G. SaDiablo
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sadiablo.bsky.social
G. SaDiablo
@sadiablo.bsky.social
Irritated neurodivergent introvert. Professional eye-roller. Cusses a LOT.
Y'all live in my diary.
ANYWAY....

[she/her]
Pinned
The most popular chip flavour is plain.

The most popular soda flavour is cola.

The most popular ice cream flavour is vanilla.

Conclusion: most people are boring as fuck.
So Dipshit just left DrunkAss here at the bar and we close in 15 minutes. Since DrunkAss can't take an uber (card overdrawn), what are the chances she can arrange a ride before we close?

(I'm betting on 0% chance.)
December 2, 2025 at 8:23 AM
The ding-y leading the drunk.
December 2, 2025 at 5:11 AM
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I don’t want to “create value for shareholders”

I want to live in a little wooden cottage deep in the woods beside a meadow with a babbling stream and gleaming rays of sunshine dressing the scene in gold, with animals of all kinds around me like I’m a disney princess.
December 2, 2025 at 4:53 AM
The alt text on this image is a thing of beauty.
*Tramping is hiking.

*Chook is the Kiwi/Aussie word for a hen or a chicken. Chooks is also the collective word for chickens (including roosters.)

*pīwakawakas are a type of fantail.
December 2, 2025 at 3:33 AM
Dibs on FUh Bah #2!
Tag yourself, I’m the two bathtubs in the laundry room
Oh shit waddup
December 2, 2025 at 3:29 AM
Never content to bleed from just one orifice, in addition to blood in my urine from passing a kidney stone I also swabbed a giant scab out of my ear today after my shower.

Damn I'm sexy. *snort*
December 2, 2025 at 3:06 AM
My jukebox jumped from "Hail thr Apocalypse" to "Spanish Caravan" by the Doors.

Thanks, brain. You motherfuckin' weirdo.
December 2, 2025 at 3:02 AM
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Courtesy of the Yale Center for British Art archives, John Constable's 1822 Cloud Study. Written on the back: "Sep 21 1822 past one o'clock looking South wind very fresh at East, but warm."
December 2, 2025 at 2:51 AM
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My newest creation is this fabric art, wintertide tree that I designed and hand-sewed. The ornament is a mild, almost ineffective charm that will help you receive a hot drink that's almost the perfect temperature. The charm will also give you slightly creepy dreams that feature cranberry goblins.
December 2, 2025 at 1:55 AM
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I want to be the scary guy at work
December 2, 2025 at 1:56 AM
Bookmark for me!
Was going to read this for the 5th (6th?) time but I don't feel like ugly crying in 3 days. complimentary AF.
highly rec The Quantum Magician btw. if you don't cry at the end we maybe can't be friends.
December 2, 2025 at 2:25 AM
I've been having thoughts about Sluttage (the state of being a slut) for, like, two weeks now and it's kinda pissing me off that they won't coalesce.
December 2, 2025 at 1:38 AM
🎵 ALL FLESH IS EQUAL WHEN BURNT 🎵
December 2, 2025 at 1:07 AM
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But… I thought we were trying. I liked that we tried. I thought we were trying as hard as a super power ever had. That we wanted to be better.

That meant something.

Gatsby’s green light and all that. Tomorrow we’ll run faster, stretch out our hand… so we beat on. Boats against the current.
December 2, 2025 at 1:04 AM
Was listening to "Hail the Apocalypse" and subconsciously making the benediction sign when I sang the chorus. lol.
December 2, 2025 at 1:04 AM
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by the way
December 2, 2025 at 12:39 AM
"Left" and "Right."

🎵 Cuz if the left don't kill ya, then the right one will! / Ya load 16 tons and whadda ya get?
I didn't name my fists anything.
December 2, 2025 at 12:22 AM
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We could be awash in eloquence. We could bask in magnificence.

Instead we *cringe*.
I will never forgive that tweet for suppressing my desire to talk like Sephiroth. I fuckin love talking like Sephiroth. I fuckin love calling people 'impudent.'
December 1, 2025 at 4:48 PM
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The ghost is often a manifestation of things we ought to know, but cannot interpret correctly. A failure of translation across time, across place. For few truly speak the language of mystery, the tongues of the dead. - Rev. Æthelstan Morley, Church of England ghost-layer
December 1, 2025 at 6:49 PM
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I just want to be rich enough that I no longer need to know what day it is.
December 1, 2025 at 11:27 PM
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the scraping of the snow shovel breaking up the quiet night
November 30, 2025 at 1:22 PM
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Absolutely abstruse and/or ridiculously recondite
November 30, 2025 at 10:24 PM
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Now comes a winter of ghosts and those beasts that live at the edges of fever when it has turned to shiver. In this season's shortened light, rain grows sharp teeth and wind becomes a spearpoint against bones. Even dawn seems reluctant to hoist hope high. – #DAKilroy, 1982 #Dawn
November 29, 2025 at 8:05 AM
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Goodnight from David Ash, the distortion pedal on his bass guitar arousing ire in every resident phantom at The Ice House nightclub. Goodnight from Ashcourt’s Meymott Street, its bruised tenements weeping new soot scar sigils under cover of power cut darkness. Goodnight from Hookland.
November 29, 2025 at 9:49 PM
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It's not pica if it's delicious.
November 30, 2025 at 3:18 AM