yeef!?.

when i was really little and had just learned how to write my full name . i noticed my twin brother had really messy handwriting. while mine was like … as nice as it could be for a little kid. so i wrote my name in his handwriting on a wall and i waited to see who our parents would get mad at . and they blamed him. and that was when my life of crime began

all joking aside it’s really funny that like little kids do things like that sometimes . my mom would look at her phone everytime she was at a red light so i got into the habit of saying “green” once the light changed so she would know . one day i was like “i wonder if i say green while it’s red if she’ll go” and so i did . and she did . and i got yelled at real bad

though looking back on it what the hell was she doing relying on like a five year old . who was a chronic shoplifter and liar . for that . i’m surprised we didn’t get into more accidents

My mom is Deaf so when I was like 5 I plugged all the drains in the bathroom with towels & toilet paper and turned the bathtub and sink on full blast before we went out to go shopping cause I knew she wouldn’t hear it and I flooded the entire house for no reason

ok that is some nasty shit i can’t even believe the amount of damage that would’ve done 😭

smoking weed with my tits out hell yeah

YOU ARE GORGEOUS

YOU ARE WORTHY OF PLATONIC AND/OR ROMANTIC LOVE

YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT ELSE YOU'RE WORTHY OF??

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

*throws a dollar at you*

THAT'S RIGHT.

fourteen dollar

It took Oscar Wilde like 65K words to say this exact thing.

CHOPPING MALL (1986) dir. Jim Wynorski

this video is genuinely incredible - the framing, the sunset, the single street light, the sound of traffic and cicadas in the background, the video of the sign capture imperfectly by (presumably) a phone camera. it’s a work of art and a perfect encapsulation of 21st century america

What she says: im fine

What she means: the average age of conception over the past 250k years is apparently 26.9. Let's round it down to 25. Think of your birth mother. Hold her hand. Imagine her holding hands with her mother. Within 4 people, you're back in time 100 years, and it's an intimate family dinner. Just after WWI. Add another 16 people, a small party of 20, and you're in the 1500s. Double it, twice, and you're at 80 people. Your family would fill a restaurant, and you're at the height of the Roman empire. At 100 people, Confucius is alive but Socrates has not yet been born. 100 people. That's a medium sized wedding. A small lecture theatre or concert. 200 people, probably the biggest party i could ever hope to host, takes you back 5000 years. The guests at your soirée of parents would be contemporaries of the Egyptian and Indus Valley civilisations, although you'd probably be too busy fixing drinks and nibbles to talk to all of them. Just imagine it. 200 of you. That's all it takes to get back 5,000 years. And we could go further. 1000 people, a decent sized concert, a large high school, and we're at the end of the last ice age. Your ancestors are comparing their pink floyd vinyl with music played on instruments carved from wood or bones of long vanished species. Wander through the crowd. See your own features and phrases and gestures refract out like a kaleidoscope. What would they make of you? What do you make of them? Why does it feel so unfair that even that first 100 years --that small family dinner of four--is out of your grasp? Maybe it's because questions of spatial distance have become negligible to us now. why, oh why, does time hold out against us so stubbornly

we do not need midnight sun. we need a twilight book from robert pattinson's pov

girls want this

Rob’s biography

fascinating

The caption is “Al Pacino takes a stroll through Beverly Hills.” (X)

@plaguedocboi as our resident Marine Life Expert, is this true or false?

This is the Irukandji jellyfish, which has venom 100 times more potent than a cobra and sends 50-100 people to the hospital annually. It’s venom can cause fatal brain hemorrhages.

This is a viperfish. It only grows a foot long and can’t do shit to you.

So yes, I’d say it’s accurate.

they’re from an article on bruises

Oddish going FERAL for some soft earth

Oddish is off his shits let’s goooooooo

RYAN GOSLING "I'm Just Ken" wins Best Original Song at the 29th Annual Critics' Choice Awards (January 14, 2024)

One time I ate probably way too many mushrooms and I could feel my trip going bad. So, I turned to my roommate and I said something along the lines of,

"I feel amazing but I feel like this sensation has a price and I'm about to pay it."

To which he responded, "What are you, catholic?" And that knocked me so firmly out of my mental state that the rest of the trip was hands down the best time I ever did mushrooms.

Yeah that's fair, those tags should part of the main post

Last week, I saw a Chevrolet Malibu do an amazing thing. It swerved across four lanes of traffic without signalling, braked way too early on the exit ramp, and generally made an embarrassment of itself at highway speed. I am sure that everyone who had to brake hard to avoid this numbnut thought that they were evil personified, and should not have a drivers' license.

Now, you might think that this is a little mean-spirited. Surely, all human beings are united against the force that is exploitative capitalism, and we can just give each other a little bit of slack if they're too tired or emotionally disturbed to drive with machine-like precision, right? This would be absolutely true if not for the fact that we need someone to let out our hostilities on. Can't do it to our boss, so we might as well do it to someone else in an anonymous metal box. Damn you, anonymous metal box!

Even though it seems like I am driving an impeccably-maintained, top-tier fleet of cars with perfect precision, I also make mistakes. Sometimes I leave my signal on for a little while too long, confusing the good folks around me. Once in awhile, I'll have to brake hard for a pedestrian that I didn't see at night. And every so often, I get the mix slightly wrong on the fuel pressure regulator tek-screwed to my dashboard and end up burping eight-foot-long flames of unburned fuel and nitrous oxide onto the paint of the car behind me. Those people were totally justified in getting upset with me.

The trick is to leave this anger inside the car. A couple years ago, I was followed all the way home by an angry driver. He tailgated me on the straights. It was terrifying: even though I was able to easily leave him behind on the corners, he would soon reappear in my rear-view mirror with flashing red and blue lights. When we finally got to my house, he pulled a gun on me. A gun, can you believe that? All over a little oopsy-daisy slip-up on my part, a tiny mistake that anyone could make if they drove through the plate-glass window of a Chrysler dealership and started threatening the parts department technician for not having any drum-brake rebuild kits on the shelf for a '78 Volare.