who knows anymore

Hey guys— I just finished all the Jerma Rumbles and wanted to celebrate them!! I hope you enjoy :)

as much as the concept of Jesus being a fairly normal lad has its charms, im personally very intrigued by the idea of him being just… extremely weird. not even in a mystical sense, just…….staggeringly BIZZARRE. 

you go to the well to get some water, and here’s Miriam’s boy, staring at the sky, completely still. his expression is unreadable. you hazard a hello and ask how he’s doing, and he slowly, unblinkingly, lowers his gaze on you (he’s 8 and is missing his frontal teeth, not that this is making you any less uncomfortable) and says “I cannot speak of the state of my being, Nathan son of Saul, my brother, but rejoice for the water you shall take today will be as pure as the soul of the children of Heaven”

…you start sweating

normal person in 1st century Nazareth: making my way downtown, walking fast

*sees J boy, 8 yo, staring at you from across the street*

normal person: walking faster 

even funnier, the only person 100% on board with his Prophetic Kid Talk is his mother Miriam, an otherwise placid, absolutely normal woman around 25 or so

kid JC, coming home at twilight, a single white dove following him and chirping with weirdly human-like precision:

 moth̫́er,̦͌ ̮̉i h͙̉av͔̽e ͓͗b̘̃r̞̓o̮͘u̲̒gh̟͒t̺́ you a do̗͐ṽ͙e̢͘ ͈̾m͒͢a͈̽dē̝ ỏ̘f ͈̓c̆͜l͔̂aỷ͇ aṋ̑d̳̿ g͢͞i̹̾fted̖͡ ̻͐it ͓͂w̖̿it̎͜h t̥̃h͙͒e ̨̒m̧̂i̡̍ŗ͒â̫cḷ̔è̤ ̛̻of̞̅ l̘̈i̛̦fè̳

Miriam: ! that’s my little boy :) now let’s go get ready for dinner :) 

her husband Yosef, a carpenter who only marginally got signed up for this: 

This post is so Christian, but it’s the spicy kind of Christian that gets you murdered by other Christians for heresy, so I’m torn.

literally biggest form of compliment i’ve ever gotten

do u watch Podcast But Outside

nat 20 on deception

I'm in this picture and I don't like it

it is the year two thousand and seventeen and there is still no word on my obi-wan kenobi solo film starring ewan mcgregor what’s up with that

it is the year two thousand and eighteen and there is still no concrete word on my obi-wan kenobi solo film starring ewan mcgregor what’s up with that

IT IS THE YEAR TWO THOUSAND AND NINETEEN AND THEY JUST FINALLY CONFIRMED AT D23 EXPO THAT THEY ARE MAKING AN OBI-WAN KENOBI SERIES WITH EWAN MCGREGOR WHAT’S UP!!!!!

Queer Eye (2018)

Ron is the one libertarian I respect

TWITCH STAFF MUST CONDEMN 

I put together this quick summary of the sports festival arc

“Special” Forces Training 

Commissar

by Dmitry Sokolov

This dude is either a zombie or really addicted to meth. What a great costume reference tho

That’s just how badly you age if you’re attached to a squad of Catachans as a Commissar

Idk though, those pointed teeth and non-Munitorum-Standard crown of thorns make me think this commisar might've switched teams.

when you get too drunk at the function and you wake up in ukraine

“When someone tries to roast your best friend”

This is so fucking dumb yet I’m still laughing. 

Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.

I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.

This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.

So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.

Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.

“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.

“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”

“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.

I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.

Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.

I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.

So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.

While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.

After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.

“I saw your snake,” I told him.

“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”

“He was sleeping.”

“Yes, he enjoys that.”

“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”

He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”

Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.

Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.

“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”

When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.

All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.

He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”

Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.

In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.

But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.

He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.

By hand.

With a fountain pen.

And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.

This....this is just Good Omens

In case anyone needed it, heres a translation:

Guy filming: “give me chile, dude. Let me get chile, dude! LET ME GET CHILE. AAH. NO! NO!”

Lady at the table (I cant really hear her but I think she says?): give him a tostada

Guy filming: *pointing knife at bird* give me chile, fucker. *bird moves* I thought so, bitch.

When is the next wave of body mods gonna come out let me get some bionic corneal implants so I’m not fuckin blind and let me get some sick ass wings or something. Fuck me up with bioluminescent tattoos ugh

Hell yes fuck these legs gimme spider legs