Never forget what they took from us.
For those asking how it compares today
and also
And no the food hasn’t changed a damned bit.
Shoutout to everyone using receipts as bookmarks you’re providing valuable information to future scholars
that picture of the little boy holding a puppy and smiling with the writing on the bottom that says hi daddy this is my doggy chelsea isn't she cute i love you and the picture of the cat with the writing that says our michael... pet photos of all time
these ones
anyone else feel like they’re constantly in a state of doing and folding and putting away laundry
I love to make meth in the subway with what appear to be sugar packets
Person who never takes public transit seeing a classic “random shit strewn about the train car”: oh god. Oh god. Is this meth.
The Alchemist of the Subway
Green cap bottles are Zyrtec, OTC allergy medication. Pretty sure red cap bottle is Tylenol. What does the NY Post think meth is made out of
"chemicals"
Some of that is straight up loose dog food
girl who has given up 100,000,000,000 times
this means she has tried again at least 99,999,999,999 times. one of the most admirable traits one can have
New episode alert! Dive into a captivating webcomic filled with romance, fantasy, and adventure. Join the journey now!
You can literally make anything and anyone problematic if you try hard enough seriously give me people and things and I’ll make them all “problematic” right now.
I don’t even have to do this one because PETA did it first by insinuating domestication is inherently abusive.
The sky
Used to trick and mock anyone who asks “what’s up?” A bullying tactic.
roman-flair
Super Mario Bros.
Stereotypes Italians, enforces the narrative of women who need men to rescue them, and encourages violence against turtles.
samsjammaam
John Mulaney
He was over on the bench and he SAW what they did to Tyler and he did NOTHING.
Pokemon
Making your pets fight repeatedly is animal abuse.
all-my-fandoms-are-killing-me
OP
OP literally argued that dogs were problematic but go off I guess
dukeofbookingham
This is a work of art and should be sent to everyone as soon as they sign up for Tumblr so they know what they’re walking into
I suppose I should have guessed that offhandedly mentioning my father was in several year feud with a parrot in the tags of that post would make my inbox go nova.
Anyway, my dad was involved in a feud with an African Grey parrot for several years. No one knows how said parrot came to be in our Scottish village, it simply showed up one day at the rescue and the local hairdresser, Sharron, adopted it.
Now if you don’t know much about African Greys, they’re chatty buggers. They’re also wicked smart and incredible mimics. Which was how Marty the Parrot became an infamous feature of our wee town; frequently escaping his enclosure to perch above the barbershop door, hurling Scottish colloquialisms at unsuspecting tourists and whistling the ice cream truck song whenever kids walked past. One time, some construction workers drilled through the water pipe that ran through the village square, and above the roar of water spewing forth into the street and alarmed swearing, Marty could be heard cackling like a demon through the window. Right until the water reached the barbershop door and flooded the ground floor room he was sitting in, and then he started screaming, “help! help! murder murder polis*!”** until he was rescued and offered a plain digestive biscuit.
After that and many, many more escape attempts and being asked politely by the local tourist board if Marty could stop telling hikers to “away and pish!” Sharron took him to see some sort of bird whisperer who told her Marty was lonely and needed company. So she moved his cage into the barbershop during the day so he could see and talk to her and the customers.
Which is where my dad comes in.
You should know that my dad is the epitome of a wee auld Scottish granda. He’s had a full head of white hair since his early forties, and wouldn’t look out of place in a Norman Rockwell painting in Norman Rockwell ever took a wander doon the Barras and got swindled into buying a TV that quite-very-probably fell off the back of a truck. He’s got the gift for the gab, and everyone likes him. Sometimes against their better judgement. Everyone, that is, except Marty.
Marty hated my dad.
At some point, Marty picked up the habit of complimenting customers. He’d wait till Sharron was done with their hair, then wolf whistle and demand “who’s a pretty boy then?” in a broad Scots accent that ought to have defied avian vocalities. Sometimes he’d even do it before if he liked the customer. But regardless, he’d always chat with customers, even if it was just nonsense phrases like “Oh aye?” *whistles* “Iz at right?” *click click.*
Now my dad knew this about Marty. He knew it from local chat and from watching the bird fawn over customers as he and my brother waited their turn. So it came as quite a surprise when my dad sat down in Sharron’s chair and was met with stony silence. The way he tells it, Marty stared at him dead on in silence, methodically cracking seeds between his talons. When my brother was done with his haircut in the neighboring chair, Marty turned and gave a shrill whistle, followed by his customary “who’s a pretty boy then?” before resuming his death glare at my dad, who by now was feeling a bit unnerved by the unwavering eye contact and the nut cracking. The uncharacteristic silence continued, even when my dad was getting ready to leave. There was no whistle, no “who’s a pretty boy then?” just silence and the sound of seeds being crushed. And then my dad tripped over the step on the way out of the shop, and Marty let out a demonic peal of parrot laughter*** like water circling an open drain. And that was the start of the feud.
After that, whenever my dad went to get a haircut, Marty would talk to him, but only ever in insults. The one time my dad tried asking “who’s a pretty boy?”, the bird replied “naw youse!” before cackling himself into a whistling fit. And every time my dad would come away, determined to get that bloody parrot to whistle at him and ask “who’s a pretty boy then?”
Seeds were bought. Parrot appropriate biscuits were offered up as tribute. All to no avail. But eventually there became a sort of camaraderie in the insults. Like two enemies who know the steps to the dance they’re treading, and who welcome the familiarity of it. Sometimes my dad would just stick his head round the door on his way to work, just to hear the indignant squawk followed by a litany of insults that’d make a tea kettle whistle. And this went on for years, possibly close to a decade.
Parrot and man locked in an ongoing battle of wills to see who would give up first.
Sadly, my dad never got his “who’s a pretty boy then?” whistle. Marty was already old when Sharron rescued him and is no longer with us. I’d like to say he’s looking down on my dad, hurling loving insults, but given that bird’s panache for stealing ice cream cones from unsuspecting children and general flare for terror, it’s probably more likely he’s looking up. Either way, he’s fondly remembered. Especially by my wee auld dad, who while never having got a “who’s a pretty boy then?” did get a “see youse later” one time, which probably counts for more.
*Scots for police. **A line from an old Glasgow Street song. ***Not Marty, but this is close to how I remember him sounding.
Happy 2-year-ish anniversary to this post. I need you all to know it’s been literal years, and during one of our recent phone conversations, I brought up Marty and what a terrible pun his name was, and my dad paused mid-sentence, asking what I meant and proclaimed, “Of course! It all makes sense! Marty McFly!”
this site really hates people with ocd
“reblog this or you don’t support minorities!” “if you don’t reblog this then all of your followers should hate you!” “if you have a bad thought then you actually think that way and you’re a horrible person!” “you can only like ‘good’ things and if you like something ‘bad’ then you’re awful!” i am going to throttle you with my bare hands
cleverinternetkingdom
People seem to not know how old writers are when they make their stories.
Stephanie Meyer wrote Twilight in 2003, at age 29
Cassandra Clare started writing Mortal Instruments in 2004, at age 31
Rick Riordan published Percy Jackson & the Olympians, the book about 12yrolds, at age 41
George R. R. Martin published A Game of Thrones, at age 48
You can't even use the "but fanfiction isn't real writing" argument because of how many fanfiction turn movies there is. They are clearly enough of a story to be made into published books.
Anna Renee Todd's After series was a Harry Styles fanfiction, which was published in 2014, when she was 25
E.L. James Fifty Shades of Grey series was a Twilight fanfiction, which was published in 2011, when she was 48
Mortal Instruments was a Harry Potter fanfiction.
Why must they act like After someone turns 20 their life ends, like people can't have hobbies???
No I think it's worse- they're not mad that you're doing stuff after you're 20, they're saying it's morally disgusting for an adult to write about people underage. They're so bombarded in this hyperchristianized mindset that they think any written thing by an adult, if it's about a character that's underage, means it must be pedophilia and its getting really really REALLY old.
Spoilers: fiction isn't real
I'm sorry to tell everyone but Peter Parker, Harry Potter and Percy Jackson aren't real living alive with a body and feelings people, no matter how well written they are.
Sonic the hedgehog is not in fact a real living blue talking hedgehog.
They haven’t put the pieces together to work out that ~if only children write about children, they will never have a published work again~
No more cartoons, no more movies, no more tv shows where anyone under the age of 20 has a love interest, kisses, or has a sexual thought again
So, since romance is so forced down everyones’ throats… just none ever again. Because writing about a teenager kissing another teenager is “pedophilia” to puritans
Kids have shit to do like school, homework, and their own lives, and frankly? As a bitch who started writing at 12? I didn’t get fucking good til I was in my 20s
A lot of the fic on AO3 is written by adults because (and this also never occurs to them) you will continue to age if you do not die first
With any luck whatsoever every single one of these lil fucks will one day be over 20 and will hopefully realize that they don’t need to instantly burn everything they used to like
That wanting to write about your favourite characters smooching actually has nothing whatsoever to do with anything you want to do with your physical human body
(and please think about how much that logic also lends itself to “you can’t date someone and write fanfic or you’re cheating on them” <- a fucking absurd position)
Adults who write teens got there by Having Been Teenagers Themselves and one day you will all be as old and as cringe as me :)
(but if you’re lucky you will also kick cringe to death, step over its corpse, and keep doing whatever makes you fucking happy instead of being a joyless dick)
So yeah, if you wanna boycott fiction by anyone older than you? You can certainly try, but be very prepared for there to be very little left, and it still won’t all be the “morally pure” coffee shop AUs because teens also write some extremely fucked up shit
You want the soft and tender fluff, you accept that you know literally fucking nothing about the author other than what they choose to share, and It Is Not Your Fucking Business To Know More
I swear this is connected to the whole “post your full name, birthday, home town, school, and all your triggers in your bio/carrd” or you’re a bad person bs, back in my day we ain’t telling the internet SHIT and didn’t expect to know shit about anyone else on it either
Yup. Plus, guess what, all those adults used to be teens, so if they want to write about their own experiences back then (or conversely, about the experiences they wish they’d have had), who are you to tell them they can’t?
I’ve written fanfics (and yes, smutty ones) involving characters aged 17-19, because, yes, kids that age do have sex. I also have teenaged kids myself. I can assure you from the bottom of my heart that I have never felt the tiniest spark of attraction for any of the various 17-year-old kids hanging around at our house. Fiction and real life are two very different things, and it’s not hard to keep them apart.
I’m so tired of this neo purity bullshit, y’all.
AROMANTICISM AND ASEXUALITY ARE INHERENTLY QUEER AND DO NOT NEED TO BE PAIRED UP WITH ANOTHER LGBTQ IDENTITY TO BE RECOGNIZED AS SUCH AND YES THIS INCLUDES CISHET ASPECS
