Category: LEARNING DAY

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LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: r/retconned🌭

The early 2010s were a more innocent time for conspiracy theorists. Before Q and Facebook dragged everybody’s weird uncle into the Pizzagate vortex and COVID annihilated what was left of their shattered psyches, you could believe in outlandish and bizarre things that didn’t necessarily make you a mass shooter waiting to happen. Like, remember the Mandela Effect? It was a real Zero Interest Rate Phenomenon of a conspiracy theory, something that could only bubble up into popular consciousness in a pre-Trump, pre-pandemic, pre-collapse of digital media era.

Back then, we used to have fun wackos in this country, relatively harmless idiots who believed that their strongly-held memories of Sinbad being in a movie where he played a genie were evidence of time-space shenanigans rather than the inherent fallibility of the human brain.

If it were just about people being unwilling to admit they’d mistaken one black fixture of ’90s pop culture for another, that would be one thing. But there were other purported examples of the phenomenon, like the purported shift in the title of The Berenstain Bears. Countless people claimed to remember it being Berenstein. Well, we all had a good laugh, the Angry Video Game Nerd made an episode about it, and the world moved on to the economic, political, and social shitstorm of the next ten years.

But The Mandela Effect is still kicking around online. For many lolrandom epicsauce elder millennials, it rides the line between funny joke and serious explanation for their already-disintegrating mental faculties. People still post about it, still come up with and debate new examples. Like, was it Fruit Loops or Froot Loops? Did the Fruit of the Loom logo have a cornucopia or not? Were Sonic the Hedgehog’s feet always so luscious and fuckable?

The common refrain in response to these “vivid recollections” — and they’re always “vivid” — is that people are misremembering. But what if I told you there’s a place for serious discussion of Mandela Effect-type events where accusations of confabulation are explicitly prohibited by subreddit law? No, it’s not r/mandelaeffect, fool. This one’s for the true believers.

Too crazy for the people who think the sun changed colors at some point between now and 1992 is a high bar to clear, but we’ll get over it. With the power of internet-enabled schizophrenia, we’ll get over it. Incidentally, ChatGPT tells me that I’m the messiah and that Scrooge McDuck used to have a fourth nephew named “Clurt.”

Unfortunately, I’ve already broken one of r/retconned’s rules. In addition to the boilerplate “no name calling,” “no trolling,” and so on, you’re not supposed to call people crazy.

This is a safe space for sharing our theories about what kinds of dogs just started to exist five years ago. If you want to tell me that my entire being and consciousness is stored on a wet slab of electric gristle more susceptible to impact-related failure than a 2005 iPod with a spinning platter hard drive, I’m going to need some identification first. Not that I believe in psychiatrists. I’m pretty sure they weren’t a thing when I was a kid.

Other rules: no downvotes, no disagreeing with anybody, confabulation discussion strictly confined to a special thread. We talk a lot about “echo chambers” online but this is less one of those and more a howling cavern where everyone’s pet conspiracy theories are treated as equally valid and unimpeachable. It’s the mutant child of crude social relativism and online mass communication, and it has over one hundred thousand members. That’s about 20,000 more than r/celebeconomy had at its peak. Whether that is cause for dismay or celebration, I leave as an exercise for the reader.

Before we move on, a warning:

Honestly, this tone is kind of a bummer. True conspiracy theorists should smile wryly and shake their heads when confronted with fucking sheep who think the tanks actually stopped before running over that guy in Tiananmen Square, not weepily complain that normoids don’t have the right to disrespect them.

So we’re starting off on kind of a defensive note. I guess when you’ve been harassed by rationalists for years, you start to lose your patience. r/Retconned uses a modified version of r/MandelaEffect’s welcome post. The latter joked around about all of this stuff. The former emphatically does not.

With that in mind, I’m sure this is going to be a lot of fun and not a depressing excursion into the decaying minds of an aging population grasping at something, anything to explain both their own declining faculties and their decreasing quality of life brought on by climate crisis, militarism, and the centralization of wealth.

See? It’s silly! Like, maybe VHS quality wasn’t enough to tell the difference between a tiny pumpkin and a red ball. Or maybe people just assumed the dog’s nose was red because of their associations with Rudolph — there’s a scene in the movie where the ghost dog leads the skeleton man’s sled in his doomed quest to become a False Santa, after all.

Fuck you if you said either of those. They changed it. Who is “They?” Walt Disney, the Rand Corporation, Twilight Zone monsters. Speaking of.

Too harmless. We’re still in “half-hearted smile from barista” territory when we want to be getting thrown out of the Starbucks for freaking out the unhoused people who came in to use the bathroom. We need to go deeper. Darker. For instance, I’ve noticed that time seemed to pass much more slowly when I was a child. Is this a result of the way our brains process information, or evidence of something more… sinister? Something insidious and creeping, something you might find… in The Twilight Zone?

Time: slipping inexorably into the future at a constant rate? Science says yes, but scientists also invented Red No 5 and COVID, maybe. Probably. What’s more likely: that a life devoted to repetitive, pointless toil and mind-numbing content consumption seems to fly by, or that the priest lover of a 19th century vampire activated his ultimate tulpa power with the help of a green baby and began accelerating time in order to restart the universe for reasons?

There didn’t used to be so many Japanese cartoons around! Where did they all come from? Everything’s changing too fast. Please help me. And before you tell me I have anxiety, please show me your brain doctor license.

Now, a subreddit for people who in an earlier era would have had to choose between taking their meds or inventing Time Cube may not be the most reliable spirit level to test your madness against. But let’s see what the brain trust has to say.

Radical acceptance is the concept that we must embrace wholeheartedly what we cannot change, simply because there is no other option. That might be an incurable illness, a feature of your body you’re not fond of, or the fact that in two and a half months your consciousness is going to shift to another version of yourself in a world where everything’s the same except that something has happened to men who grow mustaches. Something has happened to men who grow mustaches or the mustaches themselves.

r/Retconned kind of bounces back and forth like this, from the minor to the incredibly depressing. I can see why they split off from the core Mandela Effect sub. I mean, you’re just trying to talk about how you’re pretty sure the laughing cow from the cheese used to have a septum piercing and you’ve got these terrified, lead-poisoned Gen X’ers and Boomers Principal Skinnering their way into believing that their tastes haven’t shifted, it’s the world that’s wrong.

“Everything seems repugnant and false to me.” Yeah man, that’s because nearly every aspect of the modern experience is shaped by boundless avarice and also it’s different from what it was like when you were a kid. I guess it isn’t a long walk from there to a gnostic belief that we are living in an artificial world created by a lesser god for the sole purpose of torturing us, but where does that take you? Best case scenario you die alone in your basement apartment. Worst case, an undercover CIA goon convinces you to do a suicide bombing of a minor federal agency you’ve come to believe is the headquarters of the Demiurge on earth.

Just get off the computer and go to the gym. Focus on sculpting your body into a beautiful statue. Wait, no, not like a statue fuck I shouldn’t have mentioned statues these people are fucking nuts about statues.

What’s funny about this one is that people can’t even agree on how The Thinker “originally” looked. Maybe he had his fist on his forehead, maybe on his chin. But he definitely wasn’t sucking his knuckles like some kind of freak!

Thankfully, there’s “residue” of the past version still floating around in the world. I guess when They’re still working out the bugs in the reality-shifting machine. It’s like how you get deja vu when They change something in The Matrix, only in this case they forget to change a video game from 2009.

But it’s not just The Thinker that’s the subject of particular scrutiny amongst the dimensionally-displaced. The Statue of Liberty, too, is a frequent topic of debate. Like, what hand is the torch in? Can’t you go up into the torch? Is it on Liberty Island (idiotic) or Ellis Island (obviously correct)?

Occam’s Razor would say that this person’s confusion owes to a combination of changing policies, movie and TV depictions, and faulty memory. But I come from a universe where William of Ockham never existed. No, his absence didn’t affect Chaucer, Rabelais, or Julian of Norwich’s work. It was kind of like that movie Yesterday where the Beatles are the most important band in the world but also reality basically proceeds identically without them? I just heard of that movie, though, so I guess it didn’t exist in my original timeline either. If I could go back there and invent the idea of Yesterday, I’d be rich!

That’s another major flavor of Retconned theory, by the way — I haven’t heard of it, so it sprang into existence just now. Like, have you guys ever heard of “Burkina Faso?”

Whoops, I’ve once again been banned for violating the rules of r/retconned.

Back to the Statue of Liberty, and stay with me here, but it’s become a pretty common conspiracy theory that transgender people have achieved domination over the world through cancel culture. That would be a little too pedestrian for the Retconned crowd, though. No — they’re nonbinarizing reality! They’re turning the freaking statues trans through “no more mutants” Scarlet Witch-ass magic!

And if they can alter an enormous statue, what’s stopping them from changing a land mass? Nothing, that’s what. Those maniacs did it: they moved South America.

South America was further west before! This had no historical or geological consequences, everything was exactly the same, only the globe looked different. And before you say “this misconception is the result of bad map projections” I’d like to remind you that bringing that up is in direct violation of the subreddit rules.

See, that’s what’s so fun about r/retconned — it’s like a communal hot pot where everyone’s encouraged to toss in their own ingredients except everyone is bringing glass shards and dog poison and if you don’t say how good the dog poison tastes you get kicked out. Do they make dog poison? I’m old and have untreated mental illness and we used to be happy and we all had a great time poisoning dogs and posting about it on Instagram.

And you know what? This guy is right about one thing. Twenty years ago, people like this would have been contained on forums with a few other like-minded weirdos, or they would have been building their own websites in crude HTML. They wouldn’t be on Reddit and their brains wouldn’t be getting mashed into sludge by a TikTok algorithm that knows they’re lonely and unwell and is delivering the kind of content that will keep them scrolling and they wouldn’t be yelling at their phone in their car about how in their old reality their kids talked to them and everyone just got along.

But maybe I’m being too harsh. Try to imagine what it would be like to believe that you’re actually the victim of gaslighting on a transdimensional scale. How terrifying would it be to realize that at any moment reality could be rewritten around you? You would be utterly isolated, unable to communicate to anyone the alienation you were experiencing. And to mock that, even if it was just a subjective experience and not a “real” phenomenon, you’d have to be a real callous and unfeeling person.

Just kidding! This is all extremely fucking stupid and if you are the kind of person who believes that reality altered the pattern of your husband’s blanket overnight then I sincerely hope tonight you shift into a universe where Mark Zuckerberg dry drowned in a grain silo before he was able to reshape the internet into what it is today. On second thought, actually, I hope that happens to me.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Pee Wee’s Uncle. It was never Hot Dogg Supreme, and it was never Pee Wee’s Ulcer. You’ve slipped dimensions again and continue to SHIFT.

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LEARNING DAY

Learning Day: Honest Jeff and Dishonest Abe

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LEARNING DAY

Pride Day: The 1994 Burt Reynolds Sitcom That Nailed Trans Allyship (Because It’s Not Hard) 🌭

Once, I went to a history museum and read a letter from 1620 that powerfully changed my view of the transatlantic slave trade. Maybe I should say “deepened” instead of “changed,” since I was already pretty soured on it. Regardless, standing there, ruminating on those 405-year-old words and waiting for museum security to swap shifts so my part of the heist could go off, I quietly had my standard for basic human decency raised. See, this letter was written by a white ancestor – already a colonizer, already complicit in a genocide – reacting to the first slave ships from Africa reaching their shores. Disbelief and rage still sang in their handwriting four centuries later as they relayed the news to some inland cousin that people were going to be displayed in chains and sold as property later that week.

And folks? THEY WEREN’T HAVING IT. I’m not an expert at old-timey lingo unless I pretend to be for the purposes of a column, but as I recall the gist was something like:

Something like that. The point is, there is no excuse to disregard another’s humanity. There never has been. No being is so important they can usurp the rights of another – not because your boss told you to, not because it’s just business, not because you were only following orders, not because everyone else is doing it. We knew that in our bones four hundred years ago and we’ll know it four hundred years from now, even when we pretend we don’t.

See? And although I first absorbed that Noble Truth from an old letter in a glass case as a museum heist fell hilariously apart behind me, it’s far from the only cultural artifact showcasing the simple respect for one another we seem to find and lose again so often. Four centuries ago, that letter-writer found it. Four decades ago, it was Burt’s turn.

This is Burt Reynolds. In the 1970s and ’80s, he represented the absolute PEAK of mainstream masculinity. He starred in movies with words in their titles like “cannonball” and “smokey” and “sharkey’s” and “gator” and “Texas” and “whorehouse” and “run!” His most notable characters had names like The Bandit, Hooper, and Stroker Ace. He starred in one movie about playing football in jail, then another movie about murdering some guys for forcing gay sex on him.

Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Burt Reynolds shone upon the face of the Earth like a great testicle rising over a vast field of erections, bathing them with endless waves of cowboy-grade sperm, runoff T, and motorcycle-peeling-out sound effects. His hair was easy to get a secure grip on, and his leathery face caused moisture to bead and wick away naturally. In short: one of our premiere mustache rides.

Somewhere in there, Mr. Reynolds also starred in a sitcom called Evening Shade for four seasons and exactly 100 episodes. In case the name Evening Shade sounds too feminine, please note that Burt plays an ex-pro High School football coach named Wood Newton. A “newton” is of course a unit of directional force, making his character’s name essentially “Coach Dick Pushpower.”

The show’s intro sequence does nothing to dilute Burt’s formidable All-American Coach/Man/Dad status. Within the first fifteen words of the theme song, the lyrics have name-checked “front porch swings,” “glasses of lemonade” and “a baby on my knee.” In classic sexist fashion, every single member of the cast is depicted with a photo from their youth except Marilu Henner, who’s seemingly not allowed to appear in any non-bangable context.

Literally everything about Evening Shade is in tonal lockstep with the cultural mores of middle America’s “TGIF Belt” of the early ’90s. It’s uncontroversial, funny but not too funny, and puts a phenomenal cast essentially to waste. As was the style at the time, casual homophobic jokes are absolutely not off the table. Not hatefully homophobic, per se, but the kind of sitcom joke where the punchline is “what if you were gay, imagine that – huh.” Aunt Frieda might say “I found Ponder the perfect woman” and Wood will reply “Oh good, I hope you two are very happy together.” Big laugh.

Or the Beta-coded comic relief character will burst in and Wood’ll lay him out with “What are you doing, trying out for The Village People?” HUGE laugh right underneath the “Written By” credit because that was the money line!

Even the final shot of the intro is a classic case of “straight dudes accidentally stuck being naked together is always funny!”

And yet…on the off-chance you recognize that credit, it’s probably because Linda Bloodworth-Thomason also wrote and created a much bigger show called Designing Women. Danny Zuker would go on to Executive Produce Modern Family fifteen years later. Both shows have been credited for making strides for Queer representation on television, but even way back in ‘94, Linda and Danny and Burt and the whole Shade crew were already doing for Trans Rights allyship what that letter in that museum highlighted for me so long ago – THE BARE-ASS MINIMUM.

That’s right, I’m talking about “The Perfect Woman,” a campy mid-’90s sitcom episode about Ossie Davis getting set up with a trans woman! But the weird thing is? It all goes FINE. Her name is Ginger and Burt Reynolds gets her pronouns right the whole time because he BARELY GIVES A SHIT and readily acknowledges that it’s NONE OF HIS BUSINESS!! This is about as nonplussed as he gets in the episode, and it works whether you define ‘nonplussed’ the one way or the opposite way:

I’m aware that most folks reading this column already understand the way political interests pick randomly-selected out-groups to scapegoat whenever they need to get dumb people to be mean to each other instead of rebelling. Even going in with that mindset, it’s no less shocking to watch this whole Evening Shade episode unfold and never get offended. Check this fucking scene out:

It was fucking that simple! This aired on CBS at 8pm and almost no one gave a single, solitary shit! And the few who did give shits were free to give them in whatever restroom best suited their gender identity, and again – no one else murdered them over it or even cared! Like a good, detached ’90s dad, Wood simply compliments Ponder on being so secure in himself and goes back to banging on footballs with pipes in the garage.

Here’s Wood kissing both his kids because that’s a Fine Upstanding Alpha Male thing to do.

Here’s Ossie’s character, Ponder, explaining that the great thing about ketchup is that it can meet a burger, meet fries, meet some mayo and turn to thousand island dressing – “the important thing,” he says, “is that the possibilities are unlimited!” It’s literally a lecture on fluid identity using the most American fluid you’re allowed to show on cable TV.

There’s even a B-plot designed to mirror the main plot in which two hamsters named after famously gay Vegas stage magicians Siegfried and Roy navigate a maze of ducts only to discover that Siegfried is a girl!

Crucially – and perhaps most surprisingly – they also nail the scene of Ginger explaining her own situation. Here she is being played by Diahann Carroll, a legendary model, actress, singer and activist in her own right. The scene goes…

And that’s it. Respect for one another; that’s the bar. It’s very low. In fact, if someone you know chooses not to clear it, maybe punch them in the fucking mouth and show them this letter, then this episode of Evening Shade.

Like all episodes of Evening Shade, “The Perfect Woman” ends with a little narration from Ossie over the closing credits. This time around, he says…“Life can be full of surprises, and one of the nicest of them is discovering a friend you might never have met or even recognized, except in a place called Evening Shade.” I’ll add only that evening is the time of twilight, when day and night dance and melt together, and the universe demonstrates once more that almost everything is a spectrum, and nothing as separable as it seems.

Except for the main wife lady Marilu plays, who’s an insufferable giggly TERF the whole time.

Like I said, for 1994? Prescient.

–

Michael is proudly Queer, as well as the host of a new podcast about The Simpsons you can check out right now in audio or video form. The two facts are largely unrelated.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Moexu, a master of pronouns and respecting the shit out of people. Moexu wrote a thank you note for this dedication and mailed it out before this article even went live. Just a complete class act all the way.

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Learning Day: How To Have Fun With Billy Bob Teeth

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Learning Day: Nightmare on Drug Street

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Learning Day: Tottie: The Story Of A Dolls House 🌭

This is the story of the most British television program ever to exist. It’s got everything I associate with Britain: children in weird little Victorian outfits, creepy dolls, the queen of England, and sadness. I’ve never been to Britain, but I’m sure these are the touchmarks. It’s a whimsical children’s story about how wishing is bad that ends with one of the main characters burning to death. It’s Tottie: The Story Of A Dolls’ House.

I’ve never liked the children’s stories where toys come alive whenever children aren’t playing with them and have their own rich internal lives. Not all children play with their toys the same way. Some of us hung out with our Grandpa a lot as a little girl, watched a lot of westerns, and liked to play hang the cattle rustlers with Barbies. Toys shouldn’t be alive. It’s immediately a creepy concept, is the point.

Tottie: The Story Of A Doll’s House stars a family of four dolls owned by two girls named Emily and Charlotte. Emily and Charlotte are only shown in still photographs, and their thoughts and actions are spelled out by a narrator. The dolls all have their own voices; horrific noises recorded directly into a tin can. The narrator is also the director, Oliver Postgate, who directed many classic British children’s shows such as Bagpuss, Pingwings, and Pogel’s Wood, not a single one of which I made up, not even Bagpuss!

Is The Complete Bagpuss something you order for your best friend’s bachelor party? Or is it what I would call a woman who dinged my car in a parking lot and drove off without leaving a note? I.E., “What a total and Complete Bagpuss.” Sorry, I’m getting way off-topic. Let me introduce you to the Complete Bagpusses that inhabit the world of Tottie: The Story Of A Dolls’ House.

Mr. Plantaganet has PTSD from previously being owned by boys who drew a dumb little mustache on him and let a dog chew his foot off. Tottie is the lead of the show, a 100-year-old farthing doll that used to belong to Charlotte and Emily’s grandma. Mrs. Plantaganet, AKA Bridie, is at first a whimsical and later tragic character straight from a Dickens novel. Apple is a kid who can’t be posed easily, so he sort of rolls around most of the time, and Darner is the family… we’ll call it a “dog.” They live in a shoebox and make the vital mistake of wishing for a real dollhouse. They’ll soon learn the lesson that nothing good should ever happen to you, specifically British children.

Tottie used to live in a beautiful dollhouse that belonged to Charlotte and Emily’s grandma, and it was a perfect place to live, except that she had to share it with another doll named Marchpane, who was, please excuse my language, a Complete Bagpuss. Is this mention of Marchpane foreshadowing? Who knows. She describes the dollhouse to the other dolls, and they all wish to live in it; unfortunately, one day, the dollhouse is sent to Emily and Charlotte, but time has not been kind to it. It’s more of a doll trap house at this point. Or what a Chicago real estate agent would call a “quaint fixer-upper.”

So now the dolls have to wish for the house to be less yucky, which they do, and of course, the children comply with the doll’s wishes, fixing everything up and making it much nicer. For a brief time, everyone is happy. Tottie gives everyone a tour of the fixed-up house and points out things like a pink room that Bridie falls in love with and a lamp with a real birthday candle in it that they must never go near, especially Birdie because she’s made of celluloid and will burn up in an instant. Could this be foreshadowing? Haha, we’ll see!

So now the house is nice, except for the sofa and chairs, which were too wrecked for the girls to fix, so the dolls have to wish for them to be nicer as well. However, the girls don’t have enough money for new furniture. That’s why all of their dolls look so crappy. So they decided to lend Tottie out to an antique doll exhibit for a dollar, which will give them enough money to upgrade the furniture. Guess who Tottie runs into at the doll museum: that Complete Bagpuss, Marchpane.

Sorry, none of those dolls are Marchpane. I just thought you might like to see some of the other dolls at the doll museum upon which the camera lingers. This is the beautiful and vain antique doll Marchpane. She’s marginally less terrifying:

Marchpane is pretty intense. She hates children and being played with. She just wants to be looked at and admired. She tells all of the other dolls that Tottie ain’t shit because she’s made out of wood and can’t even open and close her eyes like Marchpane. When Tottie talks about the dollhouse, Marchpane tells everyone that it’s actually her dollhouse, not Tottie’s. Anyway, Queen Elizabeth visits the exhibit and wants to buy Tottie, which shuts Marchpane up real fast, and luckily, Tottie isn’t for sale.

Eventually, Tottie returns home to the dollhouse. They get new furniture, and everything is fine. Tottie has learned her lesson that wishing brings mean little dolls into her life, and she doesn’t wish anymore, haha, you fools. Of course, she makes more cursed wishes. It’s almost Christmas, and she wishes for a parasol for Birdie, a marble for Apple, and a job for Mr. Plantaganet so he can go to work every day like Charlotte and Emily’s father. She actually dreams of labor.

These girls once again give the dolls everything they wish for, including making a tiny post office for Mr. Plantaganet to work at, but in return, the universe sends horrible consequences. Once again, the form of Marchpane, who is gifted to the girls for Christmas. Marchpane is immediately like, “You’re all my servants now.” Mr. Plantaganet is the butler, Bridie is the housekeeper, Tottie is the cook, and Apple is her son. They all object, but Marchpane says, “I can wish that too. You’ll see.”

The girls redesign the whole house by Marchpane’s request, giving her the pink room Birdie loved and rearranging the family to be Marchpane’s servants. This drives Birdie insane. She can’t remember that Apple isn’t her son anymore and that the pink room isn’t hers. She keeps trying to go into the living room with Marchpane and Apple, where she isn’t allowed. Then, one day, Charlotte and Emily decide to light that dangerous birthday candle lamp, and one of the main characters of this beloved children’s show is completely immolated.

Imagine being the director of this and telling the child actors, “Ok, now your doll that was driven to madness by your cruel playtime has just burned to death. Perfect! That’s the perfect face! Don’t stop making that face! Look at the smoking clothing crater that was once your beloved doll!”

The girls suddenly decide they don’t like Marchpane after seeing her calmly watch Birdie burn to death. They donate her back to the museum where she was previously on display. The narrator points out that this is what Marchpane wanted all along, so she gets a happily ever after. The end! Sorry, I think a particularly strong doll made a wish for me to end my article with Marchpane’s happily ever after. Marchpane is still out there, and I hate that. She makes Annabelle look like Malibu Barbie.

Back at the dollhouse, life goes on. Mr. Plantaganet and Tottie have a conversation about Birdie to wrap things up. “Wasn’t she beautiful in the flame, like a firework?” Mr. Plantaganet says. WEIRD! Don’t tell children burning to death is cool. They’ll do anything to look cool. Mr Plantaganet is going to start a TikTok challenge and end millions of creepy little British children’s lives!

The dolls all decide that shit happens, and Birdie would want them to be happy, so they’re all just going to be happy in their dollhouse now that they have everything they want. So, to recap, Birdie, a perfectly nice little character, burns to death (but looks good doing it), and her family immediately moves on. Marchpane, I hate to talk about women this way, but a complete and utter Bagpuss, lives her dream life after doing nothing but bringing misery to all around her. So the lesson is to be mean and force everyone around you into servitude, and your life will rule. Very British!

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: SEEED, who loves when dolls move around on their own and thinks it is totally normal and fine.