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@milliethesmidge

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person: *talks about something they're passionate about even if I don't know much about it or can relate too much*
person: aAAH I'M SORRY I SHOULD STOP TALKING SORRY FOR BOTHERING-
me: Listen. Listen. I love listening to what you're passionate about. It's fun listening. You don't have to apologize. It's good talking about things you like. Enjoy yourself.
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my name is cow and wen she sits benethe the stall withe tiny kit

I hav no hands withe which to pat I use mye tung I lik the cat

my name is cat and with tha kit In front of stall we lyk to sit

I feel her tongue I say meow I have a fren Her name is cow

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What Wodehouse writes is pure word music. It matters not one whit that he writes endless variations on a theme of pig kidnappings, lofty butlers, and ludicrous impostures. He is the greatest musician of the English language, and exploring variations of familiar material is what musicians do all day. In fact, what it’s about seems to me to be wonderfully irrelevant. Shakespeare? Milton? Keats? How can I possibly mention the author of Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin and Pigs Have Wings in the same breath as these men? He’s just not serious! He doesn’t need to be serious. He’s better than that. He’s up in the stratosphere of what the human mind can do, above tragedy and strenuous thought, where you will find Bach, Mozart, Einstein, Feynman, and Louis Armstrong, in the realms of pure, creative playfulness.

Douglas Adams on P. G. Wodehouse  (via not-entirely-unlike-tea)

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The Wit of PG Wodehouse

“Unseen in the background, Fate was quietly slipping lead into the boxing-glove.”

“I could see that, if not actually disgruntled, he was far from being gruntled.”

“She looked away. Her attitude seemed to suggest that she had finished with him, and would be obliged if somebody would come and sweep him up.”

“Marriage is not a process for prolonging the life of love, sir. It merely mummifies its corpse.”

“The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.”

“A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life’s gas-pipe with a lighted candle.”

“Everything in life that’s any fun, as somebody wisely observed, is either immoral, illegal or fattening.”

“As for Gussie Fink-Nottle, many an experienced undertaker would have been deceived by his appearance and started embalming on sight.”

“This is a bit steep, Jeeves!” “Approaching the perpendicular, sir.”

“Freddie experienced the sort of abysmal soul-sadness which afflicts one of Tolstoy’s Russian peasants when, after putting in a heavy day’s work strangling his father, beating his wife, and dropping the baby into the city’s reservoir, he turns to the cupboards, only to find the vodka bottle empty.”

“I’m not absolutely certain of the facts, but I rather fancy it’s Shakespeare who says that it’s always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping.”

“There is enough sadness in life without having fellows like Gussie Fink-Nottke going about in sea boots.”

“A slight throbbing about the temples told me that this discussion had reached saturation point.”

“At the age of eleven or thereabouts women acquire a poise and an ability to handle difficult situations which a man, if he is lucky, manages to achieve somewhere in the later seventies.”

“This was not Aunt Dahlia, my good and kindly aunt, but my Aunt Agatha, the one who chews broken bottles and kills rats with her teeth.”

“Like so many cows, it lacked sustained dramatic interest.”

“It was one of those cases where you approve the broad, general principle of an idea but can’t help being in a bit of a twitter at the prospect of putting it into practical effect. I explained this to Jeeves, and he said much the same thing had bothered Hamlet.”

“He had the look of one who had drunk the cup of life and found a dead beetle at the bottom.”

“Out on the course each morning you could see the representatives of every nightmare style that was ever invented. There was the man who seemed to be attempting to deceive his ball and lull it into a false security by looking away from it and then making a lightning slash in the apparent hope of catching it off its guard. There was the man who wielded his mid-iron like one killing snakes. There was the man who addressed his ball as if he were stroking a cat, the man who drove as if he were cracking a whip, the man who brooded over each shot like one whose heart is bowed down by bad news from home, and the man who scooped with his mashie as if he were ladling soup.”

“He had just about enough intelligence to open his mouth when he wanted to eat, but certainly no more.”

“What ho!” I said. “What ho!” said Motty. “What ho! What ho!” “What ho! What ho! What ho!” After that it seemed rather difficult to go on with the conversation.

“She looked as if she had been poured into her clothes and had forgotten to say ‘when’.”

“I always advise people never to give advice.”

“If there is one thing I dislike, it is the man who tries to air his grievances when I wish to air mine.”

“It was one of those parties where you cough twice before you speak and then decide not to say it after all.”

“I know I was writing stories when I was five. I don’t know what I did before that. Just loafed, I suppose.”

“If he had a mind, there was something on it.”

“The voice of Love seemed to call to me, but it was a wrong number.”

“Jeeves lugged my purple socks out of the drawer as if he were a vegetarian fishing a caterpillar out of his salad.”

“The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.”

“He resembled a minor prophet who had been hit behind the ear with a stuffed eel-skin.”

“I don’t suppose she would recognize a deep, beautiful thought if you handed it to her on a skewer with tartare sauce.”

“Before my eyes he wilted like a wet sock.”

“There are moments, Jeeves, when one asks oneself 'Do trousers matter?’ ” “The mood will pass, sir.”

“I have no doubt that you could have flung bricks by the hour in England’s most densely populated districts without endangering the safety of a single girl capable of becoming Mrs. Augustus Fink-Nottle without an anaesthetic.”

“It was a confusion of ideas between him and one of the lions he was hunting in Kenya that had caused A. B. Spottsworth to make the obituary column. He thought the lion was dead, and the lion thought it wasn’t.”

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reblogged
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lum1natrix

special thanks to my cat, who sat on my keyboard and reblogged the same post 100 damn times

i’m absolutely mortified thanks anya love you too you little shithead

I’m forever turning off “one click reply” when i’m away from my computer no worries this will never happen agan

Your cat reblogged the same post 100 times?

...Sounds like the work of a copy cat.

(Oh come on! The joke was inevitable! You KNOW it was!)

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egg-rolls

one time i got a sample from the tea store at the mall and as i walked away the guy said “tea you later” and then his coworker smacked him

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