#number 45

[runawaymarbles]

Can I just say, from the bottom of my heart, thank FUCK that this man is not commander in chief of the United States right now

[everyjirou]

[the-lean-buddha]

My personal top 10 TLW minor characters:

1) Davidson - feckin’ legend. He only doesn’t top my ranking of all the characters because he’s probably screwed my mother. 2) Harkness - isn’t Davidson. 3) Wyman - effortlessly alternates between dying, talking about dying, and talking about sex, but doesn’t quite do it as well as Davidson. 4) Percy - probably the best death scene for a minor character. 4) Number 45 - had the balls to wear a green trenchcoat, also I like that scene, whatever, moving on. 4) Fielder - what a legend, could have beaten that loser Rattigan but instead chose to die in a landscape described as ‘the cleft between two rising breasts’. 4) Pastor - the final survivor of the recurring minor characters because King forgot he existed. 27) I haven’t mentioned Davidson in a while. 8) Hough - his only description is the pronunciation of his name so we know he’s not called ‘Bill Hoe’. 3034) Rattigan - not in ‘serious shape yet’ in Massachusetts but still lost to a hemorrhaging boy, what a chav. 100) Gribble - the perpetual eater of the soggy biscuit.

[aalt-ctrl-del]

Do Not Eat, Touch, Or Even Inhale the Air Around the Manchineel Tree

Meet America's deadliest tree. Found in Florida, of course.

The only thing you need to know about Florida is that there are trees that grow there, which will kill you if you so much as look at them.

I’m not exaggerating. The Manchineel Tree is super toxic, has a hatred for anything with blood and is mobile. You can’t be near these trees because they are super cruel.

It would be such a shame if these things sprouted up around a certain golf course in Florida....

ᴵ ᵐᶦˢˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵉ "ᶠᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᶦⁿ ᶠˡᵒʳᶦᵈᵃ, ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ" ᵗᵃᵍ ˡᶦⁿᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ. ˢᵖˡᵉⁿᵈᶦᵈ

[longwalkquotes]

“What’s your name?” he asked the boy, but there was no answer. And he found himself suddenly spitting the question at the boy over and over, like an idiot litany that would save him from whatever fate was coming for him out of the darkness like a black express freight. “What’s your name, huh? What’s your name, what’s your name, what’s—”

“Ray.” McVries was tugging at his sleeve.

“He won’t tell me, Pete, make him tell me, make him say his name—”

“Don’t bother him,” McVries said. “He’s dying, don’t bother him.”

The boy with 45 on his trenchcoat fell over again, this time on his face. When he got up, there were scratches on his forehead, slowly welling blood. He was behind Garraty’s group now, but they heard it when he got his final warning.

They passed through a hollow of deeper darkness that was a railroad overpass. Rain dripped somewhere, hollow and mysterious in this stone throat. It was very damp. Then they were out again, and Garraty saw with gratitude that there was a long, straight, flat stretch ahead.

45 fell down again. Footsteps quickened as boys scattered. Not long after, the guns roared. Garraty decided the boy’s name must not have been important anyway.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Listen, after the last Presidential Debate, the only way you’ll find me excited for this next one is if they put 45 in a plastic bubble and have him roll around the stage like a giant, orange hamster.

Which, given the state of things, is not a tremendous ask nor is it something that’s out of the realm of possibility

[departmentq]

"...From hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee..."

[seiilahh]

RIP #45 🙇🏻‍♀️🙏🏻