A compilation of my favorite responses to this post, put in reasonably chronological order.
zomgenius: dragneely: mh-: sexiivietb01: jkimisyellow: oomviyushke: mountdiablo: drhackenbush: tyleroakley: mostlydope: linzerdinzer: minhominaj:
THEN RAISE THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KIDS!
AND GIVE YOU ALL THE MOTHERFUCKING LOVE AND SUPPORT YOU’D EVER FUCKING NEED.
AND PAY THE HELL OUT OF THAT FUCKING MORTGAGE.
AND THEN WHEN THE GUTTERS ARE CLOGGED I’LL GET UP THAT FUCKING LADDER AND CLEAN THAT SHIT UP WHILE YOU STAND BY THE KITCHEN WINDOW COMICALLY JUDGING MY WORK.
AND THEN WE CAN VACUUM THE FUCK OUT OF OUR CARPET SO HARD THAT WE’LL HAVE TO GET A NEW ONE.
WE’LL WASH OUR CLOTHES SO GODDAMN FUCKING HARD. FORGET NO RINSE, WE’LL USE HIGH FUCKING SPEED.
BUY A FUCKING MINIVAN TO STUFF OUR BEAUTIFUL FUCKING BABIES INTO IT AND DRIVE THE FUCK OUT OF IT.
THEN WE CAN GO SOME FUCKING PARENT-TEACHER MEETINGS AND MEET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KID’S TEACHER. THEN JUDGE THE SHIT OF HER IN THE CAR.
AND WE CAN THEN PILE ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE FUCKING MINIVAN AND GO TO THE STORE AND SHOP FOR GROCERIES SO HARD THAT WE ACTUALLY HAVE TO MAKE MORE THAN TWO TRIPS TO GET ALL THAT SHIT INSIDE THE HOUSE.
AND THEN COOK THE FUCK OUT OF OUR KITCHEN UNTIL WE HAVE NO FOOD LEFT AND WE FEAST ON THAT SHIT FOR FUCKING DAYS.
I WILL EAT THE FUCK OUT OF YOUR HOMEMADE COOKIES.
THEN WASH THE SHIT OUT ON THE DISHES TOGETHER UNTIL OUR ENTIRE HANDS GET FUCKING PRUNEY.
WE’LL WATCH OUR KIDS FUCKING GRADUATE AND MOTHER FUCKING TEAR UP LIKE THE BADASS BOSSES WE FUCKING ARE.
WE WILL GROW SO DAMN OLD TOGETHER, WE WILL LOOK LIKE FUCKING RAISINS.
I WILL FUCKING TELL YOU EVERY SINGLE SECOND HOW MUCH I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
HOLDING EACH OTHER’S FUCKING HANDS SO HARD THAT WE SHIT OUR SELVES.
UNTIL WE DIE AND ROT AS MOTHERFUCKING CORPSES TOGETHER.
TIL DEATH DO US FUCKIN PART.
HAPPILY EVER FUCKING AFTER.
wow. this is magical
Sparkle palace cocktail table by John Foster
I stop watching Glee for a season and a half and WHAT?!
WHAT IS THIS WHAT IS HAPPENING I DONT UNDERSTAND WHAT WHAT
SYSTEMS OVERLORD ERROR ERROR WHAT
City lights and neurons show striking similarities to in these side-by-side comparisons by Infinity Imagined. The city light photos were taken aboard the International Space Station, while the neuron images were created with fluorescence microscopy.
(via kambiz:)
Everyone wants to give a writer the perfect notebook. Over the years I’ve acquired stacks: One is leather, a rope of Rapunzel’s hair braids its spine. Another, tree-friendly, its pages reincarnated from diaries of poets who now sit in cubicles. One is small and black like a funeral dress, its pages lined like the hands of a widow. There’s even a furry blue one that looks like a shag rug or a monster that would hide under it— and I wonder why? For every blown out candle, every Mazel Tov, every turn of the tassel, you gift-wrap what a writer dreads most: blank pages.
It’s never a notebook we need. If we have a story to tell, an idea carbonating past the brim of us, we will write it on our arms, thighs, any bare meadow of skin. In the absence of pens, we will repeat our lines deliriously like the telephone number of a parting stranger until we become the craziest one on the subway.
If you really love a writer, fuck her on a coffee table. Find a gravestone of someone who shares her name and take her to it. When her door is plastered with an eviction notice, do not offer your home. Say I Love You, then call her the wrong name. If you really love a writer, bury her in all your awful and watch as she scrawls her way out.
The Tale of the Three Brothers.
“Once there was a Hushpuppy, and she lived with her daddy in the Bathtub.”
Beasts of the Southern Wild
“From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing.”
—JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone
Happy Birthday Harry and JKR.
#semihetero
When I was first learning how to read, I hated it. It was slow and painful. Then, one day my dad took me to this Saturday Parent-and-Me type of reading class. The first book was Where the Wild Things Are. And I have never looked back.
Mr. Sendak, your book was the first book I ever fell in love with. Thank you, sir. You changed my life.
Harry Potter and the Order of Phlebotomists
A new blood type test has been developed that takes a page right out of Tom Riddle’s diary. Instead of writing on a page and receiving an answer, blood is washed over the paper and the letter corresponding to the blood type is activated.
Antibodies that are specific to each particular blood type are immobilized on the page, and when blood is washed over them, it sticks. The result is an easy-to-read, foolproof check for hospitals and mobile units.
No word on if it can detect mudblood.
(via Monash University)
IT’S MY TWO FAVOURITE THINGS COMBINED: HARRY POTTER AND SCIENCE!
EXCITING STUFF.
