hey remember how i made a joke a while back about how if i wrote the finale it would be about dean getting to kill john winchester well haha guess what i actually did. i had fun w it so if you want to read s15 e21 “The Family Business” here you go
Not mine but need to be able to read it again
Wow. The patience, kindness and calm communication skills. Outstanding.
From raindovemodel
This made me cry. I wish all situations could be handled as perfectly as this
I just want to point out the core of what the diffuser did in this conversation
They recognized that the mother was also expressing a vulnerable truth about herself - that she felt like a bad mother because her child was expressing gender feelings she wasn’t equipped to help with - and met her where she was, a concerned parent with limited information - to point her where she should be heading, research and resources.
Im going to make more of an effort to stop reflexively pushing people away when they express biases and make more of an effort to hear the underlying fears when i can
“it’s easier to love ourselves when we feel loved as ourselves”
damn that is so powerful though
Dude i saw your icon and thought i already reblogged this post and forgot about it lol.
MOTHER OF GOD
ARE YOU FUCKIN
OH GOD ITS BACK
DEAR GOD THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE TUMBLR POSTS IN EXISTENCE.
YOU THINK JUST THE NOISE IS FUNNY AND FITS WITH THE GIF REALLY WELL
BUT THEN
THEN
THE LYRICS START
seriously i have almost crashed my car into a telephone pole, becuase I suddenly thought of this post and started laughing uncontrollably
“One time my Nanny and the Gardener were having a heated argument in the car and he took her Queen tape out of the player and threw it out the window with rage and she looked him dead in the eyes and pulled out a second copy of that same tape and put it back in the player.”
— Warlock, probably
Warlock becomes a stand up comedian when he grows up. He becomes the John Mulaney of his time. This is his equivalent of “one black coffee”.
I can totally envision Warlock’s version of the duck story!
One day when I was ten, the gardener comes into the house soaking wet and says, in that voice one usually reserves for toddlers or small animals, “Ah! One feels like a duck splashing around in all this wet! And when one feels like a duck, one is happy!” And then Nanny yelled, “Ooh, ducklings!” To which the gardener replied, “Too old to be a duckling. Quack, quack.” And then walked into the kitchen. I think about that every goddamn day.
I can’t believe I never saw this until now. Headcanon accepted. This is beyond hilarious. Also….
I can’t believe this one was hidden in the replies.
“I love my family, or at the very least people would assume so. People would think that growing up as a politician’s son would be easy, and they are right. I got everything that I ever asked for, spending money the only way Rick People could spend money.
“Dad! I want a Pony” Boom, Pony is at my feet
“Dad! I wanted it black” Boom. Done. Pony now looks like it crawled out of the Black Lagoon.
“Dad! The Pony glared at me!” I get a bottle of glue the next day. I was living the Rickie Rich lifestyle. I can have anything I want.
But the best part of growing up rich, the absolute best part, was that we were able to afford our own nanny.
I love her so much but am goddamn terrified of her to this day. I am a 28 year old man and I live in my own bodyweight of fear towards her.
When I was 1 to when I was 11, we had a nanny in our house. Her name is Nanny. If you call her anything else you will die. Somedays I think that my parents made a Rumpelstiltskin Deal with her before I was born, where instead of taking baby me she just moved in to our house to raid our fridge and judge the world from lofty windows. This is just the first part of the mystery of my nanny.
She dresses like she is preparing to go to a funeral. And the difference between preparing to go and actually going is that they hadn’t found the body yet. You know when friends say that they would kill someone for you? Nanny would gut a cat if I wanted to play the violin that’s how hardcore she was. She wore red sunglasses because her glare alone could turn anyone to stone. If you squint hard enough you can actually see lasers coming out of her eyes.
Now you need to remember, I lived with this woman for Ten Years. Since I was a baby. This shit was normalized to me. While my parents were in West Wing I was living in the Addams Family. Nanny loved me and raised me and so what if she told me that I was going to lead Satan’s Army someday. That’s just Nanny. But throughout all of this, I never truly understand how terrifying she could be until I was 8 years old.
Picture this: a little 8 year old me, plump and trimmed with baby fat, standing next to Mary Poppin’s evil twin. One day we were going out for brunch so I can, and I’m quoting here “practice giving out orders when the army of hell arrives”
I’m still waiting for them, just to let you know.
So we get inside Nanny’s car, an old Black 1933 Bently which plays nothing but Queen music on cassettes.
I know this sounds fake, but she is a real person and not some Baba Yaga who decided not to eat me.
As we were about to leave, Brother Francis ran out to us. Francis was out gardener. He worked for us for as long as Nanny has, wears suspenders and a sun hat, and I’m pretty sure he ran away from a monastery. He walks up to Nanny and asks for a ride to the local gardening store for supplies. So he gets in the front seat, I’m in the back, and all three of us get on our way.
At 1000 miles per hour in a 55 zone.
Now I’m 8 years old. And no matter how cool your Nanny is, you just don’t pay attention to boring adult stuff like meetings, or finances, or traffic safety laws. So I’m lost in my own thoughts on how to direct my hell army to build myself a waterpark.
I don’t know how long I zoned out because when I snapped back in Nanny and Francis were arguing. Not in the pleasant passive aggressive way that makes you rethink your life choices, but full on yelling. So we are speeding down the road like death is chasing us. Bohemian Rhapsody is playing on blast. Nanny and Francis screaming at each other. Sulfur filled the air, radiant light pulsed menacing around us. Exactly how I imagined what parents fighting would be like. Things came to a head right as Freddy was about to hit his last “For Me!” because that was when this meek looking gardener snapped. Francis turns to Nanny and screams “YOU’RE DRIVING TOO FAST!” yanks the cassette out and pitches it out the window.
And then time stood still.
Have you ever been on a rollercoaster where at the top of the first hill staring down you regret every decision you’ve ever made that led you to this point? That was where we were all at.
Because there were three rules to Nanny’s Bently. Nanny always drives. Nanny always drives fast. And Nanny always drives fast with Freddy Mercury blaring down like her own personal angel.
This is all new uncharted territory for me. I’ve never seen anyone even dare disrespect her angel and plan to live to tell the tale. I was just watching in fascinated horror as this moment just searing into my mind.
Nanny’s looking directly at Francis, you can feel her eye’s heat laser’s charging up. I was trying to think of reasons to tell my parents why we don’t have a gardener anymore. Because even at 8 years old I know a death marker when I’ve seen one and by the end of the trip I was expecting Francis to be nothing but a smoldering piled of ash and a $15 hat.
She looks at him, and takes one hand off the wheel. Still barreling down the road like a madman mind you. But it alright because time’s frozen so we don’t hit anything. And with one hand, she reaches in front of him to the glove compartment, gently pulls out another cassette tape, and places it in the deck.
[pauses]
[sings] “FOR ME!!!!!”
We pull into the parking lot by the time Bohemian Rhapsody ends and I have never looked at Nanny the same way ever again. Because anyone who can play the exact same song on two different cassettes without missing a beat is their own god and needs to be feared.”
-Warlock in his comedy special
That’s it. The “Warlock grows up to be John Mulaney” AU is the only AU I’m here for.
My favorite kind of Adultier Adults™ are those who actively try, like really really try, to understand millennial and GenZ humor but just can’t q u i t e get it, and turn it into something 10x funnier
Me over the phone in bad traffic: Oh, I can move again, the road work is done
My grandpa: Uh I sure hope it isn’t
Me:
Gramps:
Me: Did-
Gramps: Did I do it right
Me with my grandpa again: What’cha doing?
Gramps: making a video of seven seconds of joy
Me, frightened: gramps?
Gramps: *Sends a 7-second video of himself eating Almond Joy* Can you put it on vine for me
Me, choking up, not willing to tell him it’s gone: S-Sure
Me, to my Grandmother over the phone: I don’t know gramma, I don’t know if English is a degree that suits me.
Gramma: But you’ve always loved writing!
Gramps, screaming for the other side of their apartment, just audible over the phone: THAT’S HER OPINIIIOOOOOONNNNNNN!
(Over the phone at like 22:30) Me: Man I am just exhausted but can’t find any sleeping aids, are there any left from when you-
Gramps: It’s the sleeping time
Me: yeah?
Gramps: So it’s the time to sleep?
Me: …. yes?
Gramps: Might I suggest you put head on pillow and sleep?
Me, finally realizing: You watch tiktoks. YOU watch TIKTOK.
Gramps: Just get some warm milk, you cretin
Gramps: *Hangs up*
Me, staring at my phone in disbelief: WH Y
Me, over Skype: Hey gramps did you get the birthday box I sent you? You wanna know what’s in it?
Gramps: DIS BOX EMPTY! WHEAT!
Gramps: *Softly tosses the box onto the couch*
Me: Wh. Wheat.
Gramps over the phone: guess what?!
Me: what?!
Gramps: my Hispanic neighbor taught me how to use freshvakdos!
Me: use… What
Gramps: you know! Freshvakdos! Guacamole!
Me: do. Do you mean fre sh avo ca do?
Gramps: YEAH
Gramps: So I heard about blessing that are actually curses so I’m going to give you one okay
Me: oh no
Gramps: oh yeah.
Me: please-
Gramps: may you receive every book you have ever wanted to read in your life
Me: ….how is this a curse
Gramps: … Only for the last chapters to be torn out and unavailable online
Me: GRAMPS NO
GRamps: GRAMPS YES
Me: *flinches as Gramps uses my deadname several times* *let’s it slip that I wear a binder* *accidentally mentions dysphoria*
Gramps: *deadname* are you okay
Me: Gramps, could you maybe call me Kai instead…?
Gramps without missing a beat or bothering to take his phone away from his face, SCREAMING to my grandma: HONEY WE’VE GOT ANOTHER GRANDTHEM!!!
Me, expecting backlash since my grandparents are conservative Mormons: *violent sobbing laughter*
HERE’S THE THING THOUGH
I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click
And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”
So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is
“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”
I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:
“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”
I accidentally called the director of the FBI.
My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.
This is my new favourite story.
When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.
There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server.
The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors.
During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”
So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound.
I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.
So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…
“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”
It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.
There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.
The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring.
Every time I try to find this story, I end up having to search google with a variety of terms that I’m sure have gotten me flagged by some watchlist, so I’m reblogging it again where I swear I’ve reblogged it before.
But none of these stories even come close to the best one of them all; a wrong number is how the NORAD Santa Tracker got started.
Seriously, this is legit.
In December 1955, Sears decided to run a Santa hotline. Here’s the ad they posted.
Only problem is, they misprinted the number. And the number they printed? It went straight through to fucking NORAD. This was in the middle of the Cold War, when early warning radar was the only thing keeping nuclear annihilation at bay. NORAD was the front line.
And it wasn’t just any number at NORAD. Oh no no no.
Terri remembers her dad had two phones on his desk, including a red one. “Only a four-star general at the Pentagon and my dad had the number,” she says.
“This was the ‘50s, this was the Cold War, and he would have been the first one to know if there was an attack on the United States,” Rick says.
The red phone rang one day in December 1955, and Shoup answered it, Pam says. “And then there was a small voice that just asked, ‘Is this Santa Claus?’ ”
His children remember Shoup as straight-laced and disciplined, and he was annoyed and upset by the call and thought it was a joke — but then, Terri says, the little voice started crying.
“And Dad realized that it wasn’t a joke,” her sister says. “So he talked to him, ho-ho-ho’d and asked if he had been a good boy and, ‘May I talk to your mother?’ And the mother got on and said, ‘You haven’t seen the paper yet? There’s a phone number to call Santa. It’s in the Sears ad.’ Dad looked it up, and there it was, his red phone number. And they had children calling one after another, so he put a couple of airmen on the phones to act like Santa Claus.”
“It got to be a big joke at the command center. You know, ‘The old man’s really flipped his lid this time. We’re answering Santa calls,’ ” Terri says.
And then, it got better.
“The airmen had this big glass board with the United States on it and Canada, and when airplanes would come in they would track them,” Pam says.
“And Christmas Eve of 1955, when Dad walked in, there was a drawing of a sleigh with eight reindeer coming over the North Pole,” Rick says.
“Dad said, ‘What is that?’ They say, ‘Colonel, we’re sorry. We were just making a joke. Do you want us to take that down?’ Dad looked at it for a while, and next thing you know, Dad had called the radio station and had said, ‘This is the commander at the Combat Alert Center, and we have an unidentified flying object. Why, it looks like a sleigh.’ Well, the radio stations would call him like every hour and say, ‘Where’s Santa now?’ ” Terri says.
For real.
“And later in life he got letters from all over the world, people saying, ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ for having, you know, this sense of humor. And in his 90s, he would carry those letters around with him in a briefcase that had a lock on it like it was top-secret information,” she says. “You know, he was an important guy, but this is the thing he’s known for.”
“Yeah,” Rick [his son] says, “it’s probably the thing he was proudest of, too.”
So yeah. I think that might be the best wrong number of all time.
OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS.
I’ve seen the first post a bunch of times, but never the story of How The Santa Tracker Started.
Mens Fashion - www.GoGetGlam.com
…. *scribbles furiously on notepad*
Tips
For the guys, butch women and non binary people all there. I’m a woman, but I’m reblogging this for anyone who finds this useful. ❤️
Wish I could pin this
For future references….
I can never find good suit reference photos. Yay
had a dream last night that my alarm was connected to twitter and everytime i hit snooze it publicly tweeted it with a disparaging little message along the lines of “filthy horrible boy has slapped the screen again, and slumbers on” so that your followers could shame you and i was deeply, DEEPLY humiliated but that did not stop me from hitting snooze upwards of 14 times
just gotta “borrow” my sister’s alarm clock
get that twitter api, write the bot in some python bc god is dead n slap together some fuckin UI with legos
the next step is NOT profit. noone profits. everybody loses. go home.
i’m worth five fucking dollars
18 bucks
10.50 4 me
$57.50
$53.00
$82.50
$60.50
$43.50
19.50
58 *shrug*
$35
$19
$1
Huh, I thought you’d been in a fist fight before
Oh fuck $11
$27.50
So there’s this huge dudebro in my class, who, yesterday, sat next to me. And I’m sitting there sweating because like… I’m wearing my shirt with the lesbian flag on it, and he’s the most popular jock in school, and always has this look on his face that say ‘I can and will kill you’. He looks me up and down, stares at me for a minute and then goes, “So. Girls in skirts and long socks, am I right?”
To which I nodded solemnly, both out of agreement, surprise and also a healthy amount of awkward fear. He nodded and went, “You get it.”
I said, “Yep.” He fistbumped me, and on went our lives.
Oh! I forgot to mention! I saw him at lunch the same day, and he ran up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, pointed at this super sweet girl who comes to GSA and asked if she’s gay. I told him he should ask her because that’s not my place and he said he would.
I thought that would be the end of it.
Except ten minutes later he came back and told me he found out (she’s bi) and that both of us have a shot. I said “You more than me.” because he’s attractive and popular.
But this wholesome dumbass looked really confused and asked, “Because I’m tall?’
So this isn’t lesbian/jock solidarity but I thought you guys would want to know-
My math teacher was trying to fix the rolling whiteboard and he just offhand said “This would be easier with a wrench”
And deadass, dudebro said “Hang on” and then proceeded to pull a fucking wrench out of his backpack
Update- after school today he saw me in the library and he didn’t say anything? He just pointed at the book he was holding and I gave him a thumbs up because it’s a pretty good book, and he went “Yes!” Really quiet and pumped his fist and then left
Okay so today he asked me if I know how to help people having a panic attack and I was like yeah? And he smiled at me and then went “cool I think I’m having one”
And I was like what the fuck Colin we’re in the middle of Tech class sit down and we went out in the hall and sat there for a while and he told me about the test he’s stressed about so we kind of went over his study guide and when he was feeling better he kind of like… smacked his head against mine gently? And I helped him up even though he’s almost a foot taller than me and yeah
Today at lunch we walked to the football field and laid in the grass and I told him thank you for being my friend (because I don’t have that many) and fistbumped me and said, “You always looked so nice and chill, how could I not want to be your friend?”
And honestly y’all, I would’ve started crying if he hadn’t sneezed and accidentally smacked me
dont u hate it when its nine in the afternoon but ur eyes are just normal sized
I’ve seen this post three times on my dash and i still cant fucking figure out what it means is it like some secret code. are 22,000+ of you in a secret society????? what the fuck is going on?????
some of my favorite tags:
some more gems:
this post just gets better and better
ALSO WHAT THE FUCK IS NINE IN THE AFTERNOON
keep reblogging
Seriously
Rev log to confuse
no one explain
I love seeing panic! and confusion
This blog is Dedicated to anyone suffering from Anxiety! Please Follow Us if You Can Relate: ANXIETYPROBLEMS
Your first, fifth, and tenth most recent emojis predicts how well October will treat you
mine is so cryptic 😔👁🤘
its making sense now guys
❤️💖🤷♂️
🚵♂️🤖🗻
how to draw arms ? ?
holy fuck
holy fuck is right… but… does it work with legs???
yes !!
but how much extend
^^^^^^^^^^
I NEARLY CHOKED
ENJFDFNFATFVFDF
finally. i can be accurate
This is too fucking great to not reblog
I give it MASCLES
BIG MACHO
🤣🤣
LMAOOOOOO
Okay but for anyone who legit wants to know how to calculate it correctly:
The elbow joint on average rests a couple inches higher than the navel, so if you measure how long the distance is from the middle of the shoulder to that point then you have the length of the upper and fore arms!
So if anyone’s wondering about legs too, the simplest rule of thumb is that the length from the top of the leg to the knee is equal to the distance between the top of the leg and the bottom of the pectorals:
And I wanna stress that when i say “top of the leg” i’m not talking about the crotch (please don’t flag me tumblr it’s an anatomical term) i’m talking about the point where the femur connects to the pelvis, which is higher up on the hips:
It’s easier to see what I’m talking about in this photo of a man squatting:
So yeah if you use that measurement when using this technique you should get fairly realistically proportioned legs:
But remember! messing with proportions is an important and fun part of character design! Know the rules first so you can then break them however you please!
HOW THE HELL DID I FIND THIS POST OMG
Licherally in the midst of drawing a guy and crying at how bad the arms are. Thanks Tumbles
concept: the year is 2034. i walk into work with coffee in hand. coworker is wearing cool shoelaces and i compliment them absentmindedly. they look me dead in the eye and say, “thanks, i stole them from the president.” scalding coffee leaks out of every one of my orifices and i hide in the bathroom convulsing for the rest of the day
@elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey can you explain this i don’t understand
it’s this legendary horror post
it is physically painful to remember that people have continued to join tumblr since 2012 and that there are people–perhaps people reading this! right now!!!–who don’t have the foggiest memory of this fucking post. this post haunted me, do you understand, i saw and heard this code used in REAL FUCKING LIFE, I CANT FKJCLNG HANDLE THIS
Thomas: guys, gals, and nonbinary pals
Roman: beauties, gentlebeauties, and nonbinary cuties
Patton: boys, girls, and nonbinary pearls
Logan: men, women, and nonbinary homo-sapiens
Virgil: mistakes, regrets, and nonbinary rejects
BONUS
Deceit: brawns, broads, and nonbinary clods
So… what would Remus say??
Bastards, bitches and non binary snitches
This is the best answer, op approved
PERFECTION
hey
hey friend
dont kill yourself tonight ok
you have a really pretty smile and i know its not always easy to manage one but itd be a bummer if we never had the chance to see it ever again
youre really important and you matter a lot so stay safe and try and have a nice sleep
I would like a moment to thank the people who reblog post like this so that it eventually shows on my dash.
It is keeping me alive
I actually really needed this tonight, thank you
