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She gazed into his glimmering A50 orbs

be yourself. live your life. sacrifice your thirdborn to the river of spirits to solidify your metaphysical soul. go fishing. go for a walk. love someone

I will reblog this every Christmas season I’m on tumblr.

It’s beginning to look a lot like shit scram

We love only two things in this world: Netflix binges and Harry Potter. @vitoriabas has combined the two, and for that WE ARE FOREVER IN HER DEBT. Check out 10 of her hilarious illos here, then head to SparkLife to see all 13!

PS. WE’RE NOT CRYING OVER REGULUS, YOU’RE CRYING OVER REGULUS. 

Hi Tumblr, I had a rough day at work

Snorlax vs Team Skull

I don’t know what’s funnier, the fourth grunt that pops up out of nowhere at the end or the nearby Guzma who seems to be legitimately concerned they’re going to get their asses kicked

I was here for this and around every single corner of the con there was a group of team skull jokingly harassing this snorlax and it was great

when i was in like third grade i went to this science camp and one night at campfire they told us a story about a ufo crashing into a lake nearby and then later in the middle of the night they woke us all up and told us the aliens were back and this time they’d laid eggs in the woods !! it was our duty to arm ourselves and go destroy the eggs, so we armored up in tinfoil and shaving cream ( ????? ) and marched into the woods ready to save the planet. the ‘eggs’ were whole watermelons hidden around the camp and we had to smash them open on trees and rocks and eat the alien fetus/watermelon goo as fast as possible. i cannot emphasis enough the raw joy of digging into a watermelon with your bare hands and stuffing it into your face in the middle of the night in the woods, barely taking time to chew so that you can save the planet from hostile aliens, and i think i became the person i am because of that night.

me as a camp councelor

I can not stress this enough but, what the fuck.

there’s something endlessly hilarious to me about the phrase “hotly debated” in an academic context. like i just picture a bunch of nerds at podiums & one’s like “of course there was a paleolithic bear cult in Northern Eurasia” and another one just looks him in the eye and says “i’l kill you in real life, kevin”

I heard a story once about two microbiologists at a conference who took it out into the parking lot to have a literal fistfight over taxonomy. 

have i told this story yet? idk but it’s good. The Orangutan Story:

my american lit professor went to this poe conference. like to be clear this is a man who has a doctorate in being a book nerd. he reads moby dick to his four-year-old son. and poe is one of the cornerstones of american literature, right, so this should be right up his alley?

wrong. apparently poe scholars are like, advanced. there is a branch of edgar allen poe scholarship that specifically looks for coded messages based on the number of words per line and letters per word poe uses. my professor, who has a phd in american literature, realizes he is totally out of his depth. but he already committed his day to this so he thinks fuck it! and goes to a panel on racism in poe’s works, because that’s relevant to his interests.

background info: edgar allen poe was a broke white alcoholic from virginia who wrote horror in the first half of the 19th century. rule 1 of Horror Academia is that horror reflects the cultural anxieties of its time (see: my other professor’s sermon abt how zombie stories are popular when people are scared of immigrants, or that purge movie that was literally abt the election). since poe’s shit is a product of 1800s white southern culture, you can safely assume it’s at least a little about race. but the racial subtext is very open to interpretation, and scholars believe all kinds of different things about what poe says about race (if he says anything), and the poe stans get extremely tense about it.

so my professor sits down to watch this panel and within like five minutes a bunch of crusty academics get super heated about poe’s theoretical racism. because it’s academia, though, this is limited to poorly concealed passive aggression and forceful tones of inside voice. one professor is like “this isn’t even about race!” and another professor is like “this proves he’s a racist!” people are interrupting each other. tensions are rising. a panelist starts saying that poe is like writing a critique of how racist society was, and the racist stuff is there to prove that racism is stupid, and that on a metaphorical level the racist philosophy always loses—

then my professor, perhaps in a bid to prove that he too is a smart literature person, loudly calls: “BUT WHAT ABOUT THE ORANGUTAN?”

some more background: in poe’s well-known short story “the murder in the rue morgue,” two single ladies—a lovely old woman and her lovely daughter who takes care of her, aka super vulnerable and respectable people—are violently killed. the murderer turns out to be not a person, but an orangutan brought back by a sailor who went to like burma or something. and it’s pretty goddamn racially coded, like they reeeeally focus on all this stuff about coarse hairs and big hands and superhuman strength and chattering that sounds like people talking but isn’t actually. if that’s intentional, then he’s literally written an analogy about how black people are a threat to vulnerable white women, which is classic white supremacist shit. BUT if he really only meant for it to be an orangutan, then it’s a whole other metaphor about how colonialism pillages other countries and brings their wealth back to europe and that’s REALLY gonna bite them in the ass one day. klansman or komrade? it all hangs on this.

so the place goes dead fucking silent as every giant ass poe stan in the room is immediately thrust into a series of war flashbacks: the orangutan argument, violently carried out over seminar tables, in literary journals, at graduate student house parties, the spittle flying, the wine and coffee spilled, the friendships torn—the red faces and bulging veins—curses thrown and teaching posts abandoned—panels just like this one fallen into chaos—distant sirens, skies falling, the dog-eared norton critical editions slicing through the air like sabres—the textual support! o, the quotes! they gaze at this madman in numb disbelief, but he could not have known. nay, he was a literary theorist, a 17th-century man, only a visitor to their haunted land. he had never heard the whistle of the mortars overhead. he had never felt the cold earth under his cheek as he prayed for god’s deliverance. and yet he would have broken their fragile peace and brought them all back into the trenches.

much later, when my professor told this story to a poe nerd friend, the guy said the orangutan thing was a one of the biggest landmines in their field. he said it was a reliable discussion ruiner that had started so many shouting matches that some conferences had an actual ban on bringing it up.

so my professor sits there for a second, still totally clueless. then out of the dead silence, the panel moderator stands up in his tweed jacket and yells, with the raw panic of a once-broken man:

WE! DO NOT! TALK ABOUT! THE ORANGUTAN!

@posturingsimpleton

OMG

Ok that one wins

Draw cacti. Just draw something with cacti, man.

Now if that's not ominous.

editing a story and i forgot to put the fucking adjective in there holy fkuc

We all have deal breakers

A few more from my latest photo sesh w/ Cory Hicks Photography.

You're really handsome and those pictures look awesome but when I saw the first one I had to think if the log lady from twin peaks going "My log is talking"