Origami Around
Sade Olutola
todays bird
PR's Tumblrdome
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
No title available
Janaina Medeiros
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
sheepfilms
occasionally subtle
roma★
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Misplaced Lens Cap
YOU ARE THE REASON
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
#extradirty
KIROKAZE
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@ddaabs
Honestly I’m that person who would like get a call about someone who died that was close to me and the first thing that would go through my head would be them saying at some point in their existence “I swear on my life I didn’t eat your food” and then like they ate my shit and hang up and then when I go to the funeral when I pay my respects just totally get angry at a corpse
When life gives you lemons you make lemonade. Then you sell that lemonade for coke money. 5 years later your sitting in an alley way about to shoot up for the last time and you think to yourself, where the fuck did those lemons come from?
im like the off brand of cereal when it comes to dating
i dont look as good but i wont cost you as much as the leading brand
They should make a trix commercial where the rabbit tries to get them and the kids feel bad for not giving him any all these years and then as the rabbit is tearing up and pouring his cereal all that comes out is kix
Some assholes have been putting nails in cheese and treats in dog parks in Chicago and Massachusetts. Also adding antifreeze to water bowls.
Please watch out for your dogs. And if you find out the address of someone doing this, give me the address and tell no one. I will disembowel them.
Antifreeze is fucking deadly as shit. Whilst my mom worked in the vets office the neighbor of a cat owner had become sick of his neighbors tom spraying by his house so he left antifreeze out for the cat. Animals are weirdly attracted to the smell and will drink it.
The cat was given to the vets and for 2 days it’s insides were slowly dissolved by the acids and it bled from his nose, mouth and even eyes.
On the second day, the vet not being able to help and refusing to let the cat suffer any longer put the cat down. The neighbor who did not deny his crimes didn’t even offer to pay the woman’s vet bill.
SO THE BIGGEST FUCKING SIGNAL BOOST TO THIS POST.
Fuck who ever is doing this. They can fucking burn.
my friend had a cat and it drank antifreeze that was puddled in the driveway and one day they were knitting and it just vomited up all of its internal organs and fell over dead on her lap.
The perpetrators of all of this will burn in Hell.
A neighbor of mine threw a ball of hamburger full of rat poison pellets over our fence for my son’s dog. He survived, barely, but has had nerve damage ever since.
Okay, listen up, if your pet drinks antifreeze, do you know what the cure is? Alcohol. That’s right. To save your furry little friend you have to get them drunk out of their faces. Antifreeze is an inhibitor and stops your enzymes from working, but luckily alcohol stops that from happening. I learned this from my A Level Biology lessons, but here’s a source anyway http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/2617997.stm
Shit this is important SIGNAL BOOST THIS THANK YOU ALICE
BOOST. FUCKING BOOST.
Uhhhhhh
I feel like if your pet drinks antifreeze your immediate response should be to take them to the animal hospital/call emergency veterinary services
Like not to discredit the value of that information, or the good intentions of whoever posted it, but personally if I had a dog or cat or whatever else in a serious situation like that, my last resort would be to go off some advice I got I from a tumblr post one time
Advice, which, by the way, was initially meant to apply only to humans
It could work on animals, maybe, idk, but I’m thinking in this case, better safe than sorry??
do NOT give your dog alcohol, it’s POISONOUS to them!! I don’t know about cats, but I wouldn’t risk it! if your pet drinks antifreeze, take them to the vet IMMEDIATELY, and DO NOT give them alcohol!!
I wish someone would hit me with a truck
A puberty truck
When I ask you to put your meat in my mouth I don't mean your dick, I mean your beef, your bacon, maybe even your Bologna if your in the mood
Some of my favourite tweets from Taylor Swift.
Taylor swift is me but like with seven Grammys and a Better face and attitude and all that jazz
proposal: switch from “fuckboy” to “bratboy”
why not “fuckboy”:
“fuckboy” is prison slang for a bottom, the one who gets fucked, usually meaning the one who gets raped (even prison rape is bad rape)
has a swear word and thus is harder to incorporate into day-to-day language without being questioned
some dimplebrain is gonna think it means that you wanna fuck em or that it’s a compliment because they have sex
why “bratboy” instead:
uses two “b”s so it sounds more obnoxious to be called as a word in general
it has sounds totally sassy af
it has no curse words so you can slip it into your everyday language
people know what a “brat” is in casual english language so there’s no questioning what “bratboy” means
has no problematic history
in fact it already has an urban dictionary entry that’s over 12 years old
plus you get google image searches like this which is 100% representative of what we’re going for here:
so in short:
#bratboy2k15
Trigger warning. EVERYONE PLEASE PLEASE SIGN THIS!!! OR AT LEAST SPREAD IT.
As I’m sure many of you know, recently a 3-year-old young Syrian child named Aylan was found drowned and washed up on the shores of Turkey. He was a Syrian refugee trying to escape his country and go to a new life. This image, while terrifying and sickening, has resonated around the world and many people feel the same way I do: we have to do something. I am Turkish and I have been to the exact same town, and THE EXACT SAME BEACH that this little boy was found, and there are just no words for how I feel right now. I hope some of you feel the same way so we can DO something about this, because THERE IS SOMETHING YOU CAN DO! By signing this petition, you are agreeing that Syrian refugees, like this poor little child if he hadn’t been lost to the sea, should be able to seek refuge in the U.S. If you don’t want to, then please at least reblog it. I have never posted anything this serious. This has to get notes, I am begging you. This petition must be signed. Everyone on this site knows me as a humor blog who posts ridiculous stuff but I have never been more serious. Please, please, please at the very least reblog it. This little boy, and many other people who died trying to get to freedom, are counting on YOU to make sure they didn’t die in vain. I have so much left I could say on the topic but I don’t want to bore you. Here is the link for the petition: https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/authorize-and-resettle-syrian-refugees-us
For more information you can go to these links: http://mobile.nytimes.com/2015/09/03/world/middleeast/brutal-images-of-syrian-boy-drowned-off-turkey-must-be-seen-activists-say.html?referrer=&_r=0 http://www.cnn.com/2015/09/03/europe/migration-crisis-aylan-kurdi-turkey-canada/ http://m.euronews.com/en/312858/
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KEEP REBLOGGING AND SPREADING THIS EVERYONE
why is this so funny
It hasnt even loaded yet and im already cyring from laughing so hard
It Was Easier to Give in Than Keep Running
By Anonymous
In first grade, a boy named John— a notorious troublemaker—systematically chased every girl in our class during recess trying to kiss her on the lips. Most gave in eventually. It was easier to give in than keep running. When it was my turn, I turned and faced him, grabbed his glasses off his weasel face, and stomped on them on the hard blacktop. He ran to the principal’s office and cried.
In fifth grade, I was asked to be a boy’s girlfriend over email. It was the first email I ever received. He actually told me he wanted to send me an email, so I went home and made an AOL account. We went to a carnival and he won me a Garfield stuffed animal, and then he gave me a 3 Doors Down CD. A few days later, he broke up with me, and asked for Garfield and the CD back. I said no.
In sixth grade, a girl in my year gave head to an eighth grader in the back of the school bus while playing Truth or Dare.
In the summer after sixth grade, I kissed a boy for the first time at sleep away camp. He was my summer love. During the end-of-the-summer dining hall announcements, where kids usually announced lost sweatshirts and Walkmen, an older girl stepped up to the microphone, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and proudly stated, “I lost something very precious to me last night. My virginity. If anyone finds it, please let me know.” The dining hall erupted into laughter and cheers. She was barred from ever coming back to the camp again, and wasn’t allowed to say goodbye to anyone.
In seventh grade, I told my brother I decided when I was older wanted a Hummer. What I really meant was I wanted a Jeep, but I didn’t know a lot about cars. My mother overheard and screamed at me for “wanting a Hummer.”
In the summer after freshman year of high school, I went to sleepaway field hockey camp with many of my close friends. One of them, named Megan, I had been friends with since kindergarten. One night when I was showering, she ripped open the curtain and snapped a photo of me on her disposable camera. I screamed. She laughed. We both laughed when I got out of the shower a few minutes later. After camp was over, her father took the camera to the convenience store to get it developed. When he gave the finished photos back to her, he said, “Your friend [Anonymous] has grown up.”
Sophomore year of high school, one of my best friends Hilary had a party in her basement while her mom was away. We invited some of the guys in our grade and someone’s older brother bought us a handle of vodka. One of the boys who came sat next to me in Spanish class. His name was Thomas. I remember playing a simple game, where we passed the bottle of vodka around in a circle and drank. I remember being happily tipsy and having fun, to suddenly being very drunk. Thomas and I started chanting numbers in Spanish, and he leaned towards me and kissed me. We kissed in the middle of the party, with all of our friends cheering. Then we went into Hilary’s bedroom.
Hilary’s bedroom was in the basement, on the ground floor, with a large window next to her bed. When someone went outside to smoke a cigarette, they realized it was a front row seat to what was happening in the bedroom. It was dark outside, and the light on was in the bedroom. They called everyone outside to watch. I don’t remember getting undressed, but apparently we were both completely naked in Hilary’s bed. A friend of mine told me later she tried to open the door and stop what was happening, but Thomas must have locked it. They said they pounded on the door. I don’t remember hearing them pounding. I don’t remember seeing everyone’s faces outside the window. I remember Thomas holding my head down, and shoving his penis into my mouth. I remember trying to resist, pulling back, but he held his hands firmly on my head, pushing my face up and down. That’s all that I remember.
The next day, my friends and I went out to dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. I couldn’t eat anything, and it wasn’t because I was hung over. Every time I tried to put food in my mouth, I felt like I was choking. Anytime a flash of the night before appeared in my mind, I felt like vomiting. My friends sat with me in silence. Then they told me a girl named Lindsey, who had briefly dated Thomas freshman year, had stood outside and watched the entire time. Even after everyone else stopped watching. My friends said they didn’t watch.
On Monday, Thomas and I sat next to each other in Spanish. We didn’t speak. We didn’t make eye contact. I went to the girls bathroom and threw up. I hear Lindsey and Thomas live together, now, ten years later.
Junior year of high school, my teacher for Honors Spanish was named Señor Gonzales. Señor Gonzales had all of the girls sit in the front row. Señor Gonzales called on any girl who was wearing a skirt to write on the chalkboard. Señor Gonzales asked a friend of mine, who had broken her finger playing an after school sport, if she broke her finger because “she liked it rough.” Señor Gonzales was a tenured teacher.
Senior year of high school, I got my first real boyfriend. His name was Colin. He was on the lacrosse team with Thomas. He told me that sophomore year, Thomas told everyone on the team what happened that night at Hilary’s. Everyone cheered. Colin said that, even then, he had a crush on me. Even then, he wanted to punch Thomas.
Colin and I lost our virginities to each other. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have the baby. He didn’t believe in abortion. Colin said if I got pregnant, he would make me have a C-section. Colin said that if I didn’t have a C-section, my vagina would be too loose for him to ever enjoy having sex with me again. Colin said that he wouldn’t let our child breastfeed. He said his mother gave him formula, and that he turned out just fine. I didn’t get pregnant.
Junior year of college, I lived in Denmark for the spring semester and studied at the University of Copenhagen. Copenhagen is one of the safest cities in the world. Guns are illegal there. Pepper spray is illegal there. One night, my friends and I went to a concert at a crowded club in a part of the city I didn’t know very well. I brought a tiny purse with money, my apartment key, and my international cell phone. For some reason it made sense at the time to put my purse inside my friend’s purse. Maybe I didn’t feel like carrying it. We were both drinking. My friend left the concert to go home with her boyfriend. One by one, everyone I was there with left the concert, until I was suddenly alone and I realized I didn’t have my purse, or any money for a cab ride home.
I started walking in the direction that felt right. I walked for a long time. I had no idea where I was, and didn’t recognize the area. It was almost 4 am. I was on a residential street when a cab pulled up next to me. I asked the driver if he could drive me to an intersection down the street from my apartment.
I don’t have any money, I said.
I really need your help, I said.
I will do it for free, he said.
Sit in the front, he said.
I sat in the front. We drove in silence for some time, until he pulled over on the side of a dark street.
I don’t want to do it for free anymore, he said.
He locked the car doors and reached across the center console and slipped his hand up my skirt. He grabbed my vagina. Hard. I pushed his hand away and unlocked the door. I ran down the street and realized he had taken me a block away from the intersection I wanted. I walked to my apartment and threw rocks at my roommate’s window until she let me inside. She yelled at me for waking her up. I escaped. Nothing happened. I was fine.
The summer after I graduated college I helped Hilary find an internship. She was an art major and wanted something for her resume besides waitressing. We found a posting on Craigslist to be a studio assistant for a painter in the Bronx. It was listed as an unpaid internship. The toll for the George Washington Bridge was twelve dollars, plus gas, but she got the internship anyway. She wanted the experience.
The artist was a 38-year-old Canadian painter named Bradley. Hilary was 22.There was another intern there, an art student from Manhattan named Stella. Bradley needed assistants to help him make bubble wrap paintings. Stella and Hilary would take a syringe and fill the tiny bubbles with different color paints until it formed a mosaic. Bradley always had Hilary stay after Stella left to clean the paintbrushes and syringes. He told Hilary she was beautiful. More beautiful than his wife, who he only married for citizenship. He told Hilary they had a loveless marriage. He told Hilary he wanted to have her beautiful children. They began an affair. He told Hilary has wife knew and didn’t care. He told Hilary he was going to leave his wife soon.
Everyday Hilary drove to the Bronx, cleaned Bradley’s paintbrushes, and had sex on the studio floor. Everyday she went home with no money, and everyday she paid the toll at the George Washington Bridge. She needed the internship for her resume, she said. It was too late to find a new job, she said.
I could go on. I could tell you a lot more. About the whistles on the sidewalk, the kids who sat at the bottom of the stairs in high school to look up our skirts, my friend who was a prostitute in South Carolina, the men who’ve cornered me in parking lots and bars calling me a tease, the unwanted grabbing on the subway, the many times my father has called me fat, the time I traveled to the Philippines and discovered Western men pay preteen locals to spend the week in their hotel, the messages on OKCupid asking to “fart in my mouth.” About how I wasn’t sure if I had been raped because I was drunk and kissed Thomas back. How he raped my mouth and not my vagina, so that must not be rape. How easy it was for me to escape the dark street in Copenhagen, and how that made it not matter since “it could’ve been worse.”
Men have no idea what it takes to be a woman. To grin and bear it and persevere. The constant state of war, navigating the relentless obstacle course of testosterone and misogyny, where they think we are property to be owned and plowed. But we’re not. We are people, just like them. Equals, in fact, or at least that’s the core of what feminism is still trying to achieve. The job is not over. We’ve made great progress. There are female CEOs, though not very many. There are females writing for the New York Times and winning Pulitzer prizes, though not very many. There are female politicians, though not very many. But these advances are only on paper. The job won’t be over until equality permeates the air we breathe, the streets we walk and the homes we live in.
I think back to how easy it was for me, in first grade, to feel fearless and strong in my conviction to stomp on John’s glasses. I felt right in reacting how I did, because John’s behavior was wrong. But his was an elementary learning of the wide boundaries his gender would go on to afford him. For me, it would never again be so easy.
- Anonymous, age 25
HOLY FUCK.
Read this.
This is very very very important.
Hi guys! I wanted to inform you about this great thing that is happening!
These smart fellows have devised a way to create cups, straws, mixers, etc that can detect common date rape drugs. This is an amazing idea and it needs funding! The campaign ends in 35 hours and they are a little short on funding. Please, signal boost this or even give a dollar if you can, it’s a great cause and something that will really change the world!
gogogo!
Only 28 hours left! Check this out and spread the word!
donate or signal boost, they still have about a fifth to go!
IF YOUDONT REBLOG YOU SUCK
Hey! This is pretty awesome, so I thought I’d share here. Even if you can’t donate, signal boosting the fuck out of this is important!
Patricia.
The Titty
doctors: why are all your bones broken me: totally gnarly kick flip doctors: fucking savage bro
im crying im never going on vine again
heart-attack-kids
uhmstagram
jenesaispa-s
At this point I’m not even surprised tbh
ATTENTION TO ALL MY PEOPLE THAT LIVE OR KNOW ANYONE THAT LIVES IN SOUTH CENTRAL!!!!! I have been seeing this post on Facebook and Instagram and from what I have been told by friends/acquaintances is that it is true. It’s called 100 Days 100 Nights. Two gangs made a bet of who can reach 100 kills first. All of this is because a main member of one of these gangs was killed. So far in the last 5 days 27 people have been shot and 6+ are believe to have been killed. It is happening in between the streets of Normandie and Western all the way down to Imperial and up to Florence. I literally live 10-15 minutes away from these areas and the thought of it is frightening. They are willing to kill anyone. So if you know anyone that lives near or in these areas please tell them to be safe or better yet stay indoors!!!! Please help spread the word!!!!
UPDATE: LAPD has issued a tactical alert that spans from Vernon Avenue to Manchester Boulevard and Crenshaw Boulevard to Figueroa and San Pedro streets!!!
