Snowflake Christine Milneaux - Munchie who came here to sperg [PM sneasel if you wanna do a proper OP on this tard]

[MistressCaridad]

Put down the Edgar Allen Poe, Jane Austin and Sylvia Plath (see? other people can be smart too) and get a life.

The funny thing is, Jane Austen hated fake social climbing people and mocked them quite a bit in her writing. If she met someone like Chrissy back in her day, they often ended up in her novels as a particularly obnoxious character.

 

[NobleGreyHorse]

Well, Regency/Georgian period though she was, there is one title derived from a Jane Austen novel that would seem to apply to our munchkin here, who somebody mentioned wears corsets -- underwear -- on top of her clothes.

Of course I mean the book Emma, which became the movie Clueless. (Just the title. The plot is actually funny.)

 

[BillionBisonBucks]

Christine, you seem to be under the impression that if this doesn't pan out, you can just walk away, no harm no foul. I think that's pretty optimistic. Seems more likely to me that you get your wish, and your half-assed performance influences all of 'chronic illness social media' into brutally excommunicating you.

See, they can't abide you. You're so obvious that simple adjacency to you threatens their entire livelihood, and you've got big plans to get as close to them as possible, with your lack of dx and desire to ingratiate yourself a matter of public record. It's not gonna work, and you'll be treated as an enemy, and all of that will go on record too.

This, right now, is probably as good as it'll get for you. People are talking to you, you've got big ideas, I'm not surprised a girl with no life experience thinks everything is gravy. In five years, or ten, when this thread is still the best thing you've ever done, I expect you'll understand my point of view much better.

 

[Nadeko]

if you're suffering so much from sexual frustration and being a below average tumblrina then just do us all a favor and end it jfc. maybe then mainstream media will pick up the story and you'll get all the attention you wanted. plus, you'll stop posting here. i want to hear more about radiactive glass and shit but the stupid wannabe spoonie keeps getting in the way

 

[Kate Farms Shill]

i want to hear more about radiactive glass and shit but the stupid wannabe spoonie keeps getting in the way

Radioactive quackery is a real pet topic of mine so mind the sperg.

In the 1910s-20s and even as late as the 60s there was a fad for radioactive health tonics and devices. You could buy bottled radium water or even a ceramic crock lined with radium ore to make your own at home. There were places that would charge you to sit for hours with your feet and hands or even your whole body touching uranium sand. There was a uranium card you put in your cigarette pack marketed as a way to reduce the chance of getting cancer. We put it in face cream and tooth paste to give you that nice healthy glow, wove it into pillow cases and made plaques from radioactive ores to put over your eyes while you slept, and sold it in pills and candies. And of course, there were radioactive suppositories and condoms to make your dick harder.



The fad started to decline when Eben Byers, an iron magnate, pro golfer, socialite, one of those rich eccentric types of the early 20th century, died from drinking the popular tonic Radiathor, a concentrated radioactive water that doctors were given generous incentives to push on their patients. By the time he stopped taking it in 1930 his jaw rotted off, his skull was rotting, his brain was abscessed, and he had several different kinds of cancer. When he finally kicked the bucket he had to be buried in a lead-lined coffin to prevent his corpse from contaminating the groundwater.

But fun fact: you can still buy some of this shit. There's still a real fad for it in Japan surrounding their hot springs bathing culture, and you can buy all kinds of mildly radioactive crap to bring home with you. Even in America some of the less "pop your spine back into place" more "my magic hands can heal your cancer" chiropractors will happily use all sorts of radioactive quackery to diagnose you with a thousand made up conditions.

There's a really readable book out recently called Radium Girls all about the women who worked in watch factories where they used radium paint to make the numbers on the dial glow. They were told it was perfectly safe and used to lick the brushes to keep a point on them and paint their faces and teeth as a practical joke. Then all their bones started to rot and their jaws fell off. Good times.

 

[Queen Of The Harpies]

Radioactive quackery is a real pet topic of mine so mind the sperg.

In the 1910s-20s and even as late as the 60s there was a fad for radioactive health tonics and devices. You could buy bottled radium water or even a ceramic crock lined with radium ore to make your own at home. There were places that would charge you to sit for hours with your feet and hands or even your whole body touching uranium sand. There was a uranium card you put in your cigarette pack marketed as a way to reduce the chance of getting cancer. We put it in face cream and tooth paste to give you that nice healthy glow, wove it into pillow cases and made plaques from radioactive ores to put over your eyes while you slept, and sold it in pills and candies. And of course, there were radioactive suppositories and condoms to make your dick harder.

View attachment 786527View attachment 786529

The fad started to decline when Eben Byers, an iron magnate, pro golfer, socialite, one of those rich eccentric types of the early 20th century, died from drinking the popular tonic Radiathor, a concentrated radioactive water that doctors were given generous incentives to push on their patients. By the time he stopped taking it in 1930 his jaw rotted off, his skull was rotting, his brain was abscessed, and he had several different kinds of cancer. When he finally kicked the bucket he had to be buried in a lead-lined coffin to prevent his corpse from contaminating the groundwater.

But fun fact: you can still buy some of this shit. There's still a real fad for it in Japan surrounding their hot springs bathing culture, and you can buy all kinds of mildly radioactive crap to bring home with you. Even in America some of the less "pop your spine back into place" more "my magic hands can heal your cancer" chiropractors will happily use all sorts of radioactive quackery to diagnose you with a thousand made up conditions.

There's a really readable book out recently called Radium Girls all about the women who worked in watch factories where they used radium paint to make the numbers on the dial glow. They were told it was perfectly safe and used to lick the brushes to keep a point on them and paint their faces and teeth as a practical joke. Then all their bones started to rot and their jaws fell off. Good times.

Here's an informative little vid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QSE4p8EyG54

Well, Regency/Georgian period though she was, there is one title derived from a Jane Austen novel that would seem to apply to our munchkin here, who somebody mentioned wears corsets -- underwear -- on top of her clothes.

Of course I mean the book Emma, which became the movie Clueless. (Just the title. The plot is actually funny.)

A tacky mainstream 1990's film is far too vulgar for our little flower here.

Anyway, Little Miss speaks with such an educated vernacular that she couldn't have drawn her inspiration just from literary tomes:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ArIxAJAVDYQ

Little Britain - Transvestite

Emily Howard gets into trouble.

www.youtube.com

@Christine Milneaux you are nothing new, in fact you are nothing but a predictable, pathetic, postmodern parody (alliteration unintentional) trying to escape a redneck family and upbringing.

 

[AbraCadaver]

Yes, I did. I still do. If I could start a Mary Frey-esque vlog where I did nothing but showcase all the dainty, frilly trappings of a chronically ill Cinderella for 10-20 minutes every day, I think I might actually ascend to nirvana. Three words: Pink Bedroom Tour.

Cinderella was pretty. Try again.

Also every single cow in this parlour has a “frilly all-pink bedroom.” It’s a fucking Basic Bitch cliche at this point.

Edit: someone dox this idiot so we can enjoy the actual laughable details of her life and not just the pretend ones.

:I AM AN IDIOT DONT KNOW HOW TO CAP ALL THIS SHITE PLZ SOMEONE CAP FOR ME:

She uses her silly Christine Milneaux name everywhere, even when registering reddit. In some of her posts she claims to be rich and married to the son in law of the CEO of a company and be in the top five percent of US earners...in another, she says her husband earns 35k USD a year and they live very cheaply in the midwest.

In some posts, she talks about attempting and failing fasts and then simply asks, “Will I ever be anorexic?” Then she posts that fat people just don’t WANT to stop eating and anyone with sense should be able to exercise self-control. Then posts that she can’t stop eating and hates herself.

In this one, she bitches about having to get (horrors!!) a JOB, and that life expects too much from her because she’s never worked a day in her life and doesn’t plan to start. Also she has cerebral palsy I guess?


“I have major depression, cerebral palsy, and generalized anxiety disorder. If the ACA is repealed, chances are very good I won't be able to afford treatment for any of them. Apparently in 2004 unless you are willing to pay thousands of dollars a month for health care, most insurance companies refuse you if you'd ever been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons. I have been hospitalized for depression. I wish I would have just died instead.

I probably won't have health insurance for much longer thanks to our President, and even if I somehow did get to keep my parents' coverage until I turned 26, I wouldn't be able to afford to buy my own it after that.

Donation companies won't let me sell my blood or plasma because I've had a psychiatric hospitalization in the past. I didn't qualify for any mental health studies for which some institution would pay me $20 an hour. So now the only option left is to get a real job and hopefully scrape together enough to pay for my medicine off some shady internet website.

Have you ever taken Prozac intended for cats? In the foreseeable future I will know what that's like. How humiliating!!!

And worse, Friday my mother is taking me to some sort of charity where they help the disabled find jobs. I'll have to go out and get a job and do meaningless labor I'm not even sure I have the physical or psychological capacity to do well. I'll be surrounded by strangers who don't care about me, and who only want me around for what I can provide them, what I can do for them. Which is to say, fucking nothing!!! I have never had a job or done any form of menial labor in my entire life. I don't know if I have either the physical capability nor the psychological strength of will to do demanding., exhausting, minimum-wage labor.

This world is simply not made for me. And I am not made for it. I don't want to live in a world where I have to deal with strangers with high expectations that I can't fulfill. I wish I had it in me to kill myself, but I don't.

I wish I had the nerve to steal every dollar in mine and my husband's bank account, catch a one-way flight to France, see Monet's Garden, and then buy some fentanyl and kill myself with it. At least then, the last thing I saw would be beautiful.“


My fave post so far, which she removed, is this:


r/askscience4yu/AdloraOfSolitudePsychology:

Homosexuals, Trans* people, and Otherkin: Delusion or Identity? Where do we draw the line?

From all her posts, she’s exactly what we thought: lazy, a liar, a hypochondriac, and selfish as hell. She posts constantly threatening suicide and self-harm for attention. She knows she’s a garbage human being. When her mother was distraught that the grandmother was dying, Christine complained that the impending death was going to ruin Christmas, then felt sorry for herself because everyone else rightly called her a selfish fuck.

This is just from skimming, feel free to enjoy the rest:

AdloraOfSolitude (u/AdloraOfSolitude) - Reddit

u/AdloraOfSolitude:

www.reddit.com

E: sry for doublepost, thought it needed its own post

 

[MistressCaridad]

https://archive.li/3HSPA in case she deletes

It seems that the humble pot, utterly unaware of her own swarth complexion, has decried the kettle that he be dark as Gaspard of the night.

(In other words Chrissy is incapable of experiencing cognitive dissonance as she complains about her friend spinning crazy yarns about his life.)

 

[AbraCadaver]

View attachment 786704View attachment 786706

https://archive.li/3HSPA in case she deletes

It seems that the humble pot, utterly unaware of her own swarth complexion, has decried the kettle that he be dark as Gaspard of the night.

(In other words Chrissy is incapable of experiencing cognitive dissonance as she complains about her friend spinning crazy yarns about his life.)

Apparently she’s also incapable of sticking to a diet. Chubby bint.

E: autocorrect

 

[Kate Farms Shill]

Gonna guess the answer is "no"

 

[Banh Xeo]

Radioactive quackery is a real pet topic of mine so mind the sperg.

In the 1910s-20s and even as late as the 60s there was a fad for radioactive health tonics and devices. You could buy bottled radium water or even a ceramic crock lined with radium ore to make your own at home. There were places that would charge you to sit for hours with your feet and hands or even your whole body touching uranium sand. There was a uranium card you put in your cigarette pack marketed as a way to reduce the chance of getting cancer. We put it in face cream and tooth paste to give you that nice healthy glow, wove it into pillow cases and made plaques from radioactive ores to put over your eyes while you slept, and sold it in pills and candies. And of course, there were radioactive suppositories and condoms to make your dick harder.


The fad started to decline when Eben Byers, an iron magnate, pro golfer, socialite, one of those rich eccentric types of the early 20th century, died from drinking the popular tonic Radiathor, a concentrated radioactive water that doctors were given generous incentives to push on their patients. By the time he stopped taking it in 1930 his jaw rotted off, his skull was rotting, his brain was abscessed, and he had several different kinds of cancer. When he finally kicked the bucket he had to be buried in a lead-lined coffin to prevent his corpse from contaminating the groundwater.

But fun fact: you can still buy some of this shit. There's still a real fad for it in Japan surrounding their hot springs bathing culture, and you can buy all kinds of mildly radioactive crap to bring home with you. Even in America some of the less "pop your spine back into place" more "my magic hands can heal your cancer" chiropractors will happily use all sorts of radioactive quackery to diagnose you with a thousand made up conditions.

There's a really readable book out recently called Radium Girls all about the women who worked in watch factories where they used radium paint to make the numbers on the dial glow. They were told it was perfectly safe and used to lick the brushes to keep a point on them and paint their faces and teeth as a practical joke. Then all their bones started to rot and their jaws fell off. Good times.

Fascinating. That condom gives a whole new meaning to "Big Dick Energy"

 

[Clovis]

The Radium Girls

Top sperging
I second this and also recommend The Plutonium Files if you dig civilian nuclear endangerment histories.
/OT

 

[Recoil]

Indeed.

Spoiler: Diagnosis

View attachment 786322

With co-morbid GOTIS

 

[Toasty]

And I finally just went to your profile. A stroke. Again, my condolences.

I neither need or wish for condolences. I walked away from something with a 75% kill rate.
Most people who are hit with a debilitating medical crisis or chronic illness feel similar. We fight to get some semblance of our lives back. We don't want condolences for what has happened to us, we want people to know how hard we have worked in therapy to get as far as we have. We want less pills, not more. We don't rearrange our bedrooms around ourselves over and over again while we lie in bed. We rearrange our entire lives as we move through a world that will never be the same.
Most of all, we get the fuck on with it.
You wish to be "in" with "chronic illness influencers" but fail to see why actual people with actual conditions will never be a part of that community, be " influenced by you or any of the other malignant narcissists like you,and find you at best silly, or at worst offensive or dangerous. I leave you with this, a very intimate portrait of me, no, it's not in oil, it's what a left parietal stroke looks like after the body has removed all the dead tissue. You are left with a giant black hole where brain used to be. I don't have a single fainting couch. I walk, I talk, you wouldn't even know by looking at me.
Because I got the fuck on with it. Which is what I'm doing now. You will never listen, or learn, or grow the fuck up. You absolutely cannot take responsibility for yourself. You'd actually rather have a disease than handle your shit. That's pathetic. My condolences. I'm out. @ me or pm me if any body wants me.

Edit: I appreciate all the feels, but cough me up some winners because I'm a goddamn badass.

 

[Cheeseman]

View attachment 786527View attachment 786529

im not mature enough to handle the notion that there were condoms named nutex

 

[Christine Milneaux]

I neither need or wish for condolences. I walked away from something with a 75% kill rate.
Most people who are hit with a debilitating medical crisis or chronic illness feel similar. We fight to get some semblance of our lives back. We don't want condolences for what has happened to us, we want people to know how hard we have worked in therapy to get as far as we have. We want less pills, not more. We don't rearrange our bedrooms around ourselves over and over again while we lie in bed. We rearrange our entire lives as we move through a world that will never be the same.
Most of all, we get the fuck on with it.
You wish to be "in" with "chronic illness influencers" but fail to see why actual people with actual conditions will never be a part of that community, be " influenced by you or any of the other malignant narcissists like you,and find you at best silly, or at worst offensive or dangerous. I leave you with this, a very intimate portrait of me, no, it's not in oil, it's what a left patient stroke looks like after the body has removed all the dead tissue. You are left with a giant black hole where brain used to be. I don't have a single fainting couch. I walk, I talk, you wouldn't even know by looking at me.
Because I got the fuck on with it. Which is what I'm doing now. You will never listen, or learn, or grow the fuck up. You absolutely cannot take responsibility for yourself. You'd actually rather have a disease than handle your shit. That's pathetic. My condolences. I'm out. @ me or pm me if any body wants me.

That was poignant. I appreciate your condolences; thank you. I think you're quite wrong about there being no genuine sufferers among Jaq's or Jan's following, but message received about my social media career. Perhaps I simply flew too close to the sun. I want(ed) to be famous as a way to take control of my circumstances, but even my closest (internet) friends are telling me that I just don't have the stamina for it, and deep down I know they're right. I've been living happily in obscurity with only one or two close and doting internet friends, whose support has always been more than enough to see me through. I think it's time I go back to the Shire. This was an adventure, but I'm done. I've nuked my Facebook and taken down my Insta from the public eye. I too am out.

 

[Angry New Ager]

There's a really readable book out recently called Radium Girls all about the women who worked in watch factories where they used radium paint to make the numbers on the dial glow. They were told it was perfectly safe and used to lick the brushes to keep a point on them and paint their faces and teeth as a practical joke. Then all their bones started to rot and their jaws fell off. Good times.

The same fate befell workers in match factories--mostly young women--during the Victorian and early Edwardian eras. The process of applying white phosphorous to the heads of matches exposed them to toxic fumes, which led to "phossy/fossy jaw," or osteonecrosis of the jawbone. Their jawbones literally rotted away inside their faces.

Match factory owners continued using white phosphorous for "lucifer" matches despite the known hazards because it was much cheaper than red phosphorous, which does not create the toxic fumes that lead to phossy jaw. Some match companies (including one in London owned by the Salvation Army) did use red phosphorous, but their "safety" matches cost roughly three times more than "lucifers." It took numerous protest strikes on the part of match workers (most notably the 1888 "Matchgirls' Strike" in London), and exposes of the terrible working conditions in match factories (14-hour days, for miserable pay, poisoned by white phosphorous), for white phosphorous to finally be banned in match manufacturing. But that didn't even happen in Britain until 1908, a full 20 years after the Matchgirls' Strike, and by then the match-making process had been automated to a degree that required far fewer workers, which offset the higher cost of red phosphorous.

So when you buy a box of matches today, they're always made with red phosphorous, and to this day they're still called "safety matches" to differentiate them from "lucifer matches" because they're made with safe red phosphorous, rather than the toxic white variety. And this concludes today's lecture on Why the Victorian Era Really Was Shit, and Should Not Be Idealized.

 

[Kate Farms Shill]

The same fate befell workers in match factories--mostly young women--during the Victorian and early Edwardian eras. The process of applying white phosphorous to the heads of matches exposed them to toxic fumes, which led to "phossy/fossy jaw," or osteonecrosis of the jawbone. Their jawbones literally rotted away inside their faces.

Match factory owners continued using white phosphorous for "lucifer" matches despite the known hazards because it was much cheaper than red phosphorous, which does not create the toxic fumes that lead to phossy jaw. Some match companies (including one in London owned by the Salvation Army) did use red phosphorous, but their "safety" matches cost roughly three times more than "lucifers." It took numerous protest strikes on the part of match workers (most notably the 1888 "Matchgirls' Strike" in London), and exposes of the terrible working conditions in match factories (14-hour days, for miserable pay, poisoned by white phosphorous), for white phosphorous to finally be banned in match manufacturing. But that didn't even happen in Britain until 1908, a full 20 years after the Matchgirls' Strike, and by then the match-making process had been automated to a degree that required far fewer workers, which offset the higher cost of red phosphorous.

So when you buy a box of matches today, they're always made with red phosphorous, and to this day they're still called "safety matches" to differentiate them from "lucifer matches" because they're made with safe red phosphorous, rather than the toxic white variety. And this concludes today's lecture on Why the Victorian Era Really Was Shit, and Should Not Be Idealized.

And little boys who were employed as chimney sweeps often got “soot wart” aka chimney sweep carcinoma, a cancer of the scrotal skin. Good time to live, I’ll tell yuh whut.

 

[Queen Of The Harpies]

@Christine Milneaux
Here is my little breakdown of you: from what I've ascertained from your BS

You grew up in some one horse town. You have come from a broken family; your dad left when you were young possibly in your early teens on when you were starting puberty. Because you were traumatised by your dad leaving, your mum tried to compensate by inflating your self esteem. Having undiagnosed ASD doesn't help either. You probably had dreams of becoming a writer/actress/poet but grades in high school were average at best. In order to gain attention and sympathy from your peers and teachers (and probably to punish your parents) you decided that being constantly sick/dying would be the best route. You believed yourself to be far more superior to the uneducated plebs around you due to the fact that, inspired by Elizabeth Bennett and other literary heroines, you consumed literature and non fiction in order to become more 'accomplished' and one day rise above the idiots and escape to somewhere better. However, you met your husband of the year. He somehow fulfilled your unexplored daddy issues and in your mind was the typical literary hero who would take you far away from your average life. By having an older boyfriend you could appear to be oh so mature and make the girls who bullied you so jealous too. Plus he's English so he must be educated! All he wanted was some young puss and a green card. You've chosen the Victorian Era as you're too plain to dedicate yourself to the mid century and the regency period is too long ago and wearing the dresses from the period would be too stupid. Plus the Victorian loil look is soooo kawaii desu~.

Imitating an era were women and sexuality were repressed (yet the the Victorians were notoriously kinky) reflects your struggles with embracing your sexuality and your failed ambitions. You wanted to go to a proper college when you left high school but you were not good enough and/or your husband 'has his career here' or has otherwise convinced you not to further your education. You use your fantasy as a way to cope with a toxic codependent marriage. Maybe you are genuinely sick- but that is a result of your husband slowly poisoning you with arsenic. He is fuelling and enabling your daddy issues while fulfilling his loli/little fetish.

Going from home to marriage with a man who is more physically and emotionally mature than you has robbed you of any life experiences and achievements you could have had and you secretly resent him for that. You could have gone to a proper state college instead of a shitty community college which has nurtured you superiority (inferiority) complex. You still secretly lust after fame and to achieve something great on your own, but you are stuck in a loveless marriage (how very Victorian!) . Ultimately you are afraid of leaving because your mum and everyone who tried to talk you out of it would say 'I told you so'. Plus it would be 10 years down the drain and you have never worked a day in your life. It would also ruin the fantasy of being married to your first love.

It was mentioned somewhere that he was a virgin when you met. Even though he is a 2/10 by Middle Earth standards, I somehow call bullshit.

Being the talk of the town on KF is not an achievement. However you have potential to snap out of your delusions and your abusive relationship.

Am I wrong? FIGHT ME!!


EDIT: @Christine Milneaux I know you're online sweetheart. Your silence doth speakth volumes

 

[ADHD]

Am I wrong? FIGHT ME!!

Sadly, you won't get any response, as her sickly highness has departed, and surely she would never go back on her word:

This was an adventure, but I'm done. I've nuked my Facebook and taken down my Insta from the public eye. I too am out.