Everybody and their cousin has experienced the argument “is a tomato a fruit or a vegetable” at some point in their lives. It’s a fun bit of trivia, and let’s know-it-all’s speak condescendingly, or at least they did like 10 years ago. “Knowledge is knowing tomato is a fruit, wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad”. Whatever.
Which brings up the point, that botany and culinary sciences are very different. Botany is the study of plants, culinary is cooking and how things taste. Botany is science, and it has rules (kind of), where cuisine is full of guidelines that are completely cultural.
Tomatoes are a fruit. A fruit is how many plants have babies, and are made in the ovary of a flower. I have a diagram.
Armed with this knowledge we can know that tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, beans, peas and peppers are all fruit.
“Now”, I ask you, “what are lettuce, and cabbage, and spinach, and kale”?
“Vegetables”, you say, assuredly.
“Yes, but, what are they?”
“…vegetables”, you say, slower, and louder this time, not quite sure what I’m wanting from you.
No. They are leaves.
What are carrots, beets and radishes? Roots. What about celery and rhubarb? Stems. Potatoes? Tubers (food storage for the plant, and where new plant babies will grow from). Garlic and onions? Bulbs (also food storage). Mushrooms? They’re not even a plant, they’re a fungus, in the kingdom of fungi, which is somewhere between the plant and animal kingdoms.
“Vegetables” is just a word for plants that we eat, that doesn’t have enough sugar to be a fruit, and not enough flavour to be a herb or spice.
Botanically speaking, there is no such thing as a vegetable. They’re just different parts of a plant that happen to be edible.
There are other plants, normally considered weeds, that can be “eaten like a vegetable”. Dandelion, stinging nettle, dock, purslane, can all be cooked and eaten, making them vegetables, at least to the people to treat them as such. It’s all very cultural, and biased, and based on nothing but what people think it is. Therefore, they are not a real thing, it’s just a concept.
Instead of applying “pedophilia” to all and sundry in order to make it seem bad, consider advocating for people to understand that things “statutory rape” and “teen sexual abuse” can also be equally horrifying crimes with lifelong trauma to the victims!
instead of suggesting that teens are exactly the same as prepubescent children, acknowledge that they are not and build your argument of how bad it is based on how teens actually are.
Because here’s the thing:
“Sex between a 15 year old and a 50 year old is pedophilia” is a false statement. You’re objectively, provably wrong. Words have meanings, and that’s not what pedophilia means. You do not want to be wrong about this. You do not help anybody by making an emotional but wrong argument about this.
“Sex between a 15 year old and a 50 year old is exploitative and morally wrong” is true! It’s an arguable position! It doesn’t bastardize the meaning of a very serious word for emphasis! Say what you mean, not what you feel. If you feel it’s on par with pedophilia, say that! It’s not literally pedophilia, because pedophilia is a word with a specific and important meaning.
It’s the same reason we don’t use “rape” to refer to anything bad happening (the way people very much used to). Rape is a specific thing, a specific crime, a specific trauma. Its meaning matters, legally, socially. The victims of it deserve to be able to talk about their experience with clarity, with words that are undiluted by people using them wrong for emphasis.
This conversation matters, and the words we use matter. Pedophilia is an extremely serious and dangerous thing. So is statutory rape. The fact that they are not the same does not make either less serious, but have enough respect for the damn topic to understand what the distinction is and why it exists, or get off the stage.
Tl;dr – it’s 2018, stop using medical/legal terminology of very serious problems as terms of emphasis for other things
Context: So our campaign took place in space and we were living in a futuristic dystopian. We were currently orbiting around a strange planet.
Paladin: Wait, how far are we from Earth right now?
DM: I’d say…about a billion light years???
*cue to everyone arguing about why that’s impossible and what the real distance should be*
DM: QUIET!! I DIDN’T PLAN HOW FAR YOU’D BE FROM EARTH SO LET’S JUST SAY THAT AFTER WORLD WAR THREE AMERICA TURNED THE METRIC SYSTEM INTO EAGLES CUZ FREEDOM. YOU’RE A BILLION EAGLES FROM EARTH. NOW SHADDAP AND LET ME CONTINUE.
“The prophecy did say ‘no man of woman born’… but you are not what I was expecting.” The old witch peered beadily over her spectacles. “I thought the hero would be a young lady, or someone delivered by C-section, or maybe the child of a transgender man. Not… whatever you’re supposed to be.” She gestured vaguely at Cam with a wizened and knobbly hand.
“I am an automaton, ma’am.”
The witch scoffed. “An Ottoman? The empire may be large, hero, but it is not that large. I’d know if there were metal men stomping around in some far-off corner of the world. Don’t lie to me, hero. I’ll smell it.”
Cam dipped its head. “I am a mechanical construction, assembled by a master craftsman. I can perform many actions like a living thing, if my springs are wound beforehand.”
“PAH!” The witch spat. “So humans send clocks to slay dragons now, is that right? Pathetic!”
“To be fair,” said Cam, “I am a very nice clock.”
The witch huffed, but her scowl cracked into a toothy grin. “Ahh, so you are. Polite, too, an’ that’s rare these days. Come in, hero, an’ I’ll see if I can’t find a boon to grant you.”
Cam stood up and dusted itself off. “I beg your pardon, sir, but I am on a quest and in a hurry. Could you tell me how to get out of this place? My compass was damaged by a troll, and I am very lost.”
“You chipped my fang!” The vampire‘s words were muffled as he held his hands over his mouth.
“I am very sorry, sir,” said Cam. “I would have warned you, but you jumped on me before I had the chance. Will you be alright?”
“No!” The vampire glowered. “I’ve been stalking you all night and now I’m starving! All I wanted was blood!”
“I haven’t got any of that,” Cam apologized. “I am only an automaton.”
“No blood?” The vampire’s shoulders slumped. “Well, what about oil…? Lubricant…? Any kind of vital fluid?”
“I’m afraid not. Can you actually drink lubricant?”
“I dunno. I’ve never tried,” said the vampire, shrugging. “Honestly, it all sounds good about now. I haven’t fed in weeks!”
Cam opened its chest to reveal the jungle of complex machinery inside. “I am made entirely of clockwork,” it said. “I am sorry to inconvenience you.”
The vampire squinted suspiciously at Cam’s clicking gears and took a step back. “Any of your bits made of silver?” There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
“I don’t think so.” Cam looked down at itself. “I’m mostly brass, as far as I can tell, with steel reinforcements…”
“Just checking. Sorry if that was an invasive question, it’s just, you know, I’ve got an allergy to silver and all… I’ve got to be careful.” The vampire looked away sheepishly.
“Oh!” Cam shut its chest and opened a compartment on its thigh. “I always carry an EpiPen! You never know when someone will need it.”
The vampire’s jaw dropped. The very tip of one of his fangs had broken off. “Those things are so expensive! I haven’t owned one since I was alive!”
“I don’t need it,” said Cam, and offered it to the vampire. “If your silver allergy is that dangerous, it should be yours. Go ahead – keep it.”
“Really?! But… I just tried to eat you…”
“Lots of people have.” The automaton shrugged. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
The vampire reached out a thin white hand and reverently accepted the cylinder of medicine. He looked at Cam with an odd expression. “Thank you…” His voice came out choked. “I… don’t know what to say… how can I repay you, automaton?”
“Payment is not necessary. I do not need to eat or drink or pay for room and board… but if it’s not too much trouble, could you show me how to get out of these woods?”
The vampire nodded gravely.
[Content warning: SWARMS!]
The little bee returned and buzzed around Cam’s head. “I am back!” she said brightly. “I brought some of my sisters to meet you!”
Cam held out its hand and the three worker bees alighted gently upon its palm. “Hello,” it said. “My name is Cam. I am pleased to meet you!”
“My sisters are quiet,” said Scout. “But they are the wisest and bravest in the clan.” She did an odd little dance on the swell of Cam’s thumb. “See, sisters?! I found it – all by myself! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It is very strange,” said the largest bee, regarding it critically with her tiny compound eyes and twitching her antennae. “I have never seen a tree that moved so much.”
“I am not a tree,” said Cam. “I am an automaton; a very complicated kind of machine. Do you think can help me? I carried an old man across a river, but my legs have rusted and I cannot move them.” It pointed at its knees. “I am stuck here and cannot continue my quest until I am freed.”
The bees whispered to each other. Scout wiggled excitedly for a moment, speaking in a hushed voice, and then the largest bee spoke again. “We are only three little worker bees and can do little on our own,” she said. “But we serve a clan of fifteen thousand strong, and the strength of the hive cannot be measured!” Her tiny voice swelled with passion. “Our queen will know what to do – we will return and consult with her now.”
The three bees took off and sped away in the direction of their hive. Scout lingered for a moment, buzzing, and Cam waved at her gratefully. Then she zipped off in pursuit of her sisters.
Cam stood still, listening to the steady ticking of its gears. In the distance it could hear the faintest rumble of thunder, and hoped that the bees would hurry back and free it before it began to rain. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and the storm grew nearer and nearer. Just as the automaton began to lose hope, it heard a low humming from beyond the trees that grew louder and louder, until the leaves erupted with motion.
Thousands upon thousands of bees burst into the clearing. The air became thick with sound and motion as the insects churned it with their tiny wings, circling around and around in a dark, dense cloud. Some began to land on Cam.
“I brought my family!” said a tiny voice. Scout had to shout to be heard over the loud droning of the swarm.
“Thank you!” said Cam, raising its arms slightly to avoid crushing the bees that were now clinging to its sides. “I am very grateful for your help!”
Scout landed on its nose and peered at it intently. “Our queen is very tired, and we have all traveled very far with no food. We must rest now before we get to work.”
“I understand,” said Cam. “I would not ask you to exhaust yourselves.”
Scout hopped from foot to foot to foot as more bees began to land. “Splendid!” she exclaimed. “We must find cover from the storm, or many of us may die. Will you let us shelter within you?”
“Oh,” said Cam. “Okay.” It could already feel little fuzzy bodies squirming through the gaps of its knees.
“We thank you, friend Cam!”
The air began to still as all the bees settled to rest on the automaton’s body, forming a thick, humming blanket that covered it from head to toe. Some found gaps and crevices at its joints and squeezed inside, and others followed. Cam opened its mouth to ask how long they would need to rest, but bees clambered over its brass lips and upward into its face. To speak would be to crush them between moving gears.
Soon, the entire hive had found its way inside. The soft clattering of millions of tiny feet upon the inner surface of Cam’s brass sheeting echoed in its head, drowning out the sound of its own ticking clockwork. Dark clouds rolled overhead and rain began to patter on the automaton’s body. Most of the water rolled off harmlessly, but some trickled in through the seam of its neck, where more vulnerable mechanics were located. Cam readjusted carefully.
“Please stop moving!” shrieked a tiny voice inside its head. “You’re hurting us!”
“I am sorry! I did not mean–”
“Don’t speak!” The little voice was desperate. “It hurts when you speak!”
Cam fell quiet and waited for morning.
When the sun rose, some of the bees began to stir. Workers clambered out of its torso and stretched their little legs, humming softly to themselves before rising into the air and flying off. Cam watched them go curiously.
“We are all very hungry,” explained Scout, stifling a yawn. “Most of us have not eaten in days, but there is a field nearby full of sweet yellow flowers. We must collect nectar and pollen for our queen and brothers to regain our strength.”
Cam nodded very slightly, eliciting buzzes of irritation inside its head.
The next morning, it tried to ask again, but the queen was busy laying eggs and could not be disturbed from her most noble duty.
On the fourth day, Cam had to interrupt the business of the hive. Its mainspring was unwinding and needed to be tightened by turning the key in the center of its back, just like any clock. If it unwound completely, the automaton would run out of kinetic energy and become senseless and immobile.
“I’m sorry, friend Cam!” said Scout. “But my baby sisters have only just hatched, and they need to be tended to! They are soft and legless things, and cannot leave their cells. You will surely kill them if you move! Please do not hurt them!”
On the seventh day, Cam found itself unable to move. Its mainspring was very loose and it had to speak with great effort, for thick honeycombs had been built around delicate mechanics, paralyzing it from within. It could not move its arms to reach its winding key.
“You tricked me,” it said in a weak voice. “I thought that you were going to help me.”
“I have helped my clan,” retorted Scout. “There can be no evil in that.”
“I am going to shut down,” said Cam. “And there is no one around to wake me up again.”
Scout sighed and rubbed her antennae with her front legs. “To die for the good of the hive is a great honor. You are a worker too, friend Cam! We both serve, and you can serve so many lives!”
Cam could not argue with that even if it wanted to, for its gears were gummed up with honeycomb. The slow, labored ticking of its clockwork could just be heard over the steady hum of the hive within.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick…
And then it was still, and Cam was aware of nothing more, until the great snuffling and slurping of a shaggy beast interrupted its oblivion.
“Stupid. Fucking. Ugh! Bees!” The bear snorted in annoyance, and pawed again at Cam’s back.
The automaton slipped in and out of consciousness several times as the bear roughly investigated its body. The animal cursed profusely under her breath and swatted bees off her nose, but persisted, nipping and scratching at Cam’s mechanisms in search of openings or weaknesses.
A chunk of honeycomb was knocked loose by the bear’s abuse. “Help!” Cam cried, voice weak and rusty from disuse. “Please – help me!”
“We have come to the Iron Road,” said the phouka. “I can take you no further than this; go, if you must. But Cam…” They began to reach for the automaton, only to hesitate, as if thinking better of it, and let their hand fall to their side.
“Yes?”
“You are… not so bad, for a machine.” They stared into the distance, a hard look upon their willowy face. “The greatest protection I can offer you is my advice – learn to obscure the truth, if you cannot tell a lie. It is the only way you will survive in that world.”
“Thank you,” said Cam, though it was not sure it understood. Before it could turn to say goodbye, the faerie had vanished, and only a large black hare could be seen bounding into the trees. The automaton began to walk along the train tracks towards the horizon.
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