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malt shop

@mcmissileproof / mcmissileproof.tumblr.com

MC, or a bastard of many names | he/they | 25 | I will fight you with a sword if you ask (please ask) | follow my art blog @xenonsdoodles
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on Planet Where Everyone Can Teleport the first person on the moon went there by accident and promptly died. The next dozen or so people also went by accident, and also died. Number 14 figured out that people who go to the moon die and very cleverly brought a sword and six weeks of travel rations. This did not help.

No one on Planet Where Everyone Can Teleport ever figured out why people die in space because they don’t need airplanes and never found it particularly interesting to climb tall mountains. Astronomers use telescopes to take pictures of the ever-growing pile of corpses on the moon.

“why don’t they teleport back” because they’re not on the planet where everyone can teleport anymore. try to keep up dumbass

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legit excited to see this come around again

my checking account is called my Lamborghini account and my savings is called my Hollywood hills account. when I have to go to the bank they see that shit. if they knew if was from this dumb fucking video I think they would execute me

we need more representation in media for people who are just dogshit at improvising snappy one liners. too many characters these days can come up with the smartest funniest thing to say in any given situation with zero rehearsal or hesitation and it's just not realistic. we need more guys who say shit like "yeah, well, um, how about you, uh, suck my dick?"

we need more characters who get hit with a one liner and instead of responding smugly with one of their own they're just like "kill yourself"

You CAN do pullups, my friend!

i adore this guy. he’s got such chill energy, and gives clear information on multiple levels of an exercise. i’m disabled and largely bedridden, and having someone that tells you where to start without being condescending in ANY way is…much harder to find than it should be.

A book with a first person narrator what describes everything with oddly specific clarifications and denials, coming completely unprompted.

"I poured myself a bowl of cereal that had no cockroaches in it."

"Her hair - which was real human hair, growing naturally from her own scalp - was brown."

"I walked to my car which I legally owned and whose rightful ownership had never been under question or dispute."

"Their dog was barking in a way that is entirely normal for a regular, full-blooded dog, and could not be mistaken for the vocalisations of a half-wolf, a jackal, or perhaps a hyena."

"My mother - who has never been convicted or imprisoned for manslaughter - emerged from the kitchen."

And speaking of scurvy, I am eternally amused by the thing where some ancient form of healing that was born in a time where people didn't know exactly how the human body works, or what causes it to stop working sometimes, that still somehow worked. Like how so many old folk medicinal plants were listed as a cure for various ailments that - from a modern view - are clearly just symptoms of scurvy, and the plant itself is rich in vitamin C.

I recall reading some story, no recollection of the exact time or place, where the king of a large empire suffered from constant horrible headaches and was incapable of falling asleep unless drugged or blackout drunk. Sick of taking temporary fixes to dull the pain and having to be sedated every night, he called up some old sage healer who was said to know how to fix things nobody else could explain, and the healer heard his symptoms and went

"Hmm. You spend too much time being a king. Your skull is packed so full of kingly thoughts that they don't all fit in there and that's why your head is in pain. You need to spend time not being a king." And prescribed him to schedule three days every month where he must go to a peasant village where nobody knows he's the king, live with a family there under a fake name and identity, work in the rice fields with them, eating the same food and sleeping on the same mats. Absolutely nobody is allowed to address him as the king, speak to him of any royal or political matters, and he himself is not allowed to think any kingly thoughts or think of himself as the king.

And naturally, this worked. Taking a regular scheduled break from a highly stressful office desk job to completely decompress, paired with physical exercise in the form of hard but simple physical labour, plain and simple food and Just Not Thinking About Your Fucking Job All The Time does help chronic stress, which here was worded as "spending too much time being a king clogs your brain."

Sometimes you do have ghosts in your blood, though I'm not entirely sure whether you should do cocaine about it.