Gravity Falls Doodles!!

I dont fuckin knows!!!!!!!!

--Hey, didja hear what happened to Brett?

--No, tell me!

--Well, last night, some assholes came out to his dock and ripped off his Johnson.

--What?! Is he gonna be okay?

--Yeah, he was in bed, he slept through the whole thing.

--How can someone sleep through getting their Johnson ripped off?

--Yeah, he's a pretty heavy sleeper, I guess.

--That's... so weird. But is he gonna be okay?

--Oh, he's not hurt at all. They never even came in the house.

--Wait, what?!

--They didn't actually make much noise. But now he needs to borrow your truck.

--To go to the hospital?

--Huh? No, to pick up his spare.

--His spare what?

--His spare Johnson. It's in his shop.

--Okay, why are you messing with me like this?

--What! He's got his spare Johnson up at his shop. He just needs your truck to bring it down here.

--He needs my truck. To pick up his spare Johnson. And attach it, right? After getting his original Johnson ripped off, and he didn't even wake up... or bleed out! Look, what the...

--Well, they didn't actually rip it off, I meant he got ripped off. They had tools, and they unbolted it from the back of the transom.

--...Transom??

--Yeah, you know, the board at the back of the skiff? Where the motor sits?

<long pause>

--You're talking about an outboard motor. A fucking Johnson brand outboard fucking motor.

--Uh, yeah? What did you think I was talking about?

Him an angy boi, so, so angy!

"That bastard Liutprand, who I'm NOT done with" -OSP Blue, on the Overly Sarcastic Podcast.

Chibi portrait by OSP Red @comicaurora

“I will always be on the side of those who have nothing and who are not even allowed to enjoy the nothing they have in peace.”

— Federico García Lorca

The Croaker's Revenge

The Croaker will be present at Dashcon 2, and will guard the ballpit, after a fashion… but nobody will notice or recognize them. Many cosplayers will attend as the Croaker, but none will be @the-muppet-joker, not even the one in full purple-leisure-suit Joker cosplay, with a Kermit puppet fastened to his fly like a codpiece.

@strange-aeons will be there, in full Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven-Way cosplay, guarding the ballpit and posing for mock battle photos with Brotherhood cosplayers, but nobody will claim to be the actual Muppet Joker. Things will be whispered into Master Strange's ear, but they will mostly be along the line of what a lovely couple she and her wife make. Perhaps Master Strange will lean down to hear one person whisper, "I think he's here," and she will turn around, but she will not be able to tell who she was leaning down to listen to.

The ballpit will be a hit. Not as big as the raccoon talk given by @raccoonmilf, but the organizers, @dashcon-two, knew that if they were going to have a ballpit, they'd have to go big and make it as nice as possible, and the party supply company will deliver the perfect thing. Among other activities, getting selfies with Homestuck cosplayers reenacting their time in the original Dashcon ballpit will be popular.

Nobody will urinate in the ballpit.

Nobody will think very hard about how the laconic, sullen young person in a polo shirt and work slacks, who set up the ballpit alone and unassisted, had bright green hair.

Nobody will think very hard about how this green-haired young person spent every day of the convention posted up against a wall in view of the ballpit, scrolling on their phone, not interacting with anyone.

Nobody will realize until after the con, that the party supply company did not contract to set the ballpit up for the organizers, or to provide a maintenance person for it.

Nobody at the party supply company will care, when the Dashcon 2 organizers tell them that whoever initially signed for the ballpit wasn't event staff. Nor will they have any idea who actually did sign for it.

After the con, everyone will assume that the young green-haired nonbinary person, who set up the ballpit and spent the entire con leaning on the wall in view of it, scrolling on their phone, will pack up the ballpit and load it into the party supply company's truck, but in fact, the ballpit will still be standing, quite abandoned, and the green-haired one will have vanished without a trace. Eventually, the organizers will find badge details matching the green-haired one in their records: a standard visitor pass with no special privileges, under the name of "John Smith."

After the con, over the next few weeks, the repercussions will start to become apparent. Bit by bit, the Croaker's devious, twisted, insane, magnificent, hilarious plan will come to fruition before the eyes of an astonished and terrified Tumblr community, and the Croaker will have revenge upon all of us.

YOU are the Snowflake of whom the Prophecies foretold!

Blitzø: Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Adrealphus: I assure you, that is not possible.

Being German-American, I don't much like the stereotype of Germans as excessively regimented and organized. So I prefer to believe that Liesl's extensive lists and spreadsheets are actually a carefully-crafted manipulation technique, designed to leverage that stereotype into a way to demoralize any opposition to her plans. It's her version of "I can do this all day."

Liesl isn't, actually, an organization freak. If you pay close attention, she turns out to be an adept at retaining facts and knowledge, extrapolating from observational data, and determining optimal solutions. She's a theorycrafter and a logician.

Except for her own personal goal, of course. She's not entirely sane about that, but understandably so.

I imagined a dyscalculic child, who isn't getting any help or support in learning math, nobody understands that they just don't get it...

Nobody understands that the child tries to solve math problems by making up stories about the numbers and operational symbols, fascinating, beautiful mythical or fairy-tale stories, and "drawing" the ending of the stories where the solutions should go.

Every math problem is a hypothetical situation involving stock characters, and the child believes they have to parse exactly what the situation is supposed to be, given the limited "shorthand" consisting of numbers and operational symbols and the arithmetical frameworks, and work out what the result would be.

And nobody, or almost nobody, ever gets to hear the stories.

I call the seagull Frank Abigull, Jr.

He walks around the cruise terminal with one wing folded up crooked, so the wingtip sticks out and nearly drags on the ground. He looks like he has a broken wing.

If I eat on a seagull's patch, I'll share. I'm that used to paying rent for every damn thing. Same for crows.

Anyway, I don't know if his wing was ever really broken or not, but when he needs to, Frank can fly just fine.

It may be that he's learned to drag his wing in order to con the tourists and event-goers.