Using the same sickly sweet gif over and over too
Jack Monroe #60 Everything I do, I do it for ... ME!
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This gif is up there with that frigging woman spitting out her drink in rage-inducing internet tropes for me.Using the same sickly sweet gif over and over too
Oh it's much worse than the lady spitting tea, I think. The faux cutesy thing really gies me the dry boak, esp when used by, you know, adults.
Some gems/horrors -
The whole 'you should write short stories' thing makes me laugh (mirthlessly). If she actually went to any decent creative writing class (which she wouldn't because she knows everything about everything and couldn't be taught), the first thing they'd attempt to do is get her to stop writing in her horrifically flowery, overblown language.
Unless she writing the next Jackie Collins arent they all about quivering thighs and moist skin and trembling members
Jack's short story. I'm really bored at work lmao.
Jak trudged her weary feet through the dreary supermarket, her heart aching with the guilt of a million evil goblins, due to her severe misfortune.
"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered at the vicious, classist, mean cashier. Who had rudely enquired why Jak's trolley was groaning with the weight of one hundred tins of beans. Each tin was to represent her loneliness, she was to pile each one up, photograph the rich shadows cast across woody surface of her sideboards, watch the dark envelope the light, nothing had been the same since she left.
She left.
Loneliness, Southend.
It still sent shivers of sadness throughout her despondant might, but yet, she was hopeful.
"Hello love, you're that Jak Mulrow off the Twitter, aren't you love," a lecherous old man leered in her ear, she received the hated looks and comments every day. Why her? She couldn't help being such a pixie, it was so unfair, so sad, so tragic.
"Leave me alone, thankyou!" she screeched, her foot making contact with the dull thud of a solid shin.
And then.
Her saviour. The shop's fluorescent light bathed her skin with an ephremal glow, her hair more red than fox's tail, her eyes flashing with rage. She grabbed Jak by her waif-like arm. They ran together, through the crowded aisles, her soft fingers pulling her along past the bottled lemon, the mint/parsley/rosemary combination, and then through the door. They still ran their fingers entertwinned, Jak shocked at the beating of her hopeful heart and how she felt alive!
"I didn't introduce myself," her hidden saviour said once they had finally stopped their swift escape. "I am Mary Portas. And you are the most beautiful, smart, deserving woman in the world. I have admired you since your potatoes."
And they forever scampered across each other's dear hearts, never cycling, and went to many outdoor festivals in the beautiful five bedroom cottage they crowd funded.
Fin. x
Jak trudged her weary feet through the dreary supermarket, her heart aching with the guilt of a million evil goblins, due to her severe misfortune.
"You wouldn't understand," she whimpered at the vicious, classist, mean cashier. Who had rudely enquired why Jak's trolley was groaning with the weight of one hundred tins of beans. Each tin was to represent her loneliness, she was to pile each one up, photograph the rich shadows cast across woody surface of her sideboards, watch the dark envelope the light, nothing had been the same since she left.
She left.
Loneliness, Southend.
It still sent shivers of sadness throughout her despondant might, but yet, she was hopeful.
"Hello love, you're that Jak Mulrow off the Twitter, aren't you love," a lecherous old man leered in her ear, she received the hated looks and comments every day. Why her? She couldn't help being such a pixie, it was so unfair, so sad, so tragic.
"Leave me alone, thankyou!" she screeched, her foot making contact with the dull thud of a solid shin.
And then.
Her saviour. The shop's fluorescent light bathed her skin with an ephremal glow, her hair more red than fox's tail, her eyes flashing with rage. She grabbed Jak by her waif-like arm. They ran together, through the crowded aisles, her soft fingers pulling her along past the bottled lemon, the mint/parsley/rosemary combination, and then through the door. They still ran their fingers entertwinned, Jak shocked at the beating of her hopeful heart and how she felt alive!
"I didn't introduce myself," her hidden saviour said once they had finally stopped their swift escape. "I am Mary Portas. And you are the most beautiful, smart, deserving woman in the world. I have admired you since your potatoes."
And they forever scampered across each other's dear hearts, never cycling, and went to many outdoor festivals in the beautiful five bedroom cottage they crowd funded.
Fin. x
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OMG, please let’s not have Amanda Palmer and Jack strike up a social media friendship, the world won’t be able to cope with that particular combo of grifting mega-narcs.
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Don't give her ideas for her next sticky chicken recipe!Unless she writing the next Jackie Collins arent they all about quivering thighs and moist skin and trembling members
It seems Jack did try a photography career. Everyone called her Mel - and she did some commissions, for Essex Pride, etc, and local things with the Echo.
melhadjicostas.blogspot.com
But then someone (how much credence to this, not sure) has said she always wanted a baby - so she "got one".
Biography
Mel Hadjicostas is a photographer based in Southend on Sea, Essex, currently showcasing various images with Southend On Sea Arts Council and...
melhadjicostas.blogspot.com
But then someone (how much credence to this, not sure) has said she always wanted a baby - so she "got one".
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Oh @Lanie it cracks me up that of all that is wrong with her, this is what pushes you over the edge
'Estuary Alive' ?!!!It seems Jack did try a photography career. Everyone called her Mel - and she did some commissions, for Essex Pride, etc, and local things with the Echo.
Biography
Mel Hadjicostas is a photographer based in Southend on Sea, Essex, currently showcasing various images with Southend On Sea Arts Council and...
But then someone (how much credence to this, not sure) has said she always wanted a baby - so she "got one".
Check out her fridge too!Estuary Alive' ?!!!
Life Still
LIFE STILL A SELECTION OF IMAGES FROM THE 'LIFE STILL' COLLECTION 2008/09 VIEW FROM A FRIDGE - Copyright Mel Hadjicostas 2009 FALLEN - Copy...
melhadjicostas.blogspot.com
These are just awful. I don't claim to have an expert eye, but God they are bad.Check out her fridge too!
Life Still
LIFE STILL A SELECTION OF IMAGES FROM THE 'LIFE STILL' COLLECTION 2008/09 VIEW FROM A FRIDGE - Copyright Mel Hadjicostas 2009 FALLEN - Copy...
Most of them look like crime scene photos and what is with the Ye Olde cottage stuff?
Looks like that fridge belongs to Daffyd from Little BritainCheck out her fridge too!
Life Still
LIFE STILL A SELECTION OF IMAGES FROM THE 'LIFE STILL' COLLECTION 2008/09 VIEW FROM A FRIDGE - Copyright Mel Hadjicostas 2009 FALLEN - Copy...
She is NOT A PHOTOGRAPHER either.
Right now the kids have trashed my house and even I could take a more "arty picture of the mess.
She would. Or that the stars are very BRIGHT and she has SEVERE pain when looking at them. Or that unfortunately because of her ADHD she cannot focus on the stars for long. Or that she works a 90 hour week and has to sleep for 22 hours a day so has no time to look at stars... Etc etc etc...
God it's really throwing me how *great* she looks in that picture- miles away from the grainy self timer pics she posts todayIt seems Jack did try a photography career. Everyone called her Mel - and she did some commissions, for Essex Pride, etc, and local things with the Echo.
Biography
Mel Hadjicostas is a photographer based in Southend on Sea, Essex, currently showcasing various images with Southend On Sea Arts Council and...
But then someone (how much credence to this, not sure) has said she always wanted a baby - so she "got one".
I thought that said " her work at the beginning of lockdown helping people make food out of what is in the cupboard was INEDIBLE "
It’s easy to spot a narcissist, they think and talk about themselves in the way that they wish for or imagine other people should of them.
“My ability to stand in the fire....with grace, patience and compassion...”
....Is really only something that can be said of others, possibly in a eulogy or some other slightly rose-tinted occasion. Under normal circumstances people just don’t really give a tit about other people and certainly don’t think about others in such ways. But narcs, thinking about themselves incessantly as they do and in the absence of anyone else bringing it up, feel the need to broadcast the adulation that they feel unfairly deprived of. It’s an illness, really.
It’s amazing how similar Palmer is to Monroe.
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