A Personal Blog @av-mxnen - Tumblr Blog

I think a lot about that Fruits Basket story where the onigiri (rice ball) thinks its plain and bad with nothing special about it

but everyone else actually admires it because of the delicious plum on its back that it can’t see

anyway, I’m going on a second date with a girl soon and couldn’t help but think “Why would she want to keep going out with me?? I’m like, so weird and a little crazy.”

but then I remembered that there is also a plum on my back that I can’t see and that people often like others for reasons we don’t recognize in ourselves. Be kind to yourself. There’s always something good about someone– however little we remember it.

paeshi

can’t believe it took me this long to realize that the reason ppl like me is because of my fat juicy ass

weaver-z

Only female mosquitoes drink blood….. are you really going to use bug spray? Like a fucking misogynist?

dingdongyouarewrong

they hate to see a girlbug winning

valtsv

dark emails

valtsv

to whom it WILL concern

sinusoidalgyroid

nonamenonewhatsoever

kaelio

I assumed everyone knew this, but

candy desk . yeah I know you’re like “it would be stupid in a tv show if a senator famous for being a libertarian idiot whose ribs got broken in a fistfight over yard waste was infected with a virus from a one-in-a-century pandemic and continued to rifle around in the senate republican’s candy pile”. well sorry Sorkin but this is the real world and that’s just how it is

oh yeah because I forgot to mention, it was Rand Paul because of fucking course it was

kaelio

also in case you didn’t know this, the US Capitol also has its own little rinky dink subway system that only they can use at it looks like this

kaelio

and it looked like this in 1912 because yep it’s been there that whole time

slowspinningredemption

willy wonka’s chocolate factory

the-venereal-bede-deactivated20

article tells me there are, in fact, separate candy desks for republican and democrat senators. the republican candy desk, which is the better-known one, is operated by a singular sugar daddy, while democrats can contribute to a candy fund in order to partake of their side’s hoard

@ us senate yall really run a country like this????

ichaserabbits

Jesus Christ if you read it in a book you’d say it was too on the nose. What the fuck.

alterboyx

Republicans make confectioners donate all their candy to them while the democrats pitch in to pay for the candy are you fucking kidding me…I had to read the article myself and it’s somehow worse than I thought

blogwizard

in times like these people say things like “we need to throw it all out and start over” which is absolutely true but we also need to divest of all this whimsical shit in its entirety. if I saw, with my eyeballs, a congressperson like, vote against raising minimum wage or whatever and then take a handful of literal candy from a communal candy desk and then hop on the Magical Senator Train to Clown Town I would be in prison for murder.

memescomedy

yesterdaysprint

Blah, Blah, Blah..

The Wichita Daily Eagle, Kansas, December 30, 1899

The Saint Paul Globe, Minnesota, March 2, 1905

The Tribune, Seymour, Indiana, July 13, 1909

The Atlanta Constitution, Georgia, May 13, 1912

The Evening Journal, Wilmington, Delaware, June 11, 1913

Woodson County Advocate, Yates Center, Kansas, August 6, 1915

The Guntersville Democrat, Alabama, June 22, 1921

Daily News, New York, New York, February 13, 1925

The Courier-Journal, Louisville, Kentucky, May 22, 1950

St. Mary and Franklin Banner-Tribune, Franklin, Louisiana, August 27, 1971

thetyrannosaur

yesterdaysprint snapped

moosopp-art

Some AC gijinkas that were commissioned on twitter

shiternetexplorer

markv5

Механик

napoleanbonafarte

“I came here to fix the car and beat you with a wrench. As you can see, I’ve already finished fixing the car”

tristamateer

“A poet told me that if I give this up, I will give anything up. If I give this to you, I will have given you everything. I keep thinking that I’m staying away for you but maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s for me too. Maybe I still want something to hold onto. I guess that’s selfish, which I am told “love” isn’t. I guess that’s why we aren’t in it anymore. My phone lights up in the dark and I get out of bed to look at the stars. I keep your name curled up at the base of my tongue just in case I ever have to use it. I hope that it’s you, but it never is. It’s an email from the bank, a Twitter notification. I am plagued by late night snapchats from people who have never heard me talk about you before. You are getting married in eleven days and sometimes when I want to text you about it, I write about it instead. You are either sick of reading about yourself by now or you don’t pay attention to my poems anymore. I don’t know which is worse. Sometimes instead of picking up the phone, I pick up the last poem you wrote for me. The one where you lay everything out eloquently: “YOU have a heart like an animal in a snare” “YOU are going to die alone” “YOU are empty”. YOU YOU YOU. Me, me, me. Someone told me once that it helps to remember why we stopped talking in the first place. They weren’t wrong. My phone lights up in the dark and I get out of bed to look at the stars. I take a walk. I think a lot about the moon. About how if I am small then you-and-I are smaller still. A blip somewhere on some cosmic radar. Something that has already happened. Something that is somewhere finished and tucked away. If we both look at the same moon and you still don’t want to call to say goodnight then maybe we’re not looking at the same moon anymore. Maybe the moon has nothing to do with it. Maybe you’re not the same person. Maybe I’m not. My phone lights up in the day and there is no moon to contemplate. How easy it would be to make a misdial that rang in your kitchen. Instead I grab a coffee with another girl. I put my phone away. I pour myself like sugar into everything she has to say. I don’t try to make metaphors out of anything. We stop by a book store and I go straight to YA or sometimes I’ll search through children’s books for things that would have caught my eye when I was younger. I remember that this is a habit you used to look at with disdain. I hold it close. I buy more than I can read in a week. Sometimes when my fingers itch for the phone, I pick it up. Letting myself get that far already feels enough like a battle half lost and won. I call a friend instead and talk to them like a sponsor. I say, “I’m thinking about using again.” They say, “baby, you don’t want to go down that road.” I say, “I know, I know, I know.” I take out your contact information and put it back in again.”

— “11 Days (Instead Of Calling You)” Trista Mateer