There it is, the worst Funko Pop

Honey that isn’t even close

Sorry but 

Nothing can compete with 

this text from my father is funnier than anything I’ve ever said

If you think like that, please don’t ever have children.

Listen, my parents installed a lock on my door so I could lock everyone out of my room if I wanted to at sometime around 8 years old. They had a key of course for safety but they’ve never had to use it and they’ve never used it when they didn’t have to.

I was allowed full access to any books, movies, and internet I wanted fully informed about our family beliefs and practices but I was given no supervision once I reached about 13 because my parents trusted me to stick to the rules or not as I felt and come to them if there was anything that I had questions about.

As long as I said where I was going, who I was with, and when I was going to be back and then phone if anything changed I was allowed to do pretty much as I pleased from 13 onward.

I moved back in with my parents after university and the first conversation we had was my dad telling me that if I felt like they were treating me like a child to please tell them because they had no intention of doing so.

I still live with them and I’m comfortable here as an adult. When I eventually move out again, which I feel no rush to do because I feel respected and given more than enough elbow room, I will probably talk to them often if not everyday. Because they’ve always respected my privacy and my autonomy both physically and emotionally. If you want an independent and fictional child trusting them and giving them their space will do you many more favours than not.

meanwhile, my parents…

in response, i went behind their backs and opened a new bank account, got a secret job, bought my own groceries, and used the wifi from the school across the street. they didn’t succeed in disciplining me. all they did was force me to distance myself from them.

your children are not your property. they are human beings, and they deserve basic human rights.

one fairly common experience of gifted children is wishing for pain. wishing you had some great big horrible thing in your past so that you can justify the pain you’re in, and so that you’ll deserve help. it’s exhausting and it fucks you up and to anyone out there who feels like they haven’t suffered enough to get help: you’re allowed to want help. you’re in enough pain. you deserve to feel better

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS

boss asked me if i knew what a brony was today but he pronounced it like “brownie” then started explaining, but somehow I’M THE WEIRD ONE FOR INTERRUPTING WITH “Oh, you mean BRONYS, yeah, they do want to fuck horses!”

boss today asked me if I knew what a bear was and it took the incredible effort of forcing every bone in my body to solidify into one giant Super Bone and in the process fusing my jaw shut for me to stop myself from saying “uh, yeah dude, you but gay.”

boss texted me today about all the business we’ve been getting and i texted back “haha yup our dance card is getting pretty full!” followed immediately by two minutes of debilitating panic about whether that was an actual saying or just some nonsense I’d made up.

boss came to my office today strictly to tell me he got hamilton tickets and had the nerve to be insulted when i referred to him as “the biggest copycat there ever was.”

boss today texted me the most unorthodox elipsis i’ve ever seen

my boss’s parents and my parents each have vacation homes in the same retirement community, which is widely rumored to be a hotbed of sexual depravity, so sometimes i deliberately antagonize him by implying - very innocently and with plausible deniability - that our parents swing with each other

boss just came into my office to ask me a question, paused and said “what the FUCK are you listening to?” and when i sheepishly admitted it was a remix of the wii shop channel music, he just left.

op what is your occupation

Rascal. 

I remember when I was little my dad hated me going in the basement and he knew I was deathly afraid of the pokemon hitmonlee so he ripped the hitmonlee page out of my pokedex book and pinned it to the corkboard at the bottom of the stairs and I didn’t go down there for three years I was so scared

gavin free talking about laundry (x)

For reasons that are very innocent, my 60 year old dad made a Twitter account with "daddy" in the handle and I truly don't know how to handle this. I ventured to mom that perhaps the name was...funny and she gave me Such a Look, and said, "don't tell him" and I was like, "YEAH FUCKING OBVIOUSLY MOM I AM NOT GOING TO TELL MY DAD ABOUT DADDY CULTURE," and she was like, "yeah me neither," and I said, "look if someone's going to it has to be you, you're married to him," and then I paused and thought, "are we the perverts? perverts who have forgotten the true meaning of daddy?" and she sighed and said, "the problem is that ever since he grew the beard he really is a hot daddy" and now I can't talk to either of my parents ever again because mom told me too much about his apparently amazingly strong biceps

YEAH MUH BOY THAT IS THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO

I worked with a doctor who was the “father of emergency medicine” in my town so his twitter handle was

EMO_daddy

OH NO

you guys are missing the best fucking part

Yeah Karen

#this was a ride I wish I had not taken

reblog the Don Draper of getting a job he’s unqualified for and you’ll have 10 years of getting jobs you’re unqualified for

YES

No but my dad actually did this at McDonalds in the 70s!

So here’s a true story: my father, sometime in the 70s was looking for his first job. He went to the local McDonalds and told the staff, [manager’s name] said I was supposed to start today. They took his word for it and started training him and by the time the manager saw him and asked who he was, people just said “oh that’s the new guy.”

Somehow this actually worked. My dad worked there for a couple of years as a cook. He even won an award plaque which he had on the wall until the day he died.

Confidence Helps

Me, walking into FBI Headquarters:

“Name’s Burt Macklin, I work here now.”

Inktober Day 5: Build! I've been on an old minecraft lp kick fhdhfbdj

I think the goose game is so successful because it captures a fundamental human desire to be absolutely but harmlessly bastardous

it's the same reason we gleefully smash pots in zelda games

sometimes you just need to be a moderate to severe nuisance

we are all poltergeists in meat suits

what a horrifying way to phrase this thank you

Concept: fratsonas. Create a self-insert that’s a douchey frat bro. Mine’s name is Josh

Everyone keeps tagging this saying they’re Chad but listen guys. We can’t all be a Chad. If you really want your fratsona to be a Chad you have to earn it

Ok so like I don’t usually add to posts on here but I’ve got a story about fratsonas:

I used to work at a cafe/crepe place and right before I left for school I was telling my coworker (Kyle) about how I had been thinking about joining the wakeboard club. It was funny to me because I am a very tiny lady and the rest of the club are all big buff bro dudes with long hair and backwards snap backs. So Kyle and I got to poking a little fun at them and began talking to each other in the “bro voice” at work, saying things like “bruh boutta flip this crepe bruh it’s gonna be gnarly, boutta shred this cheese like I shred the waves bruh” “yeah bruh you gotta SnapBack?? Cool cool” and so on. This went on for a couple days and eventually we came up with names for our frat boy alter egos. I was Chaz Michael Skyler and Kyle was Javelin Reviol Mcdermitt the Second. Our shenanigans ensued for like a week as we developed personalities and backstories for our fratsonas. Eventually the rest of he staff got in on it. One girl went by Shredder Cheese and would do the rock on sign, stick her tongue out and yell “SHREDDER!!” And we’d all cheer in the back room. Another guy went simple by Legend. He was the coolest frat guy by far. A real strong silent type. A personal favorite of mine was our assistant manager joined in as an exchange student from Ireland nicknamed Shotgun Shamus who could shotgun literally anything. We’d be making batter in the back room and he’d drop to his knees and shotgun the left over milk before crushing the carton against his forehead and slamming it into the recycle bin. This went on right up until my last day.

This is beautiful

Frat LARPing

Level 1: Porn with plot

Level 2: Porn with social commentary

Level 3: Porn with troubling philosophical implications

Level 4: Porn with maddening revelations of humanity’s place in the cosmos

Level 5: Porn with math