honestly if someone tenderly cradled my face i think at this point i would probably blackout
ladies are u all ok

tannertan36
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Today's Document
One Nice Bug Per Day
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Cosimo Galluzzi

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Color Me Curious
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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@observingtimewithyou
honestly if someone tenderly cradled my face i think at this point i would probably blackout
ladies are u all ok
i had a thought today like man, my ancestors would probably not approve very much of me being such an extravagant glutton, but then i was like wtf are u kidding. those dumbasses didn’t live on a fuckin potato ass diet for no minimalism. they didn’t do what they did, whatever the fuck it was, for me NOT to fucking eat my bodyweight in sashimi!!! they would be fucking ecstatic to see me making the most of my opportunities for plenty. they would be fucking cheering me on. every lice-covered cossack and illiterate serf and three-toothed yak herder in my lineage is with me in this restaurant, and they are going absolutely apeshit watching me try to fit an entire samosa in my mouth
i love this idea that the ancestors are following modern people around like a rappers yes-man as we eat food #‘fucking superb you funky little descendant’
me, standing in front of the burger king counter like the blithering hunger gibbon i am: i’ll have… uhhh… double whopper with fries. thank you. large please
the 500 mongolian tatar and polish jew ghosts behind me: [ERUPT INTO WILD SCREAMING AND HIGH FIVES]
can you believe there is a painting of cossacks going hogwild out there that fits this situation perfectly
As cat owners we like to joke about how the cat is the one who’s really in charge, but let’s be honest here: my cats think they’re in charge, but they’re also fucking dumbasses. It’s sort of an incompetent-king-and-long-suffering-advisor arrangement, if the king were prone to getting their head stuck in Kleenex boxes.
Me, disentangling my cat’s claw from the blankets for the third time:
the queen has returned
i feel blessed just to be able to look at these photos
found it!!
“YOU ATE MY SALMON, YOU LITTLE SHIT”
Company’s coming… [requested by anonymous]
@deadpanwalking
mother of god
“Don’t you touch my baby, Sir! Don’t you f**king touch my baby!”
Video via Charly Zeta
“That’s not your baby.”
“THEY ARE NOW”
Quill: I’m Peter Quill. People call me Star Lord.
Peter: wait Peter Quill?
Quill: yeah? what?
Peter *who watched a buzzfeed unsolved about his disappearance*: oh my god.
“OH NO YOUTUBE WAS RIGHT”
Ryan Bergara, somewhere in the distance:
I love the topic of how all little girls go through a weird dark magical mystic phase and the implications that it’s because they feel powerless is worth exploring but in this case I just want to talk about how every year my Girl Scout Troop would do a winter campout in some big lodge in the woods,
And our leaders (my mom and two other girls’ moms) would plan a rigid schedule full of activities like crafts and games and outdoors skills, and while we all mostly enjoyed the outdoors skills part (compasses, firebuilding, etc.) we HATED the craft portions and every year we complained and complained
Until finally one year when I was about 12 and the girls in the troop were 7-12 years old, our parents gave in and granted us more free time.
So we immediately formed a cult.
We didn’t have much to work with, but we managed to come to an agreement that our religion and laws should focus around the toilet in the disabled stall in the two-stalled lodge bathroom.
Quickly, a rigid heriarchy formed, with the older girls holding status above the younger, but nepotism played a role where some of the Brownies had older sisters of higher ranks.
We all renamed ourselves, and we wrote and organized an elaborate ritual for making sacrifices to the water, by way of flushing things down the toilet. Writing prayers on toilet paper and flushing it was a popular means of expressing our faith.
Only three girls, including myself, were allowed to touch the toilet or flush it, because we had written the rituals and were the high priestesses. Anyone wishing to dedicate a prayer or offering had to come to the bathroom and be given audience with us (everyone was seen and heard), and we would then flush their item.
Although there were definitive ranks in our theoracracy, everyone was an equal spiritually. The toilet did not discriminate against prayers and would grant wishes to anyone with faith. Everyone was allowed to partake in songs and dances and meals, and everyone was happy.
Anyway. I like to remember this and think about “lord of the flies” situations bc apparently, when left to their devices in a secluded cabin in the woods, little girls turn up their nose at violence in favor of religious customs and straight up Idolatry.
Friendly reminder that if you shake hands with a guy you shouldn’t eat or touch your face until you’ve washed your hands.
this isnt some Feminist Joke, btw, they basically teach this in food safety since so many guys think its fine to not wash their hands after they’ve touched their dick
THIS IS TRUE AND I HATE TOUCHING ANYTHING AT WORK
I have to share this now.
I work at a tech company. One project had me interacting with a software engineer that kept installing new versions of the project over his previous work, causing us all sorts of headaches. I told him this was the software equivalent of cooking a meal after using the toilet, and he was making us all sick.
Fast forward a bit. I’m coming in to work and pass this individual on the way in to the gowning area/locker room/restroom (we have showers and changing rooms at work). He enters the bathroom area, washes his hands, THEN uses the toilet, and then LEAVES.
I can do nothing but stare disbelieving at his back. What is going on? Does he think the order of the steps isn’t important, as long as he does them? Is he doing this to spite me because of what I said?
The answer is none of the above.
Dudes just be like that.
One of the first pieces of advice my doctor told me after I became immune compromised was to avoid shaking people’s hands but especially the hands of men. The second piece of advice was to go plastic and avoid handling cash ever, but especially cash back from clerks who were men (so if the clerk was a woman and I had cash I needed to offload go ahead and play roulette but credit/debit only if the clerk was a dude).
Then they showed me a study about the restroom habits of men complete with bacterial/viral/fungal cultures taken from hands of men who did wash, who didn’t wash, and who claimed to wash but hadn’t actually. It was real gross, y'all. There was a similar study for women but even the women who didn’t wash their hands had less contagion because they were not directly in contact with their genitals.
So like, big pass from me on hand shakes in general.
???
I am…wow. That’s a wow from me, dog.
conversations with my sisters cat