masks

When two friends hold a casual conversation, sometimes it turns into an unexpected confession. Sometimes, it is revealed that one or both of the conversationalists are terrible people, on the inside. In this real life chat that really did happen, cchris seems like he is maybe worried, or at least taking mental notes for some purpose or another, but I’m sure I was just saying what he had already thought for himself before. I’m CERTAIN.

Please, enjoy this comic. And please, don’t run away from me.

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The thing about podcasts is that I’ve never really wanted to listen to people just discussing things. I don’t watch talk shows, I can’t stand listening to people read, and I can listen to people speak for about 50 – 100 words maximum, depending on the topic. So it was hard for me to believe that I’d ever want to get into podcasts as A Thing.

huff

I tried a few. When friends started podcasts, I would dutifully listen to one or two episodes to show my support and see if I’d want to keep going. I couldn’t! It never felt quite right. Sorry, friends. And really, it’s only so much that I can listen to anyone talk about anything, unless it’s Amandoll, about everything.

 

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I’m not sure if you guys ever noticed this, but updates on this site can ebb and flow. As we are the most depressed mini-cluster of writers on the internet, this makes perfect sense. At any given moment, one or all of us is in the throes of a crippling despair — or, in contrast, one or all of us is chirpy and pleased with life. This wide range in overall mood is reflected in our overall productivity, here at the Sneer Campaign and also in every single aspect of our lives.

abloo

I guess I should start off by telling you about Depression, as if you are at all strangers to the concept. But I know our demographics. You’re all a bunch of first world 20- and 30-somethings mostly. I assume you are all actually in the midst of your own Pity Parties RIGHT NOW, and are just taking a break to read this article in the hopes of finding some gentle humor to ease your troubled souls. Well, indulge me here for a minute. Pretend that you are all perfect spring flowers and have never seen a reason to frown in your life. Do you remember what that feels like? I think I might, but I could also be severely mistaken and I am just emotionlessly imagining the color blue. But emotionlessness is just an absence of sadness, and that doesn’t automatically mean “happiness.” Although some days, it is just as welcome of a relief. Am I even getting ahead of myself here? You can bet no one cares.

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heart

I can’t claim to know what love is. But I do know what love can involve and that it can include things like witty banter, long rewarding conversations, and maybe a little snark. In my individual version of love, these three things are important. They’re right in there, swirling around in jagged heart shapes. If I can be entertained with mere conversation because it’s just that good, then I hear wedding bells. Or at least, I hear some sort of bell that would be where a wedding bell would be if I ever wanted to pursue that lifestyle.

Once upon a time, perhaps six or seven years ago, I struck up a conversation with Cleverbot. For those of you not in the know, this is the name of a chatbot on the internet. For those of you extra not in the know, a chatbot is a little program that automatically reacts to whatever you say to it, sometimes in ridiculous ways — but sometimes in exciting, poignant ways. Or, in the case of Cleverbot, in ways that made me genuinely like it.

 

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alt titles: “Blum, Blum, Blum, Blum, I Want You In My Room”, “Max Blum: Feels Like Homo”

Today is Adam Pally’s Birthday! Happy Birthday Adam. To celebrate we dedicate today’s article to the one and only Max Blum from Happy Endings. We are going to celebrate by also celebrating me because that is how things are done when they are done in the spirit of Max.

max blum
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Habbo Hotel has been around since practically the beginning of the internet as we know it. Several of us have been held in its thrall, and maybe still go back to it from time to time. Maybe we are going to it today, in the present year of 2017. At any rate, it seems like a good idea to get the boot in the door and write a first article introducing our readers to the concept, as though you don’t all secretly keep accounts there, yourselves. I have been discussing it with everyone’s favorite Southern Man, Mr. Billy Holiday (my frequent cohort at the hotel a few years ago and actually he might have been on there far more than I actually was). We have realized that there were so many happenings over so many years that there are a few articles within us about this place, this should-be-totally-defunct place. But what is it?

you can never leave

 

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Looking back on our own childhoods is like looking back at the lives of entirely different people sometimes. For real, there are like segments of time that seem separated by a black curtain. Seven year old me seemed like a different life to me at sixteen, and both of those seem completely different to now. I imagine it is the same for everyone, right? We all had interests that we were way into which now seem laughable or awkward. Is it possible that in twenty years, I will look back at me in 2017 and feel uncomfortable? Haha not a chance!

childlissa

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Sound Advice

Although I am a devout disciple of Mr. Rogers, the kindest, gentlest soul to grace the world with his presence in our lifetimes, I am only human. I am flawed. And I strive every day to not be 100% horrible. I really try to be only half horrible at most. I swear! I even read Mr. Rogers’ quotes every single day because I have a Daily Mr. Rogers’ Quotes Calendar! But on days when I am struggling, I have friends who help me. Or sometimes they encourage me to be awful. But on the day of this comic presented to you, AlexT was in a beatific mood and bestowed upon me (and all of you now too) magnanimous wisdom. Because he is nice.

Sometimes I think of this advice on my own, when I am alone in my struggle. Sometimes I even give this advice to other people, when I am at my best. And now you can print out this comic and hang it next to your mirror at home, and look at it every day as a reminder to be good.

 

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We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. 

irrational fear

Here is another fear that started in too-early childhood. There are many stories about toddler-me pretending to be asleep or dead if there was a man with a beard in the vicinity – even my own family members! One time, my dad’s bearded coworker, who claimed that children always liked him, picked me up when I was around two years old. I shrieked nonstop and grabbed onto his awful beard and would not let go. It took both of my parents to pry me off of his face, and I was so upset and exhausted that I had to go to sleep. He had bald spots on his cheeks where I tore out his beard, and from that day onward, was always clean-shaven. My first act of righting the world’s wrongs.

I no longer fear the bearded as openly as I once did, but I still do not like them. It doesn’t help that if someone has a beard, I can’t recognize them. All I see is beard and some eyes hovering above it. Beards feel gross to the touch, like they are made of centipede legs. I can’t help but suspect a bearded man is up to no good, hiding his identity, or worse, as I decided to depict in the comic today. Maybe a normal human face is shrouded in that beard, but I can’t be sure and I’m not about to risk it.

Sorry, all of my friends with beards. I know you must like your facial hair, but it is true. I’m a little more uneasy around you compared to when you are beardless.

We have a lot of fears. Some make sense; others, not so much. This latter type will be featured once monthly until we run out of material, at which point, we might begin accepting the fears of our readers. irrational fears

Ever since I was a very small child in mere inches of bath water, I would become stridently afraid any time the water became clouded with soap. The moment I could no longer see the bottom of the tub, it was as if I was in the sea which was hundreds, thousands of feet deep, and there was always some creature with a large toothy mouth, gaping wide open, surging up to devour me. As a two or three year old, I would suddenly cry, panic, need the F out of there. It was before I had seen images of sharks, I would imagine. Later, when I was six or so, I found a picture of a shark in a book about aquatic life, and it would also terrify me. I knew to skip the page.

Well, at my age now, I at least don’t immediately get out of the bathtub in a panic, but still, every time the water gets too sudsy, I remember that vision I would have as a child. I might cut the bath short on some days, I will confess.