I don’ t know if I’ve told you this before, but I love this bit. Your commitment is unparalleled.

lol, yeah, that makes it even more clear

It’s from a lemmygrad user and posted in lemmygrad, so I think it’s safe to say it’s a joke. They’re riffing on the other instances wanting to defederate from us, when we all know that’s not gonna happen here

That’s terrifying. My family went to the Grand Canyon when I was a young teen and my brothers were even younger. They were romping around and I was sure one of them was going to die. That poor kid, and his poor family. I can’t imagine the absolute terror of watching your kid go over the edge.

Welcome!

I thought so, but I joined July 29, 2020, and that was just a couple days after the site launched, as I recall. I got lucky and saw a post about it on I couldn’t remember when CTH got banned, but I looked it up and it was June 29, 2020. So just under a month, I guess. I’m glad I missed the invitation to the discord though–every time I try to use that thing it just makes me sad and angry. It isn’t just not user-friendly, it’s designed to be actively hostile to people trying to use it, I swear.

Even our animal friends are tankies

Nice! I hope you’ll feel at home.

Internally, hexbear mostly consists of trans positivity and pictures of owls

I keep thinking the mismatch between perception and reality will stop being funny, but not so far!

I hope you’ll come hang out with us

We’re trained not to see the violence all around us, because we’re swimming in it all the time. Here’s a quote about the topic from Mark Twain that got me thinking years ago when I was starting to move left. Maybe it’ll speak to you too:

There were two “Reigns of Terror,” if we would but remember it and consider it; the one wrought murder in hot passion, the other in heartless cold blood; the one lasted mere months, the other had lasted a thousand years; the one inflicted death upon ten thousand persons, the other upon a hundred millions; but our shudders are all for the “horrors” of the minor Terror, the momentary Terror, so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of swift death by the axe, compared with lifelong death from hunger, cold, insult, cruelty, and heart-break? What is swift death by lightning compared with death by slow fire at the stake? A city cemetery could contain the coffins filled by that brief Terror which we have all been so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over; but all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that older and real Terror—that unspeakably bitter and awful Terror which none of us has been taught to see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.

I love Monty Python, but I’ll never forgive them for turning “Come and see the violence inherent in the system” into a joke. Dennis was spitting FACTS.

It’s a classic for a reason, baby! As a Midwesterner, I have no choice but to upbear the tater tot casserole

I hope you’ll come visit some of our less political comms and stick around. Honestly it’s the friendliest spot on the internet I’ve found.

The works of the roots of the vines, of the trees, must be destroyed to keep up the price, and this is the saddest, bitterest thing of all. Carloads of oranges dumped on the ground. The people came for miles to take the fruit, but this could not be. How would they buy oranges at twenty cents a dozen if they could drive out and pick them up? And men with hoses squirt kerosene on the oranges, and they are angry at the crime, angry at the people who have come to take the fruit. A million people hungry, needing the fruit—and kerosene sprayed over the golden mountains.

And the smell of rot fills the country.

Burn coffee for fuel in the ships. Burn corn to keep warm, it makes a hot fire. Dump potatoes in the rivers and place guards along the banks to keep the hungry people from fishing them out. Slaughter the pigs and bury them, and let the putrescence drip down into the earth.

There is a crime here that goes beyond denunciation. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that topples all our success. The fertile earth, the straight tree rows, the sturdy trunks, and the ripe fruit. And children dying of pellagra must die because a profit cannot be taken from an orange. And coroners must fill in the certificate—died of malnutrition—because the food must rot, must be forced to rot.

The people come with nets to fish for potatoes in the river, and the guards hold them back; they come in rattling cars to get the dumped oranges, but the kerosene is sprayed. And they stand still and watch the potatoes float by, listen to the screaming pigs being killed in a ditch and covered with quick-lime, watch the mountains of oranges slop down to a putrefying ooze; and in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.