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What if women had minstrel cycles instead of menstrual cycles? You’d just have a guy with a lute follow you around for a week every month and play you songs constantly?

My boyfriend (via thecarrionlibrarian)

#no but can you imagine if that was how you learned once a month you weren’t pregnant#by some dude singing songs about the victory of it#you wake up and he’s there and you are so happy#this dude becomes your favorite dude#but then you realize you haven’t seen your friend’s minstrel in a while#I mean everyone notices#like half the people are on the same cycle so for one week out of four your job is just flooded with fucking minstrels everywhere#the cacophony#but Mary over there is all alone#and she’s like my minstrel is late#but we all fucking know#her minstrel has gone off to find her a baby#a nine month journey he must make alone#and until he comes back there is no music in her life#what a glorious world this would be#I love the minstrels (@onionjuggler)

Wot.

(via constantlymovingon)

what about the ones with the dopey stupid minstrels who actually ARE late, like all the fucking time, sometimes so late it warps around to early, and either hang around for a whole month or wander away after three days then two days later comes back for 20 minutes

88,178 notes9.305:23 AM • Source: thecarrionlibrarian
#queue look so good in blue
465,925 notes9.304:17 AM • Source: memewhore
#queue look so good in blue

mackblesa:

wobbufetts:

aidn:

how the hell do i talk to people

Stand in front of them and press A

-jumps-

250,875 notes9.303:11 AM • Source: aidn
#queue look so good in blue

miljathefailcat:

"Luckily I have an ace up my sleeve!" I smirk and roll my sleeve up. A confused asexual rolls out, blinking in the sudden light.

54,557 notes9.302:06 AM • Source: miljathefailcat
#queue look so good in blue
Anonymous asked, "please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious."

mysticmoonhigh:

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

FUCKING READ IT IT’S WORTH IT

150,522 notes9.2910:54 PM • Source: mamalovebone
#queue look so good in blue

jackiebuelahburkhart:

i am just very uncomfortable with the way i am perceived like there’s a disconnect between my actual identity and the identity ppl assume i have and it makes me uncomfortable and stressed out

94,997 notes9.299:48 PM • Source: jackiebuelahburkhart
#seriously #people make so many assumptions about my personality #'haha I bet you must hate x' #no I actually love that how did you get the impression I would hate it #'well I bet if you saw x it would make you jump for joy!' #im a bit meh about it actually #'wow she is completely and totally CRAZY about x!' #im sorry how does moderate appreciation equal complete and total devotion in your world #queue look so good in blue

jaclcfrost:

shadowtraveled:

jaclcfrost:

the least trustworthy of all shapes

  • triangles

you never know what their angle is.

image

17,119 notes9.298:43 PM • Source: jaclcfrost
#queue look so good in blue

prettytooweird:

charmancler:

is anyone in fall out boy aging

they found the cure to growing older

18,198 notes9.297:37 PM • Source: charmancler
#bastards wont even tell us tho #fob #queue look so good in blue

immaplatypus:

this man created an entire television series

7,428 notes9.296:31 PM • Source: immaplatypus
#queue look so good in blue

nikipaprika:

nikittypaprika:

oh god i was in the shower and i suddenly burst out laughing because like

i was thinking about how carlos could see the whole town through different pictures and stuff

and i have nO IDEA why but it reminded me of the simpsons in Burn’s Mansion where there are cameras around everyone’s houses

…and imagined cecil hiding in the bathroom eating flowers

image

image

599 notes9.295:26 PM • Source: nikittypaprika
#wtnv #queue look so good in blue

toastyhat:

the one thing that does bother me is when people tout ancestor headcanons that may or may not be true as pure fact.  any headcanon actually tbh. you can use different progressions of logic to support totally different ideas and they can still be totally legit.  I get if the popular view of a character pisses you off, but that doesn’t make yours any more likely to be canon.

131 notes9.294:20 PM • Source: toastyhat
#I got like #20 diff headcannons goin for every ancestor #which I sorta do with every single mysterious personality not comfirmed character ever #I dont see how people can do the whole 'THIS IS WHAT IS RIGHT THERE IS NO OTHER WAY' thing #queue look so good in blue
63,148 notes9.293:14 PM • Source: itswalky
#marvel #queue look so good in blue
jaclcfrost:

my timing is. not the best

jaclcfrost:

my timing is. not the best

280,479 notes9.292:09 PM • Source: jaclcfrost
#queue look so good in blue

aristocraticbunnies:

I still feel kind of betrayed

27,731 notes9.291:03 PM • Source: aristocraticbunnies
#oh my god #now I wish there was a dessert themed one #also I hope I spelt that right because I get those mixed up and im too lazy to scroll up #queue look so good in blue

zillyh00:

nannajane:

zillyh00:

i am now the youngest supervisor in my store

i read that as ‘survivor’ at first and got really scared

theres a reason why im the boss now

127,497 notes9.2911:57 AM • Source: officialbrostrider
#queue look so good in blue