings of a dozen WhatsApp messages flooding in. It’s over.

    You check the WhatsApp messages, bleary-eyed. You have 57 messages.

    It’s your team WhatsApp group. Eight of the messages are your eight teammates saying they are feeling sick today. The other 49 messages are everybody wishing everyone else “Take care sweetie” or “Get well soon babe.”

    You wonder why there is so much sickness amongst your team today. Perhaps food poisoning from yesterday’s pizza? But you’re fine…

    …then you remember. The big boss is visiting from HQ today.

    Another WhatsApp message. Someone is asking if you can help complete their report.

    You arrive at the office. Jack from IT accosts you at the entrance.

    He is holding a Sponsorship Form.

    Will you donate money for his current cause?

    You ask what it is.

    Jack says it’s to raise funds to help trans Somalian kids undergo gender realignment surgery.

    You don’t think it’s a good cause, but a group of colleagues stop by and all slap Jack on the back and say what a great cause it is.

    They look at you. They say they’re hoping for 100% participation.

    You donate $20.

    They tell you the minimum donation is $50.

    You donate $50.

    You approach your PC, warily.

    Miraculously… it works. You open Outlook with no issues.

    Due to being mostly offline for the last two days you have 2,407 unread E‑mails.

    Many have red exclamation marks in the subject title. Others are written in CAPITAL LETTERS.

    You settle in to confront the E‑mail tsunami.

    A bell rings. Someone shouts “Can I have your attention please?”

    The big boss walks into the office surrounded by a gaggle of excited-looking marketing girls in their 20s.

    You know this isn’t going to be good.

    The boss explains that she feels the office energy isn’t high enough. Something needs to be done to help increase output.

    So she has a fun new initiative that will be “rolled out” immediately.

    Everyone must stand up for the rest of the day. No more sitting down.

    She says she learned this during her MBA at Wharton.

    The marketing girls scatter and drag everyone’s chairs away.

    You try to hold onto your chair but the marketing girl stares you down.

    “It’s better for your health anyway,” she says. “Sitting is the new smoking.”

    You stand at your desk. Your hands cannot reach the keyboard so you hunch over to type.

    It hurts, but they told you that it’s healthy, so you don’t complain.

    You haven’t eaten alone all week.

    You promise yourself that today you will treat yourself to a nice burger… alone.

    You have a meeting and are the first to arrive in the meeting room.

    Everyone else starts appearing ten minutes late.

    Even though ten minutes late, they all laugh and chat and say “Oops, forgot my coffee!” They leave to get coffee.

    They all looove their coffee!

    The meeting starts 30 minutes later than scheduled.

    It’s a simple meeting. It shouldn’t take longer than 15 minutes. It’s simply to agree on the content of a new report. Yet there are 20 people in the meeting. Why?

    The organizer begins. She opens a PowerPoint.

    It has 70 slides.

    She reads through all 70 slides and it takes over an hour. She asks if there are any questions.

    A hand rises.

    “Should we really be using Helvetica font for this report?” says Jane from Finance.

    More hands rise. You never knew so many people had such strong opinions on fonts.

    You don’t understand what is happening. You don’t understand the direction the meeting is taking. You don’t even understand why all these people are here – giving an opinion.

    Even Maria the Cleaner is here. She doesn’t even use a PC but thinks the report will be better in Arial.

    Time passes. Two camps have formed: the pro-Helvetica & the pro-Arial. Voices are raised. Jane from Finance is crying. She says she is PASSIONATE about Helvetica and that this is REALLY important to her.

    You look at the report. It’s all numbers in Excel. It won’t even use a font.

    It is 3pm and the meeting finally ends after five hours.

    No conclusion has been reached except that a further seven meetings have been arranged and a committee will be formed to discuss appropriate font usage.

    You’re on the committee.

    You never had the chance to eat your burger.

    You grab a protein bar and a can of soda from the vending machine and return to your desk. Your chair is still gone so you have no choice but to stand while eating your snack.

    You throw the wrapper and empty can in the bin.

    Zoë from HR asks why aren’t you recycling your waste.

    The next hour passes uneventfully. You do your best to clear your E‑mails but it’s like chopping heads off a Hydra. Every time you clear one E‑mail, another four arise in its place.

    You gaze across at one of the twentysomething marketing girls and daydream about a different life.

    An E‑mail from Jack in IT drops into your inbox like a wet shit.

    In order to support his charity cause, he is suggesting that all the men come to work on Friday dressed as women. He says that it’s a chance to show you care and “walk a mile in HER shoes” and will be a lot of fun.

    The office is immediately excited.

    Everyone thinks it is a great idea.

    Someone suggests that the men should contribute a $10 donation to participate.

    Everyone thinks it is a great idea.

    Zoë from HR asks if you need to borrow a dress.

    Everyone thinks it is a great idea.

    You try to put the Fun Friday Activity out of your mind. You try to focus even though all around you are engaging in mundane chatter.

    1,000 more E‑mails to go. Nearly there.

    Your boss E‑mails. She’d like to conduct your annual performance appraisal since she’s in town.


    She asks you to write down all your strengths, weaknesses, objectives and targets for the past year and for the year ahead.

    She wants your objectives to be SMART. Apparently that’s an abbreviation for something. You Google it. You still don’t understand. It’s just buzzwords.

    It’s all so meaningless.

    It’s all so tiresome.

    Now you will definitely be in the office till at least midnight. The train stops at 11.

    You keep a small blanket & pillow in your drawer for such occasions. Tonight you will sleep under your desk. You’ve done it before. Many times.

    At least you can rest at the weekend.

    Although you’ll probably have to work on Saturday to make up for all the time lost this week.

    And Sunday is Family Day.

    Then it will be Monday again.

    You gaze at the marketing girl again.

    You’re 35. You have wasted your life.

    A group of colleagues walk past to leave and ask if you’re joining for Thursday drinks.

    You smile weakly and say you have work to do.

    “You shouldn’t work so hard.” says one. “Tomorrow’s Friday! TGIF!”

    Yes. Tomorrow’s Friday. So why does it still feel like Monday?

    The rosy fingers of dawn extend westward reaching you from your impromptu grief-hole that you made under your desk. You want to wash and clean yourself as much as possible in the toilets before anyone enters.

    The broom of Maria the cleaner nudges you awake. She laughs at you.

    You take off all your clothes and wash yourself naked in the All-Gender toilet with a tiny tiny hand soap hoping nobody will enter.

    You can’t brush your teeth so you steal one of the “welcome mints” from reception then scurry back to your desk.

    You get back to your desk just as the rest of the office arrives. You hear their noise before they arrive.

    Every guy is wearing a dress. They have promised to “walk a mile in HER shoes.” The white knights laugh at you like you’re a freak and ask why you’re not wearing a dress.

    This is for a good cause.

    It’s for trans Somalian kids.

    What the fuck is wrong with you?

    Zoë from HR has brought in her dead mother’s dress especially. She waves it in front of you. Everybody is clapping and cheering.

    They want you to wear the dress.

    “It’s Friday!” they shout.

    “Come on, bro!” yell some of the boys.

    “Are you afraid you’re fucking gay or what?” shouts the Head of Respect & Equality.

    You enter the toilet and wear the dress. There is a used tampon on the seat. You wonder if you need to stick it up your ass.

    You exit the toilet wearing a dress and a bloody tampon drilled up your anus.

    In your time at this company you have created a new database, hired a new overseas team, and upskilled two dozen interns. However, nobody has ever looked at you with the respect they give you now.

    You return to your desk. You only have five minutes before it is time for your performance review.

    You tried all night to think about objectives and goals. However all you want to say is that you just want to be left alone.

    If you’re just left alone you can do your job fine.

    (That’s all you ever wanted. You never bothered anything else. You only wanted to be left alone. Why couldn’t anyone understand that? You’re good at what you do. But nobody ever left you alone long enough to prove that. All you ever wanted was to work hard and do a good job.)

    The boss calls you into her office.

    She tells you to sit.

    She has heard many complaints about you.

    You used the wrong tone to HR Zoë.

    You raised your voice to a person of colour in IT.

    Your invoices are late.

    You lack team spirit. You tried to put a pizza through expenses.

    You try to explain. You hope she understands. She was promoted to this position, so surely she must be senior/experienced enough to understand that all complaints are multi-faceted? She went to Wharton?!

    You watch her pick her ear with a ballpoint pen.

    You realize you’re screwed.

    Your boss looks at you with the upmost seriousness.

    “I like you,” she says. “You have a lot of potential.”

    You nod, sensing the upcoming “but.”

    “But… you’re a smart guy,” she says.

    “But, but, but…”

    “You know how it is,” she says, with a smile…

    She’s really looking you in the eye now. You feel like you’re about to enter a special club.

    “There are many complaints. Many complaints. However, your work is good. Potentially you could get promoted.” She stares at you with a distant distant look.

    You don’t yet understand.

    “What? What do you need to do?” you exclaim. “I’ve been here for four years! I’m ready for upskilling!”

    Your boss shakes her head.

    “Oh, my sweet summer boy! It’s not a question of skills. You’re more than capable. But there’s a small problem…”

    She explains how you are a valued talent of the company.

    She emphasises how your skills are appreciated.

    However, she whispers, the company is committed to equity.

    Very very committed.

    She would love to promote you… but she only has quota for one female manager this year.

    Your boss stares you in the eye.

    “Do you understand what I am saying?”

    Before she can finish a girl from Marketing barges in and hands you a slice of Jane’s birthday cake. Jane from Finance is now vegan. The cake slice looks like your grandmother’s bowel cancer.

    The cake wiggles and squirms in front of you.

    “It’s a new kind of birthday cake,” your boss says. “No meat, no cruelty, just 100% kindness and a commitment to make the world a better place!”

    She stares at you. “Do you understand?” she says.

    You want to tell her how everyone is late for meetings.

    You want to tell her how it’s not your fault: It only works 50% of the time.

    You want to tell her how you have no time for work. You want to declare that this is not a #greatplacetowork but instead Hell on Earth.

    Your boss looks at you. She’s almost weeping. She has deep expressive feminine eyes.

    “Are you committed to gender balance?” she asks.

    “Yes,” you say.

    Your boss looks at you like a Grecian oracle.

    “We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “Are you a woman?”

    It’s 12pm.

    You’re hungry.

    You want to eat.

    You have ten years of Java coding experience but all that seems to matter is slicing your cock off and declaring yourself oppressed.

    You look around. The walls are covered in pride posters, asexual posters, bisexual posters, pansexual posters, every & all kinds of deviancy. Everyone has always hated you at your company but now they come to applaud. A mob of pink-haired weaklings carries you on their shoulders.

    Everybody is gathered around you now.

    Your boss. Zoë from HR. Maria the Cleaner. The brown fellas from IT. Everybody. How did they get a day?

    “Come out! Come out!” they say. “It’s National Coming Out Day!”


    You scream. You shout.

    “I’m not gay! I’m not gay!”

    “We can only offer this promotion to a woman,” she says. “Are you a woman?”

    It’s Friday afternoon.

    You think about the prospect of promotion and nod your head.

    You stare your boss in the eye.

    Finally, you feel that you are not fighting anymore. They offer you a seat in the pod. The marketing people offer a cake that wiggles and squirms in front of you.

    “I will not sit in a pod,” you type as your terrible terrible week throws you back into the repetition of last Monday.

    “I will not eat bugs!” you retweet as you find this 75-plus Twitter thread vaguely unsatisfying and see your media account dissolve and disappear forever.

    I WILL NOT LIVE IN THE POD!” you shout.


    I’m sorry. I can’t help you. You’re sitting in the pod. You’re eating bugs.

    You tried hard… but YOU ARE GAY!

    You click Retweet.

    TGIF. It’s Friday!

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2019.12.24 09:37. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

(UPDATED) The founder and host of the YouTube livestreams known as the Gaytriarchy, Sam Kehl, died in the most insipid and ignominious way possible in mid-December 2019 – by slipping in the bathtub and incurring a head injury.

Man with skin illustrations in hat and open shirt sings into microphone

Prince of Queens archives


Samuel Justin Kehl (1982–2019)

Man with beard and glasses in red windbreaker Sam Kehl, 37, died unexpectedly on Thursday, December 12, 2019. Born on February 2, 1982, he was predeceased by his father, Ted Kehl, and is survived by his mother, Marty McLaren, sister Catherine Kehl, sister Lauren Kehl, nephew Tracy Kehl Doran, half-sisters Aisling Darling and Mary Kehl, and surrogate sister Kye Bailey.

Sam was a talented songwriter, music producer, and dramatist, and produced a YouTube channel for the last four years as Prince of Queens. Although Sam sometimes provoked outrage in those who disagreed, he was also admired for his courage, originality, and wit. He cared intensely about his relationships and he was dearly loved and cherished by a wide circle of friends, family, and fans.

The foregoing posting appeared on Joe Clark’s personal Weblog on 2019.12.22 18:59. This presentation was designed for printing and omits components that make sense only onscreen. (If you are seeing this on a screen, then the page stylesheet was not loaded or not loaded properly.) The permanent link is:

← Later entries ¶ Earlier entries →

(Values you enter are stored and may be published)



First of all, this personal Weblog is on hiatus in 2020. (See Best postings)

Other reading

Topics of interest

Typography ⁓ graphic designTTCCanadian EnglishInversion

Archives by date

Just add /year/month/day/ to the end of site’s URL, blog.fawny.org. You can add just /year/month/, or just /year/, if you wish. Years are four-digit, month and day two-digit (with padding zero below 10). For example:

Archives by category

Copyright © 2004–2020

You enjoy fawny.blog

And, last but not least, I don’t like you, either.