Install this theme

katsallday:

So I started thinking about Elsa’s hair and

silohouettes:

beyonceforbreakfast:

mallomallo:

gloomyteens:

gloomyteens:

when you feel your clothes fresh out of the oven

image

OKAY SO I REALIZED I USED OVEN INSTEAD OF DISHWASHER BUT I KINDA FORGOT WHAT IT WAS CALLED AND USED THE NEXT BEST GUESS I COULD THINK OF

It’s called a washing machine

i think its a dryer like who would be feeling wet ass clothes

this post is the biggest fucking train wreck

vineofficial:

This is fucked upThis fucked me up

vineofficial:

This is fucked up
This fucked me up

caffenespeaks:

think-progress:

“If babies had guns…”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? 

caffenespeaks:

think-progress:

“If babies had guns…”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? 

the first half of the book version of howl's moving castle
  • Howl:

    STOP CLEANING MY FCKING HOUSE

  • Sophie:

    NEVER

plantgay:

kelbii:

plantgay:

42awesomesteve:

plantgay:

tumblrcon would be such a bad idea it would be like 75% scary superwholocks probably

sorry i think you misspelt brilliant

nah its a terrible idea have you seen superwholocks they are terrifying

What do you mean, terrifying? *Drinks salt*

what the fuck

best-of-imgur:

How to scare a gamer: step one.http://best-of-imgur.tumblr.com

best-of-imgur:

How to scare a gamer: step one.
http://best-of-imgur.tumblr.com

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
FULL naked.
REAL naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit retard, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!

I get naked.

FULL naked.

REAL naked.

I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.

No cookies. Blatant nudity.

That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…

And there it was.

This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.

Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.

“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”

Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”

As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.

This was, nearly, one of those.

If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.

My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.

I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:

“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”

And inquiries such as:

“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”

Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit retard, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?

That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.

An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

giggliee:

noahs-snark:

The thing about short hair is that I can go from looking like this as I step out of the shower

image

To fluffing it out and looking like a total white boy

image

To straightening it……

image

Or I could let it air dry and end up looking like this……

image

"It’s my first day on the job, I hope everybody likes me!!!!"

you’re so cute omg