just-a-nameless-nobody:

kaieraai:

thedoctor-and-his-trolls:

delightfully-derranged:

tonystarksnipples:

calamithyjane:

riddlemehiddleston:

pulpfanfiction:

glocktary:

thoracs:





you did it
you win the award for best addition to my post

i tried so fucking hard to scroll past this

i tried and i failed



i cant breathe.

send help. dying

"I am the snake in my boot"

but how do you fuck up that bad

just-a-nameless-nobody:

kaieraai:

thedoctor-and-his-trolls:

delightfully-derranged:

tonystarksnipples:

calamithyjane:

riddlemehiddleston:

pulpfanfiction:

glocktary:

thoracs:

image

i am leg

you did it

you win the award for best addition to my post

i tried so fucking hard to scroll past this

i tried and i failed

image

i cant breathe.

send help. dying

"I am the snake in my boot"

but how do you fuck up that bad

scattered-teardrops:

Click for more black & white posts

dominickwithak:

p0kemina:

antiporn-activist:

fucknosexistcostumes:

seananmcguire:

castielsteenwolf:

pr1nceshawn:

The evolution of Halloween costumes for girls…

this is really important

This is why I get upset about the sexy costumes at Halloween.  Not because you don’t have the right to be sexy—you absolutely, absolutely do.  But because while you might be able to find costume #3 in a tween size in each of these rows, I can guarantee that in almost all cases, you will not find costume #2 in a teen or adult size.

Babies/toddlers get to be cute.  Kids/tweens get to be fun and spooky and still have modesty, if they want it.  Teens who aren’t on the small end are already getting the sexy, even if they really just want fun, spooky, and a skirt that goes below mid-thigh.  And adults?  LOL nope it’s sexy or nothing.

Everyone who is of an age to want sexy should be allowed to have sexy.  But “not sexy” should always be on the table as well, because sometimes you just want to be warm and cozy and filling a pillowcase with strangercandy.

Very relevant to this blog. 

OMG thank you to whoever put this together.

This is absolutely frightening?

I’m a mouse, Duh.

relateforteens:

Want more relatable?

The Zodiac Signs Sleep Habits

wtfzodiacsigns:

♈ Aries Zodiac Signs: Aries are a hyperactive sign and tend to have sleeping troubles. Their dreams are often intense and vivid, They find it very hard to wind down at night and ignore the health benefits of good sleep. Slide sleeping is known to improve sleep quality 
♉ Taurus Zodiac Signs: Sleep can be very fitful for Taurus if they are not

Read More

humoristics:

A guy once told my lesbian friend that being a lesbian is a huge turn off for guys and that she’ll never find a boyfriend.

srfelicidad:

Asexuality by Tiny Dinosaur :)!

themanwithfrozenhearts:

im a really affectionate person once you get past my 5 layers of shyness, awkwardness, fear, vague dislike, and loneliness

irrreversibility:

boys cry
girls masturbate
boys can like pink and not be gay
girls can have short hair and not be a lesbian
boys can like ballet
girls can like video games
boys can be hot without a six pack
girls can be hot without a hairless body
boys can have hair down to their waists
girls can have stretch marks, curves and back fat

gender doesn’t determine what you can and cannot enjoy, what you can and cannot look like or what you can and cannot do

ero-miki:

Putting down confident girls is not feminism

shaming sex workers is not feminism

"I’m not like other girls" is not feminism

slut shaming is not feminism

shaming BDSM practitioners is not feminism

misandry is not feminism

ignoring trans women’s rights is not feminism

Anonymous asked:
please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.

mysticmoonhigh:

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

FUCKING READ IT IT’S WORTH IT

pruderanch:

200% sure that all of my friend have secret meetings where they just talk about how annoying I am

edating:

99.9% of the time i will not start the conversation no matter how close we are 

TWO CONCERT TICKET GIVEAWAY

justablueumbrella:

justdontwordshurt:

I noticed a lot of people haven’t been to a concert in their lives and I find that very sad. So I’ve decided to buy whoever wins this giveaway two tickets to a concert of their choice. The give away ends November 25,2014 at midnight est.
Rules:
Must be following me
Likes don’t count
The price per ticket cannot exceed $100
The picking will be random
If the person doesn’t respond by the 28 of November I will pick a new winner.

Good luck everyone! ^  

Cute White Flying Butterfly