So, it started in a post in 2012 (or earlier, I don’t know the exact date). As the Urban Dictionary entry explains, you would say “I like your shoelaces” in public as a sort of secret code if you suspect there’s another Tumblr user there. And if there is another Tumblr user, they would reply “Thanks, I stole them from the president” to let you know they understood the message and are, in fact, a Tumblr user.
I don’t think people do this anymore, and if they ever did, it probably wasn’t a very common thing to do. Maybe they did back in 2012 when the post was recent and Tumblr wasn’t as popular as it is now.
I also don’t think there’s any deeper meaning to the phrases. “I like your shoelaces” seems like a pretty common and nice thing to say, and if it turns out the person you thought was a Tumblr user doesn’t recognise the ‘secret message’, nothing would happen. But then “Thanks, I stole them from the president” seems weird and specific enough that you would know they understood the ‘secret message’, unlike if they just replied “Thank you”.
Then other posts appeared making references to the shoelaces and president posts:
Tears fill my eyes as I read the words on my screen. The world seems to stop spinning for the slightest second as I re-read the anonymous message over and over again, gripping on to the hope that the words will magically disappear. But they didn’t. Anon had done it; they’d figured out that the only way to make me take off my hijab was to call my hair ugly. My one weakness.
A tear streams down my left cheek.
Eight years of academy hijab training…wasted. I had to prove this extremely relevant and good-looking anonymous person wrong, I cared too much about what they thought. How could I live my life knowing that there is one person out there who thinks probably my hair is ugly maybe? How could I look myself in the mirror? How could I face my family? My shoulders shook as I cried silently, and my chair squeaked ever so slightly at the vibrations; as if it, too, was crying in sorrow.
It wasn’t until that moment that the second part of the message dawned on me… how would I prove them wrong without breaking the rules? Was it really against the rules? I reach into my hijab and pull out a scroll. At the very top, in cursive jet-black inked letters, the word ‘Rules’ stares back at me. My heart is racing as my eyes frantically read the scroll.
‘Rule #1: no killing people,’ it reads. I let out a whimper. There go my evening plans.
Suddenly, my eye catches the next words. The scroll is rustling in my trembling hands as I turn my face away, tears spraying out of my eyes like the spit of a white person as they try to justify racism. The cursive words felt more like a curse of words, vivid and refusing to disappear as if I were still staring at them even through my closed eyes.
Rule #2: don’t show ur hair girl it’s ugly lmaooooo
this is either gonna be a terrible decision on my part or nothing’s gonna happen haha
I’ll only post the successful ones.
Am I even gonna get any???
HEY GUYS- send things to any Rick and Morty you want and I’ll respond as them. 😉 Just say who it’s to then the statement. Would that be fun for you guys?
“I am so sorrrry’” Prrt-ts growled, panic in her rattling voice as she frantically pulled emergency suppiles out of a nearby compartment. Her claws clacked heavily on the metal floor. Rob watched her go, hand pressed over the slashes that marred his side. “I will sing to yourrrr Captain and give my life-”
Her massive hands shook as she pulled out a frankly alarming amount of medical goods out of the compartment.
“It was an accident,” Rob told her genially. Frankly, he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. Humans were pretty squishy compared to the big, bead-skinned lizards that made up Prrt-ts’ race. “Is there a regen device in there? These aren’t really deep enough to need stitches but they kinda hurt.”
Prrt-ts froze, staring at him. Her expression was hard to read but her tail lashed, a sure sign of confusion. “…stitches?” She questioned carefully. “Used to… sew?”
“Yeah,” Rob nodded. When she didn’t move any closer, he reached for the med box, prompting a flurry of activity from his friend.
“Do not move morrre than you have to!” She scolded him fiercely. “I have called the medic- therrre is still a chance to save you!”
“What?” Rob said blankly. He looked down at the gashes in his side, unpleasant, but he’d gotten worse trying to wrangle a specimen into a cage. “No- no Prrt-ts, unless you have venom in your claws, I’ll heal up fine.”
She stared at him like he had sprouted a second head. “…heal?” She queried, tale lashing more than ever. “I do not know this worrrd. What does it mean?”
Since she didn’t seem ready to stop him, Rob grabbed a packet of gauze and pressed it over the sluggishly-bleeding cuts. “You know, when you get injured? If it’s not fatal, it’ll mend itself over time.”
She was still staring, and a thunder of footsteps announced the human medic, case in hand, pounding in through the door.
“Prrt said you were dying,” the man said before he got a good look at Rob, sprawled against the wall but very much alive. “What happened?”
“I clawed him,” Prrt-ts said sadly. “He seems to have lost his mind to the blood loss.”
“I’m okay, Doc,” Rob could speak for himself and thought his friend was overreacting. “She barely grazed me. It’s mostly stopped bleeding.”
“Than death is nearrr,” the lizard intoned sadly. “When the blood stops coming, it will not be long.”
Doc looked up at her in blank astonishment, and then cursed roundly. “I keep forgetting your bodies don’t repair themselves when you get hurt,” he said, a smile starting to grow. “Prrt-ts , you know those plastics you have that mend themselves when they get damaged?”
His hands worked briskly, checking to make sure Rob wasn’t underestimating his injuries, (ONE time and the doctors never believed you again) decided he was alright, and set to cleaning them, making Rob hiss.
“Yes…?” Prrt-ts said cautiously, watching them.
“Human bodies do the same, provided it wasn’t lethal to begin with, and barring illness.” Doc explained. Deciding it was clean enough, he smeared ointment over the cuts and pressed a bandage over it all. “You’ll be fine, kid. Try to avoid the pointy bits next time.”
“It was my fault, I startled her,” Rob shrugged, prompting a clicking noise of protest from Prrt-ts. He raised a hand to stop her. “Listen to Doc. Give me a few days and I’ll show you. We heal up quick.”
“Just keep them clean and stop by in a week to let me take a look,” Doc said cheerfully. He stuffed everything back into his kit and stood, dusting off his hands. Prrt-ts looked like she had been hit in the head, and he patted her scaled shoulder.
“Remind me to bring this up at the next command meeting,” he instructed them both. “Your people should probably know what ACTUALLY constitutes a lethal injury for one of us.”
“I am starrrting to think the answerrr is NOTHING,” the big alien said, tail finally stilling. Rob stood and rolled his shoulders and she watched him carefully. “You eat everrrrything, want to make a pet of anything that doesn’t immediately trrry to eat you- and some things that do– and now you tell me that you can shake off terrrrrible injurrry. I am starrrrting to underrrrstand why most everrryone fearrrrrs you Soft-Skins!”
So there’s a chick in my class I like; unfrotunately im quiet, calculated and intelligent and she likes big dumb jocks. So anyway one day me and her boyfriend are walking among a group of our felow students when a gang banger appears and threatens with a gun. Her ‘big and though’ boyfriend instantly freezes and loses the ability to speak. I on the other hand squint my eyes and step forward pulling my katana for judo practise out in one fell swoop. “Go ahead” I say. The gun is only 400 years old while the sword is the child of many millenia. Do you fancy the odds?“ Instantly the gang-banger drops his weapon and runs. My other classmates cheer while her jock boyfriend pretends the whole thing was funny. She looks at me and sees what she didnt see before. She thanks me with a kiss, but I don’t smile because I was only doing my duty. Safe to say she saw who a real man was that day. I may be quiet and collected, but raise a weapon against me and youll face your worst nightmare
The gun is only 400 years old while the sword is the child of many millenia. Do you fancy the odds?
