Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
A few weeks ago I tried explaining to my non tumblr friends what blorbo/eeby deeby/glup shitto/scrunglo/plinko was and it almost gave all of us an aneurysm
This was the post I was trying to explain. This was how I looked
Yeah I can see how this would feel like having a stroke to an outsider
’Twas Tumblr, and the slithy memes Did bode and call out on the dash: Fucken WIMDY were the shitpost streams, And of things was the trash.
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The eeb that deebs, the blorb that plinks! Beware of Shittos Glup, and shun Bendlebick Cumperdincks!”
He took his discourse sword in hand; Long time the chungus foe he sought— So rested he in the ball pit (free!) And sat awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish (derogatory) thought he sat, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came GIFfling through the old group chat, And hurgled as it came!
UWU! UWU! And through and through The discourse blade went “Um, actually, the Jabberwock is coded as friendly because ‘eyes of flame’ means red and orange, and those are warm and inviting colors according to ‘color theory’, which I guess you haven’t heard of and don’t understand.” He left it dead, and with its head He man car door hook hand.
“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boi! O #frabjousday! Sounds fake but okay!” He reblogged in his joy.
’Twas Tumblr, and the slithy memes Did bode and call out on the dash: Fucken WIMDY were the shitpost streams, And all of us were trash.
No, Mr. Horse, don’t worry, I certainly don’t have a Plinko down here! What I do have is this lovely cask of wine, specifically for horses, Amontillado in fact! Exquisite vintage.
I know you’re not supposed to be in this hospital, but if you’ll just follow me down this corridor—no, that’s not blood on the floor, it’s color theory, I’ll explain it later—I can bring you to this cask of wine that is certainly NOT a plinko machine—
I’m telling you, Blorbo, I have the finest copy of my shows in the basement, please follow me
we can take the Eeby Deeby - no, no, I promise it’s not going to Gay Superhell - look, Eebders Deebeorg was an outlier adn should not have been counted
Where did I get this Eeby Deeby? Well, there was this lovely Middle Eastern gentleman who was selling copper, the finest copper—
hnnnnngg I’m trying to get blorbo into my plinko but the eeby deeby I bought from the copper merchant who as it turns out was EXTREMELY disreputable (who is he, to treat me with such contempt?!) is dummy thicc, thicc enough to block the Suez Canal in fact, and the eebert of the deebert is so scrimblo bimblo it keeps alerting the horse
yoU PLINKO BLORBO?! you plinko blorbo like the HORSE?! Oh, Eeby Deeby for Glup Shitto! Eeby Deeby for Glub Shitto for 1000 YEARS
“Eeby Deeby” is, in this case, putting an orange buttered cat face-first into a trashcan
my name is blorb and when its nite and eeby deeby castiel’s flight poe and wine cause discourse
i’m ever given; i plink the horse
Historians are going to have to explain this culture someday.
It will be as indecipherable to future historians as hieroglyphics… which means by extension… Tumblr as the rosetta stone of the future… Frankly - that’s terrifying.
My cousin blorko who’s a bog man could have explained it to us in a much better way, my beloved, but alas we lost him and his three weed girlfriends in the barbie-red death redemption massacre. He died young, still craving that mineral, and we deeply feel his Loss. He was just looking to have a good time…..
