30 years old and still going strong

*jazz hands* relativity falls portal!Mabel

the eye doesn’t do anything it just signifies that she’s a super cool old pansexual lady with a missing eye

Also she needs a monocle probably but Grunkle Dipper can have fun trying to force that on her later

(concept: your role on the cipher wheel is set by the actions you take in life and by coming to gravity falls first she became the all-seeing-eye)

2

Start Weight: 197lbs
2nd photo: 178 lbs
3rd photo: 153 lbs
44 pounds down 30 to go
This is a difficult journey. I’ve gone through so many ups and downs in the past year. I still find myself wandering off my fitness path but I want to look like Sandra Prikker dammit!
Healthy eating and drinking 2 liters of water a day. Also 1-2 hours at the gym 6 times a week.
I love what I’m starting to look like and I feel so strong.
You guys should see my skin. I’m 29 but I look like a 22 yr old. Water is my bff!!

you know i can’t stop thinking about this AU where the BNHA kids are all around 30-40 years old and of course pro heroes. An AU where the villain is really fucking strong and a lot of them are really hurt and stuff but still try to fight because holy shit this guy is not going down. Deku hears about the fight when he’s really far away from it and tries to get there as fast as he can but is too late. Nobody dies in the AU but Kacchan gets really hurt? Like his arms get ripped off?? And Kirishima has to sorta drag him out of the fight since he’s lost consciousness by head trauma and bloodloss. And he’s sorta speaking and blabbing to kacchan and sorta to himself to calm down but how can he when his best buddy is sorta dying on his back?????? Like how would the arm loss affect Kacchan?? since his quirk is on his hands he can’t be a hero anymore????????? I have more but idk how to word them out. the things that come to mind at 3am and then won’t leave. i want to draw this but i don’t have time..

Danny Elfman gave an amazing commencement speech when I graduated from college

I recently came across this transcript of the speech Danny Elfman gave when I graduated from the University of North Carolina School of the Arts in 2007. His words sustained me through many tough years, and continue to do so today. It’s not a short read, but it is an amazing one, so I wanted to share it with y’all. Enjoy.

First, I’d like to begin with my sincere congratulations onsuccessfully completing something that must have seemed, not too long ago, to be a remote, distant, semi-impossibility – and yet, here you are. 

Second, a disclaimer. I’m reading from notes because, aside from having to rely on memory cells ravaged and pillaged by the onslaught of time and functioning more or less like a 1981 Commodore 64 computer with only 32K left intact, aside from that, one of my greatest fears is that of public speaking. And yet … here I am. 

And the question is … what words of advice can I possibly offer that might in any way be useful to you? 

I could talk to you about “following your dreams,” which is a wonderful sentiment, but that seems just too obvious. This is a school of the arts and you are all, in one form or another, artists. So in fact, you are already, without my encouragement, following your dreams or you wouldn’t be here. 

So I began by looking to my own experiences, to see if I could find some shred of something relevant. At first I really didn’t think so. As I reflected, it occurred to me as it often has in the past, that my life has basically been a bunch of random events, bizarre occurrences, and coincidences, some working out better than others. But then as I gave it more thought, it began to feel more like a season of “Lost” where everything happens for some strange “reason.” 

And I began the process of rummaging through those remaining memory cells to recall the many dreams I attempted to follow, to see if I could find any patterns that made some kind of sense. And slowly, (in a way) it did… . 

And so, I will in fact, talk to you today about “following your dream” and “going down that road.” 

But I’d like to talk to you about how strange and unexpected the “real” process of “following one’s dreams” can be. Because for some of you, that road might be a smooth, paved highway. I envy you, and I wish you well, but what I’ve got to say will have no relevance for you. (This might be a good moment to get those iPods and headphones out.) But for many of you that road might be like it was for me: twisted, bumpy, full of potholes, misplaced exit signs, and dead ends. 

So now, with your permission, I’ll tell you a crazy, meandering story. Mine. And like my life, I’m afraid it’s rambling and a little complicated. And for that, I apologize. And I invite you to draw from it what you will. It will take some patience, so bear with me.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I shall digress. 

By the time I got to high school, I had only two interests: radiation biology and movies. I pretty much went to the movies every weekend I could remember. They were a major part of my life, but I had no dreams of actually working on them. Too impossible and distant – so science was my only option. I was quite sure of it. 

However, I was an odd, shy kid who didn’t make friends easily in a new school, in a new neighborhood, with no old chums to rely on. My first couple of new friends were kind of odd and shy like myself and, to my surprise, were all artistically inclined in one way or another. Poetry, cartoons, writing and, in several cases, musicians. 

This was a new world. Stuff rubbed off. Through my musician friends, I was exposed to 20th-century classical music and jazz. I was blown away, but I also felt that I’d long since missed the boat. I had no musical ability that I was aware of. They had all started playing music as children. It was, I wistfully observed, too late for me. 

Now high school was over, the travel bug had bitten me, and my only dream at that moment was to beat it – as far and fast as I could. College could certainly wait for my return, and, as I had saved up a little cash by various questionable and sundry means, a year of world travel seemed quite reasonable. But – and this is where that “dream” thing came in – I decided to purchase a violin to bring with me, and to attempt to learn to play while I traveled. I thought, though my time may have passed, why not? I thought just maybe … . Well, anyhow. 

Skip to several months later, in Paris, getting ready to start the “big journey” and staying with my older brother who lived there and worked there. One day, while I was practicing that fiddle, I was overheard by the director of an avant-garde theatre troupe who was visiting at the time, and to my astonishment, was given the offer to “join up” for a summer tour. No money. Room and board. He seemed to think I was good enough, and being a “rag-tag” kind of thing, I simply had to play along with a number of crazy songs they had in their show. I thought, maybe I could get good and become a violinist? Now that seemed like a worthwhile, though distant, dream. 

But wait: This particular dream was supposed to be about a big world journey. The music thing, like college, would just have to wait. 

I spent close to a year traveling across Africa (I though it would take a couple of months) and lo and behold … I didn’t get good at the violin, but I did fall in love with percussion, and got to listen to a lot of incredible music and shipped quite a few instruments home. 

Cut to … finally back home … off to college? Maybe music or film school or both but … no go … . 

While I was traveling, my brother had come back to the States and founded his own street troupe, inspired by the French experience, and upon my return he immediately inducted me to be their “musical director.“ I didn’t even know what that meant, least-wise what I was supposed to do. I had still never taken a lesson nor could I read or write music. No matter. I played a poor but serviceable fiddle and had a bunch of cool West African percussion. And that was enough. To use the description “rag-tag” would be a wild overstatement. 

We worked our asses off night and day. Because of the lack of money, there was a constant turnover of musicians. I think it took me about a hundred hours of work and maybe 1,000 phone calls to locate and find each replacement. But somehow we slowly improved. Every single night I wasn’t bussing tables, I was rehearsing. I passed the hat for money. 

I gave myself a year max to “follow that dream” before going on to school. The year turned into seven or eight. We loved old 1930s jazz, so, reluctantly, I was forced to teach myself to transcribe various Duke Ellington big band orchestrations because somebody had to. And I taught myself to write them down on paper. 

We really believed in that dream. But we also starved. There seemed to be no way to make this thing viable, and we couldn’t fit into any niche that might qualify for grants or endowments. The commitment and effort were enormous, but I finally came to the realization that maybe it had reached its limit – and the “dream” had no future. 

Time for “a new dream”? Maybe I could refine some of these skills with the crude composing and arranging I had picked up. Could this be it? Perhaps. Also in that troupe we had begun to build our own mini percussion orchestras. Maybe I could become an ethno-musicologist, or better yet, start a homemade percussion ensemble. Now that’s starting to make sense, right? Wrong. 

Woke up one day and heard this new up-tempo pop music from England called Ska. It reminded me of the West African pop music I used to listen to, and damn it, that’s what I wanted to do. Gotta follow that dream … again … but now I’m really having a hard time figuring out: Exactly what dream was that? 

Cut to … 

Now I’m playing electric guitar and singing in a struggling eight-piece rock band modeled after a West African pop group. Violin and percussion skills moot. Composing and arranging, useless. It was all very fun but I was kind of bitter that I’d wasted all those early years and got such a late start. I was 30 years old. Aren’t you supposed to start your first band at around 16? Whatever … . 

A year became five or six. Again, we busted out asses and rehearsed night and day. We got better. We built a strong following. Even got a record deal. Things are going OK. I guess I’m finally realizing my dream? 

Can’t put my finger on it. Something’s still not right. Still not quite seeing “the future.” 

Then a young animator doing his first feature film comes to see my band. He liked it and thought maybe I could score his film. How the hell am I going to do that? I have no training. I felt woefully inadequate. My newly acquired band skills now seemed useless for this endeavor. I came so very, very close to saying no. So, time for a big deep pause. 

Remember back – all those movies I paid so much attention to (including the music)? Combine that with what I’d picked up with the theatre troupe – I developed a pretty good ear during those years. 

I did learn to write down music on paper once. And I did remember all the film scores I grew up with. And so I reluctantly agreed. 

The young animator kid, by the way, was Tim Burton, and the movie was PEE WEE’S BIG ADVENTURE. I did it, and guess what happened? It jump-started a new dream and a whole new career. But that’s not the point of this story. That was a lucky break. 

So here’s the point. 

Over the next 10 years, I busted my ass to learn this new craft and to my surprise, I found that every detour and dead end I had encountered in the past ended up giving me great advantages. I began incorporating all of my ethnic percussion and love of rhythm. As my teachers, I turned to a half dozen film composers that, although I didn’t know it at the time, had embedded themselves into my soul and brain. 

I drew from some of the crazy, irreverent stuff I did while banging it out in the street troupes, both French and American, and the ear training I got from transcribing those Ellington records. 

And strangely, in a weird way, the “go screw yourself” attitude I got from being in a rock band paid off too, because it allowed me to be more fearless. 

Even the starving years taught me to sharpen up my intuition and people skills and how to figure things out with nothing to work with. Things that proved to be really useful. 

But most importantly, all those detours taught me not to lose hope from failure. One door closes, another opens up. And amazingly, in the end, nothing was wasted. All the time I thought I had lost wasn’t lost at all. 

So now finally I’m getting to the message. Time to preach a little. 

Whatever field you’re about to embark on, by all means, go ahead and follow that dream, but here’s some simple lessons to keep in mind. 

The only absolute promise that I will make to you today is this: While pursuing your dream, you will find that you’re going to encounter tons of stuff, both good and bad, that I guarantee you will not expect. You may think you know where you’re going, but in fact, it’s likely you have no idea where any of your chosen paths will take you. It will be difficult. 

But if your path is twisted and uphill and all over the place, you’ll still acquire some tools, some skills, some experience, no matter how small, no matter how random, that could add up to something that is above and beyond your original dreams, in ways that may startle and surprise you. 

So, whatever happens in your life, starting now – remember it. And use it. 

You’re artists. You can, and should, use everything. 

There’ll be many unexpected obstacles … use them. There’ll be many disappointments … use them. There could be some real heartbreaks … use them. Leave every possibility open all the time. 

If you end up in the commercial arts, like I did, you may find yourselves up against an all too common beast: the combination of limited imaginations attached to egos larger than anything you thought possible. You may encounter small minds that judge you and whose approval you may need to move forward, and that will make you frustrated and angry. Use it. 

In my first 10 years as a film composer I was up against so much criticism, slander and abuse from my industry, it was astounding. Mean-spirited rumors were commonplace and abundant. 

And I can tell you this, the frustration and anger I felt toward my detractors and those who took shots at me from high safe places became my greatest fuel. 

I know this sounds really sick. And it is. But the point is that adversity, and the need to prove yourself and to show what you’re capable of can be a tremendous motivating factor. If you’re unlucky enough to find yourself overflowing with frustration like I was … use it. Own it. Don’t waste it. It’s not just fuel, it’s rocket fuel! And when your weapon is your talent, revenge is sweet! 

And now the platitudes. 

Know that it’s OK not to be the best at what you’re attempting to do. That doesn’t mean you don’t have something worthwhile to offer. I never for a second imagined I’d ever be half the film composer that my idol Bernard Hermann was, and I was right, I’m not. But it’s OK. 

Expect your first pass at anything to be flawed … and your second, and your third and sixth and maybe your tenth. It’s OK. It’s normal. It’s something we all share. 

Don’t expect a lucky break. But they’ll happen. They’ll find you. 

If you’re lucky enough to find success, learn to accept praise warily. Those who accept and believe praise too readily—or worse, those who seek it—inevitably suffer in their work. 

There are no dead ends in your life … until of course, you’re dead. 

But, believe it or not, there’s one more point I’d like to make. I was discussing all this stuff with a writer friend who posed an interesting question: When and how does one know when to stick with their dream and when to bail for another? Sadly, there’s no good answer for that. If I had stuck with the violin, I have no doubt that I would by now have become a mediocre violin player at best. It simply wasn’t in me. 

We all have to learn to find our strengths and weaknesses. To learn self-criticism but to sense when it’s becoming self-destruction. We all have to have faith in ourselves but need to know when to stand firm without bending and when to become fluid, elastic, and agile. 

There’s no easy answers to that. We’re all different. You’ve all heard the stories about listening to your gut, your instincts, and they’re all true. Over time your instincts will evolve. 

Observe it all. Use it all. Keep your eyes and ears open and learn from everything you can. Remember that it’s just as important to discover what doesn’t work for you as what does. 

Today you’re graduating. And you’re beginning this long, wonderful, terrible, agonizing and ecstatic, draining and fulfilling process. Now your learning has just begun. 

And may the elusive gods of inspiration at least occasionally reach down and touch you. 

Good life, and good luck. 

A Decade of Hetalia

It’s hard to believe that Hetalia turns 10 years old this year. It’s gone by so fast.

And it’s incredible that after all these years, the fandom’s still pretty strong. Not as gargantuan as it once was, but it’s still got a pretty dedicated fanbase. And despite various ups and downs and a fandom quarrel here and there, it’s remained a pretty solid community. I’m still very happy to be a part of it.

And after all these years, thank goodness, Himaruya is still going strong. He started the series when he was in his early 20s, and now he’s 30 and still drawing the manga. Hima’s such a nice and giving person, bless his heart. We as a fandom have been privileged to have so much fun material come out from him. From the webcomic, published manga volumes, blog sketches, games, events, and more. And he’s never let the fame and popularity of Hetalia go to his head, either. He comes across as very humble, even now.

It really has been a busy decade. We as a fandom have also seen anime, merchandise, a movie, a musical, and more. Plus, we’ve had thousands of cosplays, meetups, cons, and lots of fanmade material. And it’s only going to continue.

So here’s to a fandom that’s stuck with Hetalia through it all. The good and the bad. The heartbreaking, heartwarming, and the strange. We adore a series that celebrates humor on an international level and has given us some wonderful characters. Let’s continue to keep calm and carry on from here on out. Make pasta, not war~!

A Fart Filled Future - Part 2 A New Master

This story is about farts and ass worshipping, if you are not 18+ and if this does not appeal to you, DO NOT READ.

Around the entire room I could see similar enclosures containing men in various states of confusion and disarray. The buyers at the center of the room took notice of us, and began to browse. I thought of how I could impress them. I remembered the toilet at the end of my cell, and moved toward it. I began to notice some men outside my cell, watching. I proceeded to lick the toilet seat thoroughly, so as to demonstrate to these suitors how prepared I was.

A crowd began to build outside of my cell. They all seemed very impressed. I turned to observe them. They all had in their hands small, touchscreen devices. These devices emitted holograms as well, however. The men could select a slave and a small hologram model of this slave would appear, along with statistics about this slave. The men were all looking at a small hologram model of me.

I heard a loud ding suddenly. It was followed by another. Then two more, until there was a frenzy of dinging inside my cell. The woman came back on the intercom. She said, “Slave 1, these noises signify the men that want you. Seeing as you have received many we will allow you to choose which you will be with.”

I saw the men outside my cell moving away, and suddenly a door opened in the back of my cell. I walked through and found all the men seated around a table. There must have been 20 of them in total. On the intercom the woman returned, “Narrow the group to 10, and then you will be able to experiment with their asses and farts to make your choice.”

I stood gazing around the room. I thought of what I wanted my first master to be like: young, tall, amazing ass, maybe some facial hair, fit. I asked the men to stand against the wall, and said that  I would tap those that should leave. The oldest there was around 50, with greying hair. I tapped him. There were many that were in there 40s, with thinning and greying hair. I tapped them.

The 14 remaining appeared fairly young and attractive to me. I asked them to turn around. I observed their asses. I peered down the line. There were a wide assortment to choose from - some were large and spunky, others were flat and unappealing, and so I tapped these men out. I was down to 10. The men turned back around, most with a small grin, and began to introduce themselves. There was Dean, Allen, Jeff, Nick, Benjamin, Mike, Kai, Dave, Dylan, and Travis.

I decided to first just play around with their asses to narrow it down to 5, and from there I would start sniffing farts. They all turned around again, and lifted their suit jackets to leave their asses entirely open. I started down the line. I shoved my face into every ass, kissing, sniffing, and playing around with the cheeks. I spent at least five minutes in each ass. Jeff let out a moan, Dylan laughed, and Kai was grinding his ass on my face. I narrowed it down to Dean, Ben, Jeff, Dylan, and Kai.

Dean was tall, about 6’. He had sandy brown hair that was fairly disheveled. He had some slight stubble, brown eyes, and a very strong jawline. He was 30 years old, fit, and with a healthy sized ass that could swallow my face. Its smell too was something wonderful, not too overwhelming but still with a slight musk.

Ben was taller, about 6’2”. He had dark brown hair that was combed neatly and attractively. His facial hair too was neat and well kept. He had dark blue, almost grey eyes, and a cute smile (his teeth were perfect). He was 25, very fit, with a solid sized ass. His smell though was something out of this world. It made me go crazy it was the perfect balance.

Jeff was a bit shorter, about 5’8”. He had blonde hair that he kept neat and short. He was very tan, and had light, sea blue eyes. He was 23, a young entrepreneur. His ass was smaller than the previous two, but still a good size. He clearly worked out, and was very confident with himself.

Dylan was about 5’11”. He had black hair that he combed in a spectacular fashion. His facial hair complimented his strong jaw line perfectly. He had brown eyes, and a killer body. He was 28 years old. His ass was a main feature, and you could tell he never skipped leg day. His man scent was something special.


Finally, Kai was about 6’1”. He had light brown hair that was messy but in a controlled, attractive way. He was tan, and had beautiful green eyes. His body was insane, and he loved it. He seemed the most comfortable with the situation, though none of the men were uncomfortable, he just emitted a confidence that was unmatched. He was 25 years old, with a perfectly sized ass - my head fit right in between his cheeks.

I told them that as they were ready to fart on me they could claim me, placing me in whatever position they thought would be best. They all seemed very focused now, taking off their suit jackets, loosening their ties, Kai even took off his belt. There were no rules with this, and I could tell they all wanted me.

Kai was the first to claim me. He walked up to me with a smirk and a fire in his eyes. He pushed my back up against the wall, sat me down on the floor, and turned around all very quickly. He then slammed his perfect ass back into my face, pinning it against the wall. Immediately, a frenzy of farts began. They were deep, bass sounding farts, just how I liked them. The smell was wildly tantalizing, not too overpowering though. I heard him moaning above me.

He pulled away for a moment, lowering his pants and revealing tight fitting, Andrew Christian underwear that were entirely open in the rear. I took in his ass - it was tan, almost entirely hairless besides in the crack, and the cheeks were amazing. He backed up onto my face again, and began rubbing my face up and down his crack. Then he found my nose with his hole and released a hot, stinking SBD right up my nostrils. He then pulled his pants up, gave my face a love tap, and walked away.

Next was Dean. He laid me down on the floor, and immediately took his pants off, revealing his jockstrap beneath. He stood over my head, facing the rest of my body, and began to lower down slowly. His ass soon enveloped my face, and he began grinding it down all over my face. I heard him moaning loudly above me. Then..

PPPPREPTTTRRPEPRPPTPT

He released a massive, loud fart that shook my cheeks. I moaned out loudly from within his massive ass. I heard him sigh with relief above me, “I have been saving that all day,” he stated in a British accent.

Next came Ben. He came to me without pants or underwear. He promptly laid down on his stomach on the floor, and turned back to me, smiling. He gestured for me to come toward him with his finger. I crawled toward him. He pointed to his slightly hairy ass, still smiling and maintaining eye contact. I dove in. I began sniffing, rubbing my nose up and down his perfect crack, taking in his stench. He chuckled lightly and sexily. “Get ready,” he said in a deep, wildly hot voice.

PPPPPRRRRRPTTTTTTT

A fart sputtered out of his asshole - deep, wildly attractive. The smell was amazing, and his deep moan of relief drove me crazy. My cock was dripping with pre cum.

Now was Jeff. He merely made eye contact with me and motioned me to come to him as he unbuttoned his pants and slowly lowered them, revealing white, tight fitting underwear. He turned around, and a slight skid mark was visible down his crack, which made my cock go crazy. I shoved my head in. He had to balance himself by putting his hands on the wall. I was shoving my nose up and down that mark, and he was moaning with delight, loudly, the whole time. His first fart was silent, sending hot, stinking air straight up my nostrils. His next was deep, and long, lasting 15 seconds. His moan was the hottest thing ever.

Finally, Dylan stood looking down on me. He spun around, revealing a bare ass, and immediately brought my face straight into the crack. He forced my body to go between his legs, and began lowering down my head onto a cushioned chair. He sat with my face as his seat and stated, “I wanna show you how you’re going to be just a chair for me, slave.”

He then proceeded to rip a massive fart that shook my face back and forth. He laughed above me maniacally. He began grinding his ass on my face, shoving my nose deeper and deeper up his hole. He then stood up, and returned to the wall with the other 4.

I now had a choice to make. I knew that this wasn’t a permanent master, that I would only be staying with them as long as they could afford my rent price, so I informed them that I would be ranking them in the order of whom I would be a slave for.

My first master was going to be Kai. He reacted slightly, his grin widening. My second would be Ben. My third would be Dylan. My fourth would be Jeff. My fifth would be Dean. They all then left, except for my new master, Kai, who had a crazily hot smile plastered on his face.

Poor marinashutup....

With the death of everyday feminism means that 2 people are going to be out of a job, rilley dennis, and marinashutup, she made a video that she now has to go “job hunting” and is not having “fun”…..my condolences…i’m sorry, not everyone can be paid to post how rape is 100% legal in the usa, and that you are so oppressed that you are being PAID to post on the internet about how oppressed you are…when in Saudi Arabia you would be arrested and stoned to death for your 1st video years ago…. so like many other people you have to get a job….damm patriarchy!!!! The original EF video said “millions of women” read and support the website…so correct my math, but 100,000 supporters, times 1.00 is 100,000 dollars…right???? “Millions”….hmm…i think you math is wrong…and it does not help that many of your supporters are 14 year old girls in freshman year HS, and 18-21 year old college students with 6 figures owed once they graduate with 30+ years of payments ahead…and are living off romen noodles…take andy warski, he is going strong, despite the YT ad crisis he is still making videos and not asking/begging for money…“really really really!!!!!” Andy gets donations from other people, and keeps getting donations, why??? People like his content!!!! So they keep donating, fuc* men, fuc* white people, fuc* cis people…FUC* EVERYONE!!!!! and nothing bad will happen from pissing off everyone!! Its not like EF will be out of business!!! Oh wait…that did not work….damm….

Exordium

happy shinee day!!! <3

this was supposed to be part of a universe with stories for all five members, but i’ve adapted it into a single story with multiple sections for each member, thus making it into a silly lil ot5 story that i used to call “the kissing universe,” just in time for ot5′s essential birthday.

i love you, shinee! keep on shining; we will continue to send light your way as long as you’re there to reflect it back, illuminating our way.



It’s an age-old tradition (one that not many understand) that this school has, student-run since the early eighties and still going strong. The only time it was cancelled was back in 2009, when that whole “swine flu” thing started.

Kissing.

Every year on the first full moon of the fall, all of the students gather in the quad. It starts as early as five; food trucks come in and decorations are strewn about, alcohol is provided, and movies about kissing are shown. This all goes until approximately 11:30, until every student is gathered and sorted for the initial event. Then, at midnight, every freshman is paired with a senior, and they kiss.

Keep reading

Kendrick’s Talk with Tupac.

Kendrick: Now that I finally got a chance to holla at you, I always wanted to ask you about a certain situa– about a metaphor actually, you spoke on: The ground. What you mean by that? What the ground represent?

Tupac: The ground is gonna open up and swallow the evil.

Kendrick: Right

Tupac: That’s how I see it, my word is bond. I see and the ground is the symbol for the poor people; the poor people is gonna open up this whole world and swallow up the rich people, ’cause the rich people gonna be so fat, they gonna be so appetizing, you know what I’m saying, wealthy, appetizing. The poor gonna be so poor and hungry, you know what I’m saying? It’s gonna be like — there might be some cannibalism out this mother. They might eat the rich!

Kendrick: Aight, so let me ask you this then: Do you see yourself as somebody that’s rich or somebody that made the best of they own opportunities?

Tupac: I see myself as a natural born hustler, a true hustler, in every sense of the word. I took nothin’, I took the opportunities, I worked at the most menial and degrading job and built myself up so I could get it to where I owned it. I went from having somebody manage me to me hiring the person that works my management company. I changed everything. I realized my destiny in a matter of five years, you know what I’m saying. I made myself a millionaire. I made millions for a lot of people, now it’s time to make millions for myself, you know what I’m saying. I made millions for the record companies, I made millions for these movie companies, now I’m gonna millions for us.

Kendrick: And through your different avenues of success, how would you say you managed to keep a level of sanity?

Tupac: By my faith in God, by my faith in the game, and by my faith in all good things come to those that stay true, you know what I’m saying. And it was happening to me for a reason, you know what I’m saying. I was noticing, sh-t, I was punching the right buttons, and it was happening. So, it’s no problem, you know, I mean it’s a problem, but I’m not finna let them know. I’m finna go straight through.

Kendrick: Would you consider yourself a fighter at heart or somebody that, somebody that only reacts when they back is against the wall?

Tupac: Shit, I like to think that in every opportunity I’ve ever been threatened with resistance, it’s been met with resistance. And not only me, but it goes down my family tree, you know what I’m saying. It’s in my veins to fight back.

Kendrick: Aight well, how long you think it take before niggas be like, we fighting a war, I’m fighting a war I can’t win, and I wanna lay it all down?

Tupac: In this country, a black man only have like five years we can exhibit maximum strength, and that’s right now while you a teenager, while you still strong, while you still wanna lift weights, while you still wanna shoot back. ‘Cause once you turn 30, it’s like they take the heart and soul out of a man, out of a black man, in this country. And you don’t wanna fight no more. And if you don’t believe me you can look around, you don’t see no loud mouth 30-year-old motherfuckers.

Kendrick: That’s crazy, because me being one of your offspring of the legacy you left behind, I can truly tell you that there’s nothing but turmoil going on. So, I wanted to ask you what you think is the future for me and my generation today?

Tupac: I think that niggas is tired of grabbing shit out the stores, and next time it’s a riot, it’s gonna be bloodshed. For real. I don’t think America can know that. I think America think we was just playing, it’s gonna be some more playing. But it ain’t gonna be no playing. It’s gonna be murder, you know what I’m saying. It’s gonna be like Nat Turner, 1831, up in this motherfucker, you know what I’m saying? It’s gonna happen.

Kendrick: That’s crazy, man. In my opinion, only hope that we kinda have left is music and vibrations. A lotta people don’t understand how important it is. Sometimes, I can, like, get behind a mic, and I don’t know what type of energy I’mma push out, or where it comes from. Trip me out sometimes.

Tupac: Because it’s spirits. We ain’t really rappin’; we just letting our dead homies tell stories for us.

Kendrick: Damn.

I wanted to read one last thing to you. It’s actually something a good friend had wrote, describing my world. It says;
The caterpillar is a prisoner to the streets that conceived it
Its only job is to eat or consume everything around it, in order to protect itself from this mad city
While consuming its environment the caterpillar begins to notice ways to survive
One thing it noticed is how much the world shuns him, but praises the butterfly
The butterfly represents the talent, the thoughtfulness, and the beauty within the caterpillar
But having a harsh outlook on life the caterpillar sees the butterfly as weak and figures out a way to pimp it to his own benefits
Already surrounded by this mad city the caterpillar goes to work on the cocoon which institutionalizes him
He can no longer see past his own thoughts
He’s trapped
While trapped inside these walls certain ideas start to take roots, such as going home, and bringing back new concepts to this mad city
The result? Wings begin to emerge, breaking the cycle of feeling stagnant
Finally free, the butterfly sheds light on situations that the caterpillar never considered, ending the internal struggle
Although the butterfly and caterpillar are completely different, they are one and the same.

What’s your perspective on that?
‘Pac? ‘Pac? ‘Pac?

To celebrate the upcoming Part 4 anime, the next episode of the podcast will be all about the world of Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure with returning guest Zee! A series that turns 30 years old this year (and is STILL going strong), it’s popularity in Japan has been a pop culture phenomenon for years. But just what is it and what makes it so special? We’ll discuss all aspects of this crazy world (worlds?) that Hirohiko Araki has created. Got any questions or topics you’d like to hear covered? Comment on this post, send a DM, or email me directly at AnimeNostalgiaPodcast@gmail.com! Get them in before March 13!

anonymous asked:

Are you still talking about your special snowflake disease, and how you can't go for a walk because of "muh genetics"? Stop making these sad excuses. You're a 30 something year old boy living with his parents. Go enter the real world and lose some weight, and stop campaigning for an unrecognized and unreal "illness".

Actually, there is a special snowflake disease. Myasthenia gravis is called “snowflake disease” because it affects those afflicted so differently. 

But I don’t have that. 

If you are speaking of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, I will admit there is not a strong diagnostic test that can prove I have it. But, much like gravity, it can be proven to exist through observation.

You drop a pencil and it falls to the floor.

Doctors test my blood and find a retrovirus that is very common in people with CFS.

You get farther from a massive planetary body, you start to get all floaty.

Doctors evaluate my symptoms, rule out all other possibilities, and diagnose me. 

I am 32.

I do live with my parents. They are pretty neat. 

I went to the real world last night! I even took pictures!

I am glad I did that, but right now I feel quite miserable. It’s very distressing, I’m in a lot of pain, I cried a bunch because the hangover fatigue was so intense, and I haven’t been able to move most of the day. Which is maybe why I don’t go to the real world all that often. FUN!

I lost about 20 pounds, but for some reason I can’t seem to lose anymore. My weight is an issue I have tried to address for a very long time. It’s hard for healthy folks to lose weight. Would logic not dictate it would be a great deal harder for people with debilitating fake illnesses?

Also, ~50% of my problem is narcolepsy. Which does have a definitive diagnostic test. The treatment is usually stimulants, but in my case the side effects were much worse than the benefits. So even if you think the CFS is a magical concoction of my brain… I have a whole ‘nother crappy disease that makes it totally legit for me to make excuses.

Though… it would be nice if you didn’t throw CFS under the bus like that. It affects millions of people and it sucks plenty on its own. Not just fat folks like me. Skinny people. Old people. Young people. It really doesn’t care. Yet there are a legion of doubtful blatherskites like you who seem intent on adding another layer of suck to this already sucky illness.

Every recognized medical institution says you are wrong.

But hey, gravity is just a theory, right?

buzzfeed.com
A Toronto Woman Bundled Up In A Scarf Was Assaulted For Wearing A "Hijab"
“You need to get your fucking hijab off and get the fuck out of the country!”
By Ishmael N. Daro

A Toronto woman says she was assaulted by a stranger who told her to take off her “hijab” and “get the fuck out of the country.”

Kayla Gerber said the assault happened on Monday, on her way back from a friend’s house. She said she wasn’t wearing a hijab, but she was bundled up in a winter scarf that covered her head to guard against the cold.

She said she was on her way to a subway station when she noticed a man walking in the other direction who kept looking at her. She told BuzzFeed Canada that when he got close, he grabbed her by the jacket and pushed her against a wall, demanding she give him what she had in her pockets.

“I was like, ‘I have nothing in my pockets,’ and he grabbed me by my jacket … and pushed me against the wall and said, ‘You need to get your fucking hijab off and get the fuck out of the country!’ Over and over again.”

Gerber said the assault happened on a busy pedestrian street, and once people started to stop and take notice of what was happening, her assailant let go of her and ran off.

“I’m 5-foot-8 and he was still taller than me, and quite large and strong,” Gerber said. “I can’t imagine if I’d been cornered in a less busy place, what it would have been like.”

She said her attacker, a stocky white male who looked to be about 30 years old, didn’t look under the influence of anything.

Continue Reading.

Things

Real life things that matter to me: 

1) My oldest child, my daughter, turned 30 today! She also just bought her first house and is getting married in December! 

2) My baby, my 27 year old son, will be spending 9 months in Russia next year continuing work on his PhD.

3) My hubby of 33 years is a 15 year brain cancer survivor! He also works from home and drives me crazy LOTS of the time.

4) My 89 year old mother is still going strong, but will probably soon need to live with either me or my sister.

5) I miss my father, who died 6 years ago after battling dementia for several years, every single day. He was so very wise.

6) My darling niece just graduated from college last weekend! 

7) Our whole family is blessed to travel to the Oregon coast every other year for two weeks!

8) My baby brother succumbed to AIDS 20 years ago this coming August and I miss him, his voice and his laugh, every single day.

Now, I’d give you a 100% chance that Cait and Sam have no idea about my real life things. If they know anything about me at all, it is that I’m an Outlander fan. They’ve each liked one of my tweets before, and I had my own private little thrill moments. However, with the thousands of tweets they get daily, I doubt they know this Outlander fan exists…and that’s OK! :-) I’m an Outlander fan because I love the characters of Jamie and Claire (and a few others, like young Ian and Murtagh). I’m also an Outlander fan because Sam and Cait completely embody Jamie and Claire. I’m a Sam and Cait fan because of what I’ve witnessed of them as people, and because of what I’ve read about how they are as people: their genuineness, their humility, their compassion for their charities, their humor, their vibrancy, and their love for one another, whether as just friends or more. 

I will also give you a 100% chance that I have no idea about any more than perhaps one half of 1% of THEIR real life things. I only know what they show us on social media. I think we’re lucky that they interact the way they do, and that they’ve shown us their undeniable chemistry. I don’t know whether their “likes” of different tweets or IG pictures are crumbs or not…but I know they are meaningful to them or they wouldn’t bother hitting that little red heart button. And, I would wager that these two people, who we know care a great deal for each other, most likely talk several times a day about all the things that are important to them. You can bet they discuss things like missing birthdays or big events and come to rational, mature decisions about their personal lives with each other. Just because we’re not privy, doesn’t mean they aren’t handling things. I don’t really think either of them is capable of playing their fans. I think they’ve been thrown into this limelight whirlwind and are handling things the best they can. I think they appreciate their fans and certainly don’t want them to be disappointed or upset. 

I’m not sure where I’m going with this but I just wanted to say that disappointment in someone is not going to make me stop caring for them. Just as I hope people who I disappoint won’t stop caring for me. I fully believe that Sam and Cait are in love, and one of these days, when they’re ready, they’ll show us more than the one half of 1%! Until then, I will continue to adore them, continue to watch Outlander and continue rowing my individual paddle on the ship! <3 <3 <3

It really upsets me when people make fun of me about my pets’ death because they’re not a dog or cat.

My Guinea Pig (pictured above) died at the end of November and my other Guinea Pig died a couple weeks later. Never have I been that upset at deaths in my life.

Why can’t people understand that no matter how big (or small) your pet (not including humans) is, whether it’s a hamster or a dog, it really hurts when they die. Yes, you could argue that a hamster’s life span is 2 years while dogs are around 15 so you can get a stronger connection. But with the Guinea Pig pictured, I got the strongest attraction to her, a bond that has not been broken yet. She was nearly 4 when she died. I was 9 when my dog died, nearly 3x longer than I was with my Guinea Pig. I hardly cried when he died because my connection wasn’t as strong.

The reason I think this is an unpopular opinion was because when my 2nd Guinea Pig died in 2012 (from Post-Op complications) and I told a couple people, they were saying ‘Why should it matter? It’s just a Guinea Pig, it’s not like it’s a dog or anything.’

So I believe (correct me if I’m wrong) that people tend to think that Dogs and Cats and Horses are the worst pet deaths to deal with and snakes, Guinea Pigs, Rabbits aren’t.

But then you have the whole Turtle argument (I have a 30 year old snapping turtle and s/he’s still going strong)

“When my mom was diagnosed with HIV, doctors only gave her a few years to live. I was 6 years old. 30 years later she is still alive. She’s alive because she’s strong and has always been a fighter. And she’s alive because she had access to medicine and care that can manage her disease. She’s been lucky. Today, on World AIDS Day, we remember the 39 million people who have died from AIDS since the disease was first recognized in the early 1980’s. And for the 35 million people still living with HIV or AIDS, we continue to work for better access to the medicine and treatment that too many go without. If we can help people across the world get the kind of medicine and care that my mom has received, we can change lives.That’s why we started the 30/30 Project. ”


-Ryan Lewis

The sexually adventurous model has revealed she will “never say never” to exploring the fairer sex. And the Australian native unveiled her appreciation of the “female form”, saying she even has a mild fetish for their backs. Chatting to GQ magazine, Miranda explained: “The older I get, the more confident I am about asking for things I enjoy [during sex]. "One thing I’ve noticed is now that I’m having less sex my body isn’t as toned. The more sex I have, the more defined my arms and stomach get. "Orlando and I always had great chemistry. One-night stands aren’t my thing. I made Orlando wait for six months until I even kissed him.” She continued: “I always ask for a critique on my performance. I always want to better myself in every way. "I appreciate both men and women. I love the female body and truly appreciate the female form. I enjoy sketching women, especially their backs. "I definitely need a man in the bedroom, however – a nice strong chest to lie on. Still, I want to explore. Never say never.” And speaking of the body she has built a career on, the mum-of-one said she relished her bigger boobs while expecting son Flynn. Miranda added: “I love my body, I look after it and enjoy all the changes it goes through. "I loved having a bigger chest while I was pregnant and I’m lucky to have a small frame. I’m a healthy, juicy person.” Posing in her birthday suit, and going underwearless in a mesh top, the 30-year-old turned glamour model in the hyper-sexed snaps taken by acclaimed fashion photographer Mario Testino. In what seems like an effort to vamp up her image, she also divulged sordid secrets of getting up to no good… in the air. When quizzed over whether she’s a member of the mile-high club, she quipped: “Sort of. Let’s put it this way, I’ve had an orgasm in the air before. Alone. And together.”

Source: dailystar.co.uk