Holy shit I haven’t posted in two years that’s wild

Janaina Medeiros
Peter Solarz

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Today's Document
YOU ARE THE REASON

Product Placement
Cosimo Galluzzi

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One Nice Bug Per Day

shark vs the universe
noise dept.
tumblr dot com
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
styofa doing anything
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle

roma★
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@thebeeofthebumble
Holy shit I haven’t posted in two years that’s wild
I wish i was a billionaire for the only purpose of making ao3 a better app
babe what's wrong you've barely touched your vanilla extract
the tags are KILLING me
I literally came on here to find a website to help me write something and now I can’t stop scrolling send help
*spills vanilla extract in your inbox*
for the love of god please help me
help him
vanilla extract
vanilla extract might be my favorite new meme
caked up guy
head
torso
torso
ass
leg
leg
foot
vanilla extract
I come back after like six months to find memes about vanilla extract. I love it here
I love characters with glasses that deceive either other characters, or the audience, or both. Eyes representing souls and glasses being a barrier making things distorted, easy to hide behind and showing a reflection of the other instead. Or something.
me when i have to drive over 65 sorry
So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.
Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.
One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.
All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.
So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.
And Mr. Hargrove loved it.
It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.
Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”
And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.
Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.
One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.
That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.
And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.
And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)
So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.
Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.
This is the first time I’ve seen this post but I know I’m gonna love reading it every time it shows up on my dash
I’m the only person at school who cares 😭 at least I got my music theory teacher to play Brothers before class this morning
Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God).mp3
happy oct 3rd! here’s a short lyric comic cause i have many emotions about these brothers
Don't Forget 3.Oct.
#happy october 3rd!✨