watched a bunch of old, standard def, Spongebob episodes on a 4K HD TV last night and i loved seeing all the fried JPEGs they used for background objects, like these door handles.
like the pineapple in this screenshot probably looks pretty seamless on an SD TV but now it looks like an MS paint addition.
The company isn’t boasting about using cheap/unpaid/forced penal labor.
It’s a project offering voluntary employment opportunities with fair trade wages to incarcerated women, allowing them to amass decent savings and avoid recidivism (i.e., having to return to prostitution, drug muling, and the other poverty-related crimes as soon as their sentences are up, because they’re right back in poverty where they started).
No, it’s not the all-or-nothing Tumblr justice solution™ of magically abolishing the PIC overnight, but it’s a significant improvement over the literal slave labor most corporations employ, while raking in the entirety of a prisoner’s surplus and setting them up for recidivism.
Y'all….this isn’t slave labor the way the vast majority of prusin labor is. They have a 30 hour work week and pay their employees a LIVING WAGE. Also the company was founded after talking to women in prison about their lives and needs
this is probably a longshot but recently I read a poem titled something like “the last thing she sees”……. and its like. from the perspective of a bird on a birdfeeder in someones yard… and the bird is the last thing that sees the person alive before they pass away / the last thing the person sees but obviously the bird has no way of knowing that. anwyays like. i have been thinking about it for two days straight but like a fool i neglected to save it and so now here i am on tumblr dot com asking if youve heard of this poem
FOUND IT!!!!!!! it’s called “Please Read” by Mary Ruefle:
I am the yellow finch that came to her feeder an hour before she died. I was the last living thing she saw, so my responsibility was great. Yet all I did was eat. Through eight long months of winter the black oiled sunflower seeds had gone untouched—not a single one of my kind or any other kind had approached them. It was too much work. Even if we’d had the strength—which we did not, half-starved as we were—we were not in the mood to crack anything. On the morning of the twenty-second of April she took them away and refilled the feeding tube with sunflower hearts—sheeny niblets whose hard outer husk had been stripped away by some faraway, intricate machine. She went back inside and waited. From my branch I could see her do the things she liked to do—she picked up a towel from off the floor, she filled out a card stopping the mail, she boiled water, she stared into space. She saw me coming. Her face flickered with, if not exactly joy, the ordinary wellspring of life. It’s true there was a sheet of glass between us. But I could see the seeds of her eyes and the upturned corners of her mouth. I ate a heart. I turned my head. She looked at me as if I were the last living thing on earth. And as I was, I kept on eating.
“i fucked your wife”/“i’m having sex with your wife”/“i’m cucking you”: comedy
“i’m helping your wife with household chores”/“i’m taking your wife out to a nice dinner and show after she’s had a long day at work”/“i’m bonding with your children over family gatherings”: peak comedy
