flowergirlrobichiko:

thecatsmustbecrazy:

special delivery

BRING ME SCHRÖDINGER’S HEAD

spookyscaryness:

iamtonysexual:

thisisasupergoodidea:

i8urpenguin:

HE TRIED TO ESCAPE

FUCK THE OCEAN
I’M A BIRD MOTHAFUCK- OH SHIT

SEA PANCAKE OUT

Majestic flap flaps

spookyscaryness:

iamtonysexual:

thisisasupergoodidea:

i8urpenguin:

HE TRIED TO ESCAPE

FUCK THE OCEAN

I’M A BIRD MOTHAFUCK- OH SHIT

SEA PANCAKE OUT

Majestic flap flaps

jackthevulture:

ififfy:

hope-whispers:

wdya:

avatar’s most powerful scenes → the blue spirit

"Do you think we could have been friends too?"

I still don’t understand how this show can have scenes as deep and layered as this, or have stuff like Zuko’s character arc and Sokka’s slow appreciation of how badass women can be, and then be all like “I AM NOT TOPH I AM MELON LOOORRRRD!”

good writing is how

Cuz thats how real life is, too :)

not-burnie:

have i told you guys about the Flint rock before?

its this rectangle rock thing thats by the highway and almost every night for 50 years its been painted over and painted over, usually with memorials for loved ones

image

image

image

image

and even though is illegal no one ever stops them and every few years people get together to peel the paint off to start fresh and look at all the paint that comes off

image

image

and nobody knows who started the tradition or what the rock even is for

i just think its really cool

verysharpteeth:

beautimous:

verysharpteeth:

How Raleigh Becket Changed His Tune Once He Met Miss Mako Mori: A Short Story

"You don’t understand, I’m a complicated hero with angst and man pai- OMG SHE’S PERFECT EVERYONE GET IN THE JAEGER WE’RE GOING MONSTER HUNTING"

Oh god I never noticed how his shoulders drop in that last gif. It looks like he is literally sighing over how perfect she is.

He LITERALLY sighs at her when she walks by. NEVER have I seen a main character hero who is an extremely masculine male be SO ADORING of a woman. He has literal stars in his eyes. He’s tipsy on admiration. He looks at her like she brought Christmas and puppies and chocolate cake.

I STAN MANLY MEN WHO ARE RESPECTFUL AND EMOTIONALLY AVAILABLE AND TOTAL EQUALS WITH THEIR LADY FRIENDS

colt-kun:

rabidauthor:

2srooky:

shanellbklyn:

cold-fury:

One of the best moments of my childhood.

I can’t even tell you how excited I was that they turned this book into a movie and it was good

I literally have absolutely no complaints with the movie at all. Once, my friend and I did comparisons from the book and the movie, and we found the only major difference was the fact that Stanley wasn’t heavy set when he arrived at the camp in the movie. The majority of the script is raw quotations from the book.
This is my favorite book to movie adaptation and it did everything Percy Jackson, Inkheart, and The Golden Compass didn’t.

And the only reason Stanely wasn’t heavy set was because in the book he loses tons of weight and eventually ends up being almost thin. The director said he didn’t want to force an adolescent boy to lose weight on such a quick filming schedule, and L’bouf’s audition was so spot on, that they decided to go with a thinner Stanely from the beginning

And I’ll support directors actually giving a crap about their actor’s health.

Anonymous asked
please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

ghirahimu:

reblogging this again just to say: if you havent seen this yet you really need to

blessedwithgloriousbutt:

maycontainfeminists:

One of the best examples of artistic integrity on a corporate scale.

wow. 

No matter how many times I see this, I never fail to be impressed by that last sentence.

©