long boy way too long @tsunderegothgf - Tumblr Blog

jackalopescruff

idiot got cum on the ball. rookie mistake honestly

angelic--fox-deactivated2022052

spacehunter-m

I don’t know

countryboy

I’ve never felt this close to fred in my whole life

cloudfreed

I donno

whitepeopletwitter

note-a-bear

For ppl who need the source here’s a guardian article

fandompariah-deactivated2021120

When I worked at Amazon a microwave fell from five layers up in the racking and broke the arm of an order picker.

They were an agency temp so Amazon called the agency to let him go and have another temp sent *before* they called an ambulance, when he tried to put in sick days they turned around and told him “Sorry you’d already been let go before the accident was logged anywhere”

catgirlnailpolish

I will kill every ceo

thenamelesscorpse2185

I will help

uncle-mrbones

Please also read this Atlantic article (in partnership with Reveal) about the complete disregard for worker safety inside Amazon warehouses

akiyty

When people choose not to buy via Amazon, it’s for reasons like this

jxkill

kiwi

lookiamnotcreative

surprisebitch

now this is perfect halloween content

bittylildragon

galwednesday: #the real horror was the awkward social situation we found along the way

viablejp

weirdlandtv

1960s Hanna-Barbera title cards.

A few more later.

implantedvisions

aristotlemencloza

Grief is just love with no place to go.

– unknown // Art piece by Ikenaga Yasunari

small-funny

nomortalblade

the strokes → Reptilia → Julian Casablancas [4/6]

unhistorical

Edward Hopper (July 22, 1882 – May 15, 1967)

Hopper was fascinated by what isn’t available to our senses. In his mysterious paintings, he makes felt what isn’t there, the nothing, the nothing that isn’t there. He was known to be solitary and thoughtful, like the blond woman in New York Movie. In the forties and fifties, it was easier to appreciate solitude than it is today. Hopper painted public places, rooms where people gathered, but usually with a few people or nobody in the rooms. Few people in those days went to museums during the week, and the galleries might be vacant.

You could stand before a painting for long minutes and not hear voices. There was silence in those days. It was associated with solitude, sacredness, internal life.

Leonard Michaels, “The Nothing That Isn’t There”