someone i use to know told me something that lives rent free in my head:

“when you blindly support someone,
or take money to only say/font good things,
when they do something that you don’t agree with,
you will HAVE to continue saying and supporting them.”

this is why i try to stay neutral and objective on The Foxhole,
even with celebs or attentionistos i like/lust.
ever since the file cabinet has started being released,
i see many blind supporting jackals starting to switch sides.
some of these folks however,
like megyn kelly,
have shown us how far she has sold her soul…

my tumblr Foxhole will remember him.

fonting from the earlier conversation,
this following is the perfect example.
back in tumblr’s past,
this wolf was exposed constantly on there.
i remember everyone being obsessed with his tail.
( x this ) being the one drop i remember that set tumblr on fire.
i think Foxholers and the like were obsessed with wanting to see his stroke resume.

he has had many different lives since then.

remember when i fonted earlier that it usually starts with trans vixens and then…
well,
a F-BI sent me an alleged update on his new life and…

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aunt wendy taught me how to be media trained without her knowing.
there is some shit you say/font out loud and other shit you keep at the kitchen table.

kitchen table talk (v): when you are spilling tea with your people with the intentions of it staying between ya’ll and Jesus.

that is when you spill that you fucked someone and it was terrible or mind blowing,
or my personal fav:
“YOU FUCKED HIM?!?!?”

that being fonted i have A LOT of kitchen table font with my Foxholers.
i always ask if i can share because sometimes the tea is PIPIN’.
that being fonted:

many males,
especially straights,
love to talk and font for brownie points outside of kitchen table talk.

(ex)-boxing jackal,
adrien broner,
has allegedly fucked a lot of pretty attentionistas it seems.
he decided to expose everyone he fucked on his IG with “the toxic test“…

our current president may have said:

“oh ya’ll gonna say i’m not a king and protest me?
well then i’m gonna do shit out of spite ya’ll azzez.
welcome to the art of a deal bitches!”

i had a feeling that the following would happen.
it is not shocking because when people show you who they are; believe them.
apparently,
a diddy pardon is on the horizon according to tmz…

i didn’t realize empathy had died until i saw the crowd it drew.
influencers in black,
ring lights at the casket,
hashtags as eulogies.
somewhere between the reposts and the think pieces,
the human part of caring got lost.
everyone’s mourning but no one’s moved…

last night,
i was telling someone that 2025 has been the year of learning people.
they were grieving someone they loved that passed away.
someone who complained about how cruel folks were to them when they were alive.
those same jackals in 2025?

posting tributes
writing novels on all the socials
acting like they cared for clout

…but the one on the phone who actually stood by them?
they are being treated like a ghost.

these days,
a crisis only matters if it trends on tiktok.
if it becomes a 30-video saga with sad music and captions for sympathy.
we got people with typical ‘send love’ or ‘checking in’,
but disappear the second it gets inconvenient.
empathy out; self absorption in.
they WILL reappear if you win the lottery,
get nominated for an emmy,
or fuckin’ drop dead.

we’ve got a president who confuses pettiness for leadership and who thinks empathy is weakness.

…and i’m starting to realize more of us are like him than we care to admit.
that should hurt feelings.
so i can’t help but wonder…

when i was a kid,
my mother bought me a doll.
i think my mother would have been okay with me being gay tbh.
it wasn’t barbie or a baby doll,
but it was def a doll the size of a ninja turtle.
i loved this doll and played with it along with my action figures.

the way i played with toys was usually superhero shit.
the female characters were either fighting or were “damsels to rescue”.
i would create worlds with my imagination,
often times taking boxes and making tanks or battleships.

well,
one day my doll up and disappeared.
anytime my grandmother wasn’t home,
i tore her house down looking for my doll.
at a young age,
i could sense fuck shit so i KNEW she had something to do with it.

when my mother died,
she admitted she tossed it in the trash.

when i tell people this story,
they were always empathetic.
i was also told from many people that incident created trauma too.
the things our parentals did to make sure “we weren’t gay“.
when i see parents like…