Taimi: The Unserious Dating App for Unserious Folks

If it walks like a duck, and it looks like a duck… Photo by Bryan Padron on Unsplash … sometimes it is indeed a duck, but sometimes it is a skunk cosplaying as a duck. Taimi is the latter. Taimi stinks, it already stank, but now it stinks even more. It brands itself LGBTQ+ Dating and Chat. However, Taimi is an unserious dating app pretending to be serious. It fails at this, badly. If you haven't done so already, I do invite you to read my previous take on Taimi. You'll see there that […]

https://www.yourautisticlife.com/2026/03/18/taimi-the-unserious-dating-app-for-unserious-folks/

He died doing what he loves best

“I came as fast as I could. I was frying air when central called.”

“Frying air?”

“Yes.”

“How do you fry air?”

“You know how a hair drier dries hair? An air fryer fries air. I got a new air fryer. It fries air to a crisp.”

“I see. Your grammatical logic is impeccable.”

“So what happened here?”

“A murder.”

“And I suppose that this is our victim, lying on the floor, covered in blood?”

“No, that’s Sergeant Fox, resting after a mishap with a ketchup bottle. The victim is over here.”

“Ah. What does the coroner say?”

“Apparently, our victim died doing he loves best.”

“And what’s that?”

“Masturbating.”

“Ah, yes, that would explain the hand down the pants, and the ridiculous smile on his face.”

“No, I’m afraid that’s a congenital feature.”

“You mean to tell me that this man was born with his hand down his pants? It must have been a difficult birth.”

“No, I’m talking about his face.”

“Yes, babies are born with a face. Nothing special about this.”

“I’m actually talking about his facial expression.”

“How do you figure that it is congenital?”

“For one thing, the smile was not momentary, look at his badge. [Shows the badge.]”

“Good god! This man has the worst case of resting clown face that I have ever seen. But how do you know it was congenital? It could have been the result of plastic surgery gone wrong.”

“Look at this. Forensics reconstructed the man’s face as a child.”

“Ah yes, even as a child, he looked like a cartoon clown.”

“And look at this. Forensics even reconstructed the man’s dog.”

“A balloon dog! A balloon dog for a clown checks out.”

“Forensics also reconstructed the man’s wife.”

“What gives? I see a blank piece of paper.”

“Exactly. He never married.”

“I see.”

“The kicker is that his wife looks exactly like his goat. Look!”

“You’re showing me the same piece of paper.”

“Yes, that’s because he never had a goat either.”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #microfiction

Can I show you my tits?

“What can I do for you?”

“I would like to purchase a bird.”

“Oh, can I show you my tits?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“My tits. Do you want to see them?”

“Madam, your proposal is quite indecent.”

“Indecent? How?”

“You proposed that I see you in a state of undress.”

“What? I’ve got great tits and I just wanted to show them to you.”

“I care not as to whether your breasts are great or banal. I just don’t want to see them.”

“Would you stop talking about my breasts? I want to show you birds.”

“Oh, I heard tits.”

“Yes, if my great tits don’t interest you, my assistant just acquired blue tits. Do you want to see her blue tits?”

“Madam, for the last time, I do not wish to see anybody’s breasts, no matter what color they are.”

“Let me try another way. Is there a type of bird that interests you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Boobies. I’d like to see your boobies.”

“My boobies? Impudent!”

“What? You don’t have boobies?”

“Now you’re just insulting me.”

“Well, then. I shall leave, without having seen your boobies… or your breasts for that matter.”

“Very well!”

“Hmm… what next on my list of errands? Ah, yes, I shall go to the grocer to take a look at her melons.”

“You want to see her melons? Out of my store, you clod!”

“I shall take my leave anon.”

“Good!”

“I go check out the grocer’s melons and then I’ll go to the hardware store to get myself a nice pair of jugs and some nipples.”

“I’m sure the staff there will gladly let you see their jugs and their nipples. Oaf!”

“I must now bid you mammary.”

“Mammary to you too, sir!”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #microfiction #birds #breasts

A deadly combination

“I came as soon as I could. I was in the middle of surgery when central called.”

“I see.”

“[Phone rings.] Hold on! I’ve got to take this. [Picks up the cellphone.] “Yes. Yes. Let me know if the patient’s state changes, and remember the hydration. [Hangs up.]”

“How’s the patient?”

“As dead as when I left him.”

“Dead? Why do you need him hydrated?”

“Oh, I don’t need him hydrated. I was reminding the nurse to drink water. I don’t want to go back home to a dead patient and a dead nurse.”

“Home? Your home is equipped for surgery?”

“Yes, my home is complete with solarium, jacuzzi, batcave, and an OR.”

“I also did not know you were a doctor besides being a police officer.”

“I’m just an amateur. I learned my craft by reading the back of cereal boxes.”

“But there is no medical information on the back of cereal boxes.”

“Indeed, that’s why I call myself an amateur. Anyhow, what happened here?”

“An armed robbery, but the perpetrator was killed.”

“Is that the perpetrator on the floor bleeding from a gunshot would to the head, and not breathing?”

“Yes.”

“Look at that attire!”

“You know what they say?”

“What do they say?”

“Dress for the job you are seeking.”

“Well, by the looks of it, this criminal wanted a job as a clown circus.”

“True. Though he has a serious case of accountant face.”

“Yeah, the attire of a clown, and the face of an accountant. That’s a deadly combination if I’ve ever seen one.”

“How do you figure? We’re still alive.”

“Yes, but our victim is dead.”

“I see.”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #microfiction

A surprise in every box.

“Is this the Department of Formal Complaints?”

“No, this is the Department of Informal Complaints.”

“Oh, but the sign on the door says…”

“I was joking. This, indeed, is the Department of Formal Complaints. There is no such thing as a Department of Informal Complaints. That would be bonkers.”

“Ah. Well, I’d like to submit a formal complaint. Hmm… no, I wouldn’t *like* to submit it. ‘Like’ is the wrong word. I would be displeased to submit… That does not sound quite right either.”

“You want to submit a formal complaint, right?”

“That’s it.”

“What is it about?”

“Your boxes of cereal claim that there is a surprise in every box.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I opened my box, looked for the surprise, and found a turd.”

“Go on.”

“And it wasn’t just a turd, it was a third of turd.”

“A turd of a turd? I find that hard to believe. Our turds do not produce other turds.”

“No, not a turd of a turd. A third of a turd. How shall I put it? One over three of a turd.”

“Oh, a third of a turd. Would you have liked a whole turd?”

“We’re going astray here. What kind of a surprise is a turd?”

“Well, were you surprised?”

“Sure. I expected something like a toy, or some knick-knack.”

“Okay, so the writing on the box is truthful. There was a surprise in your box.”

“That’s your stance?”

“Yes, I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“I see.”

“This is the wrong department for such activity. You want the Department of Making Mountains Out of Molehills, next door.”

“[Picks up phone and dials.]”

“Who are you calling?”

“The Department of Farcical Situations.”

“Why?”

“To report this situation!”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #turd

#AutisticWriters #TheDailyIsotope #turd

Stupid Cancer

“Give it to me straight, doctor. What is it?”

“Oh, it’s a stupid cancer.”

“Cancer? Jeez… you sure gave it to me straight. What type is it?”

“I’ve told you already. Stupid.”

“Hey now, I may be a little slow but don’t call me stupid.”

“You’re not understanding me. You have cancer of the stupid.”

“What? Cancer of the stupid?”

“Yes, you’ve got a huge tumor right in the middle of your stupidity.”

“What’s my prognosis?”

“Two to three months.”

“I’m going to die in two to three months?”

“No, your stupidity will have been completely eaten away in two to three months.”

“Then what?”

“You’ll become a genius.”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #cancer #stupid #microfiction

#AutisticWriters #cancer #microfiction #stupid #TheDailyIsotope

Five Years In Remission

I entered remission five years ago on February 11th 2021.

Photo from PxHere. (No, this ain’t my brain.)

It’s been a wild ride, to say the least.

Ultimately, everybody’s journey through cancer is their own. If you’re a cancer survivor too, your journey is not my journey, and my journey is not your journey, no matter how similar they may be. Some people never make it through. A sobering thought.

A cancer diagnosis is often a gut punch, but my diagnosis came as a relief to me. Prior to it, I had been slowly dying for months, but I did not know why or have a plan to deal with this slow death. My PCNS lymphoma diagnosis not only told me why I was dying, but it provided me with a plan: first chemo and then a stem cell transplant.

So I underwent treatment. After two rounds of chemo, the tumor was gone from my brain. After five rounds, I was declared to be in remission. Its now been five years since I entered remission, and my latest MRI, done in January of this year, indicates that my brain is still free from cancer. If I had gotten this disease 35 years ago, I would not have been so lucky. I would have died, pure and simple. Medicine has advanced.

After the chemo, I had a stem cell transplant. They extracted stem cells from my body, kept them in storage, destroyed my immune system, and finally they reinjected my stem cells so that I could rebuild my immune system. My entire treatment happened at the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and yet, I never caught this disease.

It’s been a wild ride, I tell you!

My cancer was not the cause of my divorce, but it was a catalyst. My ex-wife and I had already been seeing a marriage counselor a good two years before my cancer showed up. After my treatment, I just did not see myself enduring through this marriage if nothing changed. I tried to change things, but it was in vain. So my ex-wife and I divorced. It is not what I would have wanted, but it was the way forward.

As we were discussing the divorce, I figured that there was no longer any reason for me to hide from the world the fact that I’m not straight, but pansexual. I knew since my teenage years that I wasn’t straight, and even told my wife before we got married that I was bisexual. That’s the only term that I knew at the time, but I prefer to call myself pansexual. Gender or its absence is just no obstacle when it comes to my desire to get intimate with someone else.

Besides being pansexual, I’m also polyamorous. Provided that I’m kept aware of my partners’ intimate encounters with other people, I don’t get jealous if they have those encounters. What gets to me is if I feel neglect. I suppose I might also get angry if a partner of mine hid their encounters with someone else, but this, to my knowledge, has not happened.

I also discovered BDSM, and that I am a Dom. I was always generous in bed, but BDSM allows me to optimize this generosity.

Then I realized that I’m autistic. The signs were present from infancy, but everybody treated me as neurotypical, so I thought that I was neurotypical. My ex-wife has ADHD, but we never discussed neurodivergence in our household. We both imagined that the other perceived the world in the same way we did. This is woefully incorrect, but we didn’t know any better.

I also realized that I’m nonbinary. The surest way to generate dysphoria in me is to insist that I should behave or not behave this or that way because I’m “a man.” At best, I’ll find the idea amusing. At worst, it will generate anger. At any rate, in retrospect, this is another element that caused friction between my ex-wife and me. She thought she had married “a man,” but she did not.

If my cancer had not happened, how much of this self-realization would have happened? I’m not sure. I was pretending to be a neurotypical man in a straight, monogamous, vanilla marriage. I think I could have gone on pretending for more years.

It’s been a wild ride, and I don’t think the ride is over just yet.

#autistic #AutisticWriters #cancer #CancerSurvivor #CancerTreatment #divorce #queer #remission #YourAutisticLife

Ran out of ideas

“Say, what are you doing boarding up your shop?”

“Oh, I used to sell ideas, but I ran out of them. So I’m closing shop, for good.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I hear there’s a farm upstate where all the writers who ran out of ideas are free to frolic all day.”

“Hmm… there’s something you should know about that farm.”

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t exist. It’s just a tale they tell young writers. You know… so that they have something to look forward to.”

“What am I going to do then?”

“You should open up a new shop.”

“What would I sell? I no longer have ideas.”

“Hope.”

“Hope?”

“Yes, there’s an endless supply, and folks always need hope.”

“That’s a plan. I almost said ‘there’s an idea’ but that’s not possible, because I ran out of them.”

“And I even have a name for you ‘The Hopium Emporium.'”

“That’s snappy.”

“It will be $500.”

“What?”

“My fee. $500. I’m a traveling salesman. I sell plans.”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #ideas #hope #plans #microfiction #TheHopiumEmporium #writing

#AutisticWriters #hope #ideas #microfiction #plans #TheDailyIsotope #TheHopiumEmporium #writing

Boop! And just like that, chapter 19 is done. #autisticwriters

Socially mandated love

“Hi!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaa… You scared me. I did not see you there, crouching behind the couch.”

“Oh, sorry! I just wanted to surprise you on this day of celebration.”

“You’ve surprised me, so mission accomplished!”

“But that’s not all. My coworkers managed to shame me into performing socially mandated gestures to demonstrate my love for you.”

“Okay.”

“Like giving you this set of dead plants.”

“Oh, flowers. You took upon yourself to go to the florist. How thoughtful!”

“Yes. Though, I think florist is a bad name. They should be called flower undertakers.”

“The socially mandated response is to thank you. So thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Here is a card for you. Open it.”

“Give me a second.”

“None of the cards at the store conveyed the exact message I had in mind. So I edited the message.”

“I see that. How thoughtful! Crossing out the word ‘forever’ is quite sensible.”

“Yes. At best, once I’m dead, I won’t be able to love you. Why make promises I cannot possibly keep?”

“I also like how you scribbled in the words ‘froggy-style’.”

“What? Froggy-style? Er… no… it is ‘doggy-style’.”

“Oh… right. Your handwriting is terrible.”

“Yes. It is. I also have this gift for you.”

“Wow! That’s a big box.”

“Open it.”

“Give me a week! Haha!”

[Five minutes later.]

“Did you find it?”

“I think I did. It is a wad of $20 bills, like I’m a pole dancer or some such.”

“This way you can get whatever you want. However, my coworkers chided me, saying money is not a thoughtful gift.”

“This is surely more thoughtful than the coffee machine my parents gave me.”

“Oh… yeah…. with your difficulty processing caffeine.”

“It gives me hives. Not only that, but they keep forgetting that they gave me a coffee machine already, and they give me that gift every year.”

“At least money never becomes useless, even if you get it repeatedly.”

“I’m sorry, but I have nothing for you. I do love you too, but I am aromantic.”

“Oh, the enjoyment of your presence is quite enough gift for me. Come to think of it… I think I might be aromantic too. The whole thing felt rather unnatural to me.”

#TheDailyIsotope #AutisticWriters #ActuallyAutistic #aromantic #GiftGiving #society

#ActuallyAutistic #aromantic #AutisticWriters #GiftGiving #society #TheDailyIsotope