there’s a decent amt of neurologists who’ve called the sleep schedules we’re obligated to be on despite flagrant conflict with our natural circadian rhythms “borderline torture” and the work hours we’re expected to put in despite the fact that the average person can only maintain maximal efficiency and focus for 3 hours at a time “nearly inhumane” and i think about that a lot
I will absolutely never be normal about the fact that Jensen had to literally fight for Dean to die standing. Like, he had to FIGHT for it. The man wasn't allowed to have any say in the ending of the character he played for 15 years!!! He had to accept Dean dying. He had to accept the rusty rebar. "Take it or leave it" they told him. And he literally had to fight for Dean to at least die standing, head up high.
It's so sickening.
#gay ig
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'there is so much cock and balls on the trending tab' to Cas' 'I love you'. /End ID]
The gay tag trending with naked dicks on full display on the nipple ban site is so fucking funny and ironic
My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
Happy 420
boom boom boom boom i want you in my loom knit you into a sweater then sew it up forever
fandoms love to go ooooo you have to read this fic it's the most popular fic in the famdom it's a fandom classic and then you read it and it's bad
Lakota Nation vs. United States (2022, Jesse Short Bull & Laura Tomaselli)
society if meg was alive during the divorce arc
she would have been the opposite of rowena's couples counseling. she would have offered to murder dean for cas
A cartoon from 1914 that could have been written today
Mythbusters have 3 categories of myths
4. Turn up the dynamite, let's MAKE it real
Tumblr is an amazing website because someone will post my exact opinion and belief but do it in such a condescending and annoying tone that it makes me want to disagree with them.
e sam
these being back to back episodes after cas and crowley spend multiple episodes working together -> they literally discussed this
crowley, a bitch with exactly one outfit: salmondean sure do wear a lot of flannel
castiel, a bitch with exactly one outfit: oh my god i KNOW right??
i honestly think the "oc dont steal" brand of humor died as hard as it did because literally nothing will be as funny as Σario
nothing could top this
oh he was GUILTY guilty
