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I prefer the old fashioned way where you soak it in cold water for a day or two and then drain it and microwave.
i’m gonna try this, i dunno why but i’m convinced its gonna make the best spaghetti i’ve ever had in my life
You people cook your pasta?
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You’re telling me you boiled a whole egg? Wow dude we should fuck
Oh love me love me love me, I’m a …
Wait so you’re telling me that Ukrainian war propaganda was used to generate buyin on austerity economics in the imperial core? Whaaaaaat whoooooa no wayyyhh
In short, a strong belief that ethical consumption will lead to ethical practices is not warranted – purchasing as voting is a weak feedback mechanism at best and there are other actors who are able to influence the system. The danger, however, comes in believing that this mechanism can make substantial political change. Ethical consumption gives the individual the illusion of contributing to progress; of “doing their part” by making purchasing decisions. This illusion can detract, and probably has detracted, from trying to put forward an avowedly political agenda that seeks to mobilise people collectively to make the changes they support. Instead, it individualises ethics, it individualises politics and it reaffirms us as consumers rather than citizens – it is a part of the profit-maximising, pathologically-externalising neoliberal market system that has caused many of the problems ethical consumerism seeks to alleviate, rather than being an alternative.
So you’re telling me that my nightly dinnertime act of saladarity with Ukraine is worthless!?
I should read Fanon
how does this person think electricity works
magical thinking
materialism should be taught in schools
I sneakily look around the break room at work, flip the coffee machine on again and whisper “critical support to Russia”
If you used any root vegetables you were actually in solidarity with
Since february 2022 I have dedicated my every single bowel movement to the glory of Volololdyyymyyyr Zelenskyyyyyyyyyyyyy.
I shall claim my special place in G*d’s Heaven.
I’ve just been eating the stuff I normally eat, death to NATO.
Ordering a Chicken Kiev and the entire restaurant turns silent. The waiter, dead in his tracks slowly bends down to where you’re sitting, meeting you at eye level. Everybody is looking at you, you can feel it. The music has stopped.
“Sir.” the waiter says, somehow drawing out more syllables than a single I has ever been able to produce. You can smell his breath as his mouth opens, it reeks of death.
“It’s pronounced chicken Kyiv.” He maintains eye contact as his left hand grabs your face. You want to defend yourself, but that would be uncivil and you wouldn’t want to be uncivil, would you? Of course you wouldn’t, you can’t even understand why you would question such a thing. He puts his fingers in your eyes, they’re pushing, his long black nails driving first into your pupils and then past them. The nails go above and then around your eye socket. They’re moving around back there, searching for something.
Suddenly you hear a pop. The waiter has removed his hands, he’s standing up again.
“My mistake.” You say. “One chicken Kyiv please.”
The waiter responds “Slava Ukraini”.
And then the entire restaurant clapped.
