chillin' on death's doorstoop @boldmovebuttons - Tumblr Blog

literally nothing is funnier than just living your life with a cat in a sweater vest. constantly feels like he’s about to offer to do my taxes

meangirlnurse

i was trying to finish this post while he sat on the bar stool next to mine beeping at me for attention, and when the attention didn’t come quickly enough he put his paws on my shoulder and slapped me in the face

which is, again, infinitely funnier when your cat is wearing a sweatervest

meangirlnurse

im being bullied by the world’s smallest accountant

theweirdwideweb

mothwi

I can testify that this is very true

yesterdaysprint

Life magazine, March 1916

turing-tested

not to sound like a commie or anything but I hate how it costs money to be alive

cutecornflakes

Our 5 cats are very pleased with their new outdoor catio

just-shower-thoughts

If the population of fish keeps declining, future generations will use the saying “plenty of fish in the sea” as a sarcastic way of saying they’ll never find someone.

dennys

help this kid out

dennys

this kid never got a pancake reblog if you cry every time

socialistexan

Being working class is like this:

plum-soup

ummmmmm(: maybe if you spent a little bit less money on frivolous luxuries like entertainment (: you wouldn’t be a stupid broke bitch who deserves to be poor(: just some friendly advice(:

mooglemain

i wanna fall in love it sounds like fun

mooglemain

IN THEORY!

tsunflowers

red cross questions before you give blood are like

do you have the bubonic plague (also known as the black death)

were you a member of an Armenian monkey juggling troupe between the years of 1985 and 1997

have you ever even SEEN a gay man

unusualrussia

Translate this meme for me, please.

chestervelt

“honk honk, your Uber has arrived”

“Oleg, what the fuck”

madokami-archive

╭ ◜◝ ͡ ◝ ͡◜ ◝ ͡◝ ╮ ( seeing my friends ) ( be really excited and) ( gush over and over ) ( abt their interests ) ╰ ͜ ╯ ╯ O o ° 〃∩　∧＿∧ 💕 ⊂⌒（ ´・v・）💕 ｀ヽ_っ＿/￣￣￣/ 　　＼/＿＿＿/

sandersstudies

I love genuinely innocent “boys will be boys.” Just saw a guy come out of a frat house to poke a pair of jeans they’d left outside - they were frozen solid, and as soon as he confirmed that, like twenty more boys came rushing out of the house going “YOOOOOOOOOO”

rebelminds

I heard grunting outside my window the other night and there were four boys struggling to push this giant snowball (like 7 foot diameter) down the sidewalk.

snarling-through-our-smiles

I once lost my keys at a frat house.

My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully-disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out. I do not remember this part.

The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I’d never been at a frat house in broad daylight before.

A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing.

“I lost my keys in here last night,” I called back. “I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?”

He opened the door and gestured for me to come in.

“Go wherever you want.”

I’d never seen a frat house post-party before. Wandering up the stairs and through the halls, I was surrounded by hungover and still-drunk frat boys stumbling around in their socks and sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I’m sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination.

I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed.

“Do you like dog movies?” he asked, voice all mumbly from grogginess and also from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket.

I told him I did.

He mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for my keys.

“Sorry, I haven’t seen any keys around here.”

I didn’t doubt him.

Twenty minutes had passed. I’d searched just about every bedroom and nuclear-waste-dump-site of a bathroom in that house. I’d given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates’ forgiveness and get a new set copied.

As I stood there in the hallway, silently bewailing my predicament, a particularly-burly frat boy approached me.

“You need help with something?”

“I lost my keys here last night and I can’t find them, I’ve looked everywhere.”

“What do they look like? I’ll put it into the group chat.” He was already pulling out his phone.

No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. “Um, it’s just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can’t miss it.”

He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat.

“Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck.”

And with that, he turned and left.

A few moments later, I heard a distant thundering. It was coming from upstairs, and it was getting louder and louder. One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde of large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me.

“Someone tell the girl!” One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. “Girl! Hey, GIRL!!! We found your keys, girl!!!”

They circled around me. I hadn’t felt that small since I was maybe eleven years old. One of them split himself off from the crowd.

“Are these -” he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, “your keys?”

And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring.

“Yes,” I whispered. “Oh my god, yes.”

“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!”

The cheer went up.

Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of “no problems” and then, just as suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night.

#sometimes i really love that boy culture