Yes and no, if you scambait hard enough your number can eventually be added to a blacklist for larger scam organisations that bought your data for use in multiple scam attempts.

In my experience that has really cut down on the calls.

In 2020 the department of human services accidentally posted my personal phone number on a list of support services for people experiencing housing or food insecurity. This number was then circulated by every major news source in my state. I couldn’t change my number at the time because I had no legal ID (still don’t… Can’t figure out how to get ID without ID, but I have a new number now at least) at first I didn’t really notice the ratio of spam calls to genuine calls for the wrong number (ie, people calling my number because they needed housing/food) . I just remember getting 40+ calls a day at many stages.

But as the actual number for the food relief service was circulated, I eventually stopped getting genuine calls and I was getting 3-5 scam calls every single day.

After a year of scam baiting, I was getting 2 a week.

Now, I’ll do something online that requires sharing my current number, within a few hours I get a scam call because my data has been sold, but I bait the heck out of that first call and I usually don’t receive any further calls which suggest my number was blacklisted by a larger scam organisation, and I won’t be hassled until my data is sold again as a new item.

It’s hard to avoid getting your number on scam lists when the largest health insurance company, and the second largest telecommunications company in my country both had major data breaches where millions of customers identifying information was accessed and sold to scammers…

Nah, I’m just a person with leaky tits.

You do anyway without piercings.

The nipple isn’t technically one hole, it’s kind of like a porous sponge. After all, mammary glands are just mutated sweat glands, it’s a series of holes connected to a series of ducts.

So a lot of people find when lactating that it can spurt in crazy directions from unexpected parts of the nipple.

The number of times I find myself plugging the iron in behind the TV and then holding an old Amazon box against the wall and juggling my pants while I iron because I’m in a rush and that’s the available outlet plug and space.

The first pride was pretty wrathful.

The female condom has two rigid rings, one in the sealed end that sits under the cervix, and one at the open end.

The ring at the open end is designed to hold the condom open and give the penetrating partner a nice big safe target to make sure the penis/toy/whatever goes inside the condom and not accidentally between the condom and the vaginal wall. This ring also provides some minor protection to parts of the vulva due to its size.

The internal ring is much smaller by comparison, and is not that much larger than a diva cup. The internal ring of a female condom is a similar size to a “soft cup” menstrual cup, it’s a little bit smaller than a contraceptive diaphragm.

Dogs aren’t cops, dogs are brainwashed by cops. Dogs are essentially trafficked victims of police. The dog just wants to be a good boy, it’s not the dog’s fault the pigs have been teaching it to nark on bullshit.

Yeah, nah, Tamworth. We have our own branches of country music down here mate.

Blak Country is a seriously cool branch to explore if you’re curious about how Australia has interpreted US country music into a localised sub-genre. Swap your mouth organs for a gum leaf and add some yidaki riffs for extra bass.

Okay, you do you.

Why would anyone want to go to Christian heaven when the bible explicitly tells us that our childhood pets won’t even be there because apparently they don’t have souls.

Like, what the fuck? If I can’t have drugs or sex, hanging out with my old pet was the only thing heaven had going for it, but it doesn’t even have that! Sounds like hell to me.

Buy physical media from independent production companies. Pirate whatever Disney, Netflix and Amazon are cranking out.

Having had a defecography this is very similar to the encouragement the radiologist gave me…

You ever feel hungry but you’re not sure what to eat so you stare blankly into the fridge hoping something takes your fancy, but you’re not really craving anything because you never really get cravings. But you are hungry, so you want to eat something, so you have a choice, you can grab a protein shake because it’s quick, easy, and a pragmatic solution, but that gets boring when that’s always your “go to” when you’re hungry. Or you could order a decadent meal to enjoy, since you’re not really craving anything so you might as well set yourself up for a pleasurable experience.

Now replace being hungry with being horny.

You’re horny, but you don’t have any attraction to any options, and you never have. You could go for the pragmatic approach with masturbation. Or you could find someone that you think is a great person in all the important (non sexual) ways, and have sex with them because sex with fun people is fun, even if there’s nothing about that person (or any person) who flicks the sexual attraction switch.

Yeah, as a kinky asexual myself, it seems like she hasn’t been very open in communicating her relationship to kink. Especially when your partner is allosexual, it’s so important to explain why you like to participate in kinky activities as an asexual and where your boundaries begin and end.

For allosexual people, sex and kinks have a venn diagram that’s basically a circle, and failing to communicate the extent of your interest in kinks as an asexual is just setting the entire relationship up to fail because you’re inevitably going to have mismatching expectations from kink play unless you make sure you’re both on the same page before you start.

His confusion is completely understandable, as is her identity as a kinky asexual. They just need to talk to each other.

Yes and no, live captioning software is common on phones and tablets, but we call them “craptions” for a reason.

If the speaker has a thick accent, isn’t always facing the same direction when speaking, uses lots of slang terms, industry terms, or numerical data, it can really trip up the captions and sometimes it leads to a more confusion than having nothing at all.

Where as if you were basically just using the PowerPoint to display your speech so others could read along, the written words will match the spoken words.

Live captions are definitely better than nothing if you rely on subtitles, I’m only HoH so I prefer just straight up lipreading, compared to trying to lip read in order to retroactively process inaccurate live captions that make no sense.

My entire understanding of skinheads was “skinheads are fascists” and I never delved any deeper into it. Until the other month when my barber told me I should consider getting a chelsea cut, my gut reaction being “why would I want to look like a neonazi?”

But one simple online search later, and I went back for the shave. The original sentiment of the skinhead culture is slowly being reclaimed, though there will always be two potential interpretations of what someone with that style stands for, I’ll happily rock my skinbird cut at union rallies and antifa protective counter-protests when actual nazis try to raid our local queer clubs.

IRL subtitles for deaf attendees feels like the only valid reason for this.

The benefit of living on an island. I’m very privileged to have this opportunity. Sadly access to nature is not guaranteed, especially in developed nations. Hopefully there’s a small park or green space near you that you can enjoy when you need to relax and feel the earth beneath your feet. If not, maybe time for some guerilla gardening?

On the point of driving whilst stoned. Confidence comes with experience

I can definitely understand what you mean by this, but I think a certain level of confidence also comes from tolerance.

I don’t drive at all, so can’t weigh in on that, but I cycle everywhere, and in my youth I would have never considered cycling while stoned, too risky, too dangerous, not fair or safe to others using the paths.

When I started smoking, I stuck by that statement, I’d give it a full 12+ hours between my last smoke and getting on the bike.

But just like your example, 12 hours became 8 hours, became 4 hours, and so on, where now I might have an smoke and 40 minutes later get on my bike to go somewhere.

But then I take a T break, and I pick up a new bag, and I have my first hit in a month or two, and I sit with that high for a while and think to myself “fuck no, I absolutely will not be getting on the bike any time soon, this tiny toke is too much to cycle on”

Then I’ll smoke heavily for the next month, and by the end of the month, my tolerance has increased, and I’m back to riding my bike while stoned (or rather, buzzed, because I’m just not capable of getting as high)

Do I feel guilty for these decisions because I know it’s a big risk? Yes. Do I keep doing it? Also yes.

But now that I’m in discussions with my doctor about medical dosing, it has raised a very important question - if I use medical marijuana to manage my chronic illness (the one that renders me medically unfit to drive) is the ethical and legal obligation of that treatment plan that I can never ride my bike again? I must always walk or take the bus? The same does not apply for people who use opiate based pain relief or therapeutic ketamine. They are warned not to drive if the meds make them impaired, but ultimately it’s their judgement to decide what is “impaired”. It will only be externally questioned if there is an accident or a near miss. If I am assessing my level of impairment before I ride stoned, how can I best ensure my capacity to ride in those moments?

Also answering OPs question, I think this applies to a lot of hobbies, but I notice it a lot as someone who likes to sew my own clothes - the pressure from others to constantly get better, try harder, and keep building those skills.

I do my hobby because it’s fun, sometimes it’s fun to learn new things about it, but sometimes I just want to stick with what I know and play in my comfort zone.

My dad will often look at things I’ve made this year and say “you made something almost identical 5 years ago, and your stitches are still skew wiff, haven’t you learned to blah blah yet?” because his expectation is that I will get better and better with every passing moment as I practice my hobby.

Similarly, people will tell me that I have “clearly got the skills to make xyz” and I should “challenge” myself. And sometimes I will, but most of the time I retreat to my hobbies because I don’t have to challenge myself if I don’t want to. I like my hobbies to be no pressure (I go to the gym to push myself, I go to my craft corner to relax)

You are allowed to dabble, fool around, play, and have fun with a hobby. You are allowed to decide that “getting better” isn’t the goal.

But it seems others will always question this, or suggest you somehow aren’t doing the hobby right, or enthusiastic enough about it if you’re only ever doing it on a surface level.

Just today, I managed to get hold of a second hand overlocker, I’m really excited to make things with it, and my co-worker who also sews said “oh that’s awesome, the quality of clothes you’re going to pull off now that you can surge! I can’t wait for the fashion show”. She meant that in the most positive way, and I know what she was trying to say so I thanked her and promised her to show her what I was making, but part of me definitely heard “if the quality of your final product doesn’t improve as a result of this, you’re bad at this hobby, now you have no excuse not to be better than you were before” even though she meant nothing of the sort, and a lot of that was internalised shame because of previous discussions with people who were genuinely questioning my lack of improvement.

Last winter I had two weeks off from work and I spent every day riding my bike down to the beach, I’d take my phone for safety but I’d turn it off and pretend I didn’t have it. I’d pack a mandarin, a thermos with some tea, an empty grocery bag, and my one-hitter.

As a kid, I used to walk to the beach with my grandmother during the winter school holidays when we’d travel to her town for a vacation. We’d collect laver and kelp for dinner, and grandma would tell us we could bring home 1 shell, so as kids we’d hunt for the best shell. In addition to collecting firewood with grandpa, beach days with nan are some of my fondest family memories.

So last year, in my thirties, I’d ride my bike down, I’d put on my wellies and grab the bag from my pack, and I’d start combing the beach for plastic, rubbish and things that aren’t supposed to be there. Along the way I’d stop to admire the nice shells, or spy a sea star or little crab in a rock pool. All while pleasantly stoned.

Nothing will ever recreate the innocence and mindfulness of those childhood memories, but damn if my memories of last winter don’t come close.

I’d take my full bag of rubbish and walk my bike to the train station near the beach, about 800 metres away, munching on my fruit as I walked. I’d throw the rubbish in their bins, and because I was doing this at like 10am on a weekday I’d be able to jump on a near empty train with my bike, and I’d only have to wait maybe 5 minutes for the next train.

I’d walk my bike home and then go about the rest of my day in the absolute best mood!

I highly recommend doing wholesome activities in nature under the influence of drugs (if you are someone who already uses drugs that is - don’t start doing drugs just to make nature more fun… Unless you want to, I’m not your mother)