thetimetravelersguidetothegalaxy:
Writing is weird.
One minute you are telling a story.
The next minute you are researching the average amount of snowfall Edinburgh gets.
or how to kill someone with a piece of barbed wire and a tomato
Or how much force it takes to dent a human skull with a can of Pepsi.
what the hell are you guys writing?
Porn.
(via flatbear)
(via combustible-lemons14)
So I needed a way to alert the class that I was going to be showing graphic pictures of genitals on my presentation so I decided that putting this on the slide before would work
I want this on a shirt.
I wasn’t looking properly and i thought it said hit the dick
(via combustible-lemons14)
whatsortofamandoesntcarryatrowel:
Dad: Why do you think they do that?
Girl: Because the companies who make these try to trick the girls into buying the pink stuff instead of stuff boys want to buy. [x]that awkward moment when a child understands the harm of forcing gender roles better than most grown male politicians.
Always reblog.
I’m surprised that I haven’t reblogged this, to be honest.
I love that last gif. She looks so frustrated. Like “Um, hello, obviously girls and boys can like anything why doesn’t anybody get that???”
(via combustible-lemons14)
in first period a girl got dress coded for wearing a tank top with a jacket over it and this scrawny little boy stood up and yelled “OH MY GOD SHE HAS SKIN THE SKIN IS TOO MUCH FOR ME HER SHOULDERS ARE BEAUTIFUL THIS IS TOO MUCH” and the teacher got so annoyed with him that she didn’t get to dress coding her
that boy is of the future
(via combustible-lemons14)
This morning my life was nearly a porno.
And by this I mean as I was running around getting ready the dog stepped on my towel, the towel came off, I squeezed the bottle of moisturizer in my hand too hard as I grabbed for the towel and hand cream squirted all over my loveliest assets.
And yes.
I was in front of the window.
Know where you stand.
(Source: fer1972, via qthewetsprocket)
I was so nervous talking to a man that I have admired for twelve years of my life. The man who let me know as a child that miserable things happen and that’s perfectly normal. The same man who helped me overcome my fear of reading after being screamed at by my teacher that I would never be able to read anything my grade level, only to have a college level reading skill by the end of sixth grade. My motivation to write and keep doing whatever I want because no matter who tries to bring me down, I know that I can overcome it just like I did those years ago.
I blushed and stuttered, barely getting out a ‘this may sound dorky, but thank you for everything you’ve done for me’. I hadn’t told him the tragedies that had gone on in my life in specifics. I thanked him for giving me a chance when so many adults did not and how I found it ironic that I still love a series about miserable children when I practically went through the same thing. And even though I’ve heard ‘I’m sorry’ so many times about every death, every terrible thing that has happened, I have never heard one so sincere.
Here I was beating myself up about failing to convey myself in front of this wonderful man. How I missed my chance. Putting my things away, I grabbed my book and peeked inside to see this. And I began to cry.
This is a man who I have never met before. A man I have only dreamt of meeting since I was very small. But yet in one small sentence he has managed to move me entirely. A sentence that has needed to be said for a long time now.
‘To Bridget, who has suffered enough.’
(via mandemonium)
(Source: daddog, via istolepandorasbox)
