Grabby-face pancake on the hunt. 🥹
Seeing a lone owlfly larvae out and about is a minor holiday for weirdos. It's me. I'm weirdos.
the gimmick blogs are like tumblr’s rogue gallery. yes we’ve got some heroes, yes we’ve got some villains, but more importantly if you look over here you will see some freak who devotes all their time to counting the number of “t’s” in a post
T Count: 15
Letter Count: 198
Your T Percentage: 7.58%
Average T Percentage: 6.95%
You used the letter T 1.09 times as much as average!
YOU EXIST???
Sometimes you create a guy and it turns out they already exist
Sometimes that guy has skills beyond your comprehension @identifying-cars-in-posts
1993-1997 Mazda 626
thatmgslikerguy
Hey guys I just bought this cool cylinder from some guy in the flea market parking lot, not sure how it works but when you take the lid off it makes your camera all grainy, super cool!
shemetalonmygeartilitsrising
Hey guys, I have an update, and there's a few lies going around in the notes so I figured I'd clear those up while I was here:
First of all, no, I did not "confirm it was was fake" on Twitter, I originally posted this video to a private but fairly big discord, someone there took it and put in on Twitter and later told everyone it was a joke because they were getting quite tweeted too much. That person is not me, I don't even have a Twitter
Second. Apparently this is something called cesium, it's super radioactive and that's why the container is so heavy and thick. I ended up having a really bad burn on my hand after I messed with it for a few more days, they ended up having to take some of the muscle off of it and a ways up my wrist to try and save my arm, this is what it looks like when I unwrap the bandages (I'm not going to show the hand because it looks WAY worse🤢 and I don't want to make yall puke)
Anyway, be careful what you buy from strange guys at flea markets! They might just be trying to kill you!
i’ve watched only 2 episodes of clone high but nothing is funnier to me than that pic where gandhi is told he has adhd
i WILL continue to post my own tiktoks because i am very funny
easily the best comment this tiktok received.
Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.
Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.
Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.
You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.
As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.
Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.
This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.
A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.