big expanders

Two trucks having sex 
Two trucks having sex 
My muscles, my muscles 
Involuntarily flex 
Two trucks having sex 
Two trucks having sex 
My muscles, my muscles 
Involuntarily flex 

Two pickup trucks 
Making love 
American made 
Built Ford tough 
Two beautiful
Murder machines, American angels in the sky 
Grown man cry 

Two trucks having sex (Oh yes) 
Two trucks having sex (Oh yes) 
My muscles (Uh) my muscles (Uh) 
Involuntarily flex (Huh)
Two trucks, having sex (Oh yes) 
Two trucks, having sex (Oh yes) 
My muscles (Uh) my muscles (Uh) 
Involuntarily flex (Uh-uh)

Right by my side 
There’s ZZ Top 
And Robert Z'dar 
From Maniac Cop
1, 2, and 3 
This barbecue could bring you to your knees 
And so could these two trucks 

(Beatboxing)
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka

Baaa-badadadada
Badadadada
Badadadada
Ba-da-da-da-da
Ba-ba-da-da-ba-ba-ba-ba-da-ba-ba

Two trucks holding hands 
Two trucks holding hands 
The passion, the passion 
Is more than I can withstand 
Two trucks holding hands 
Two trucks holding hands 
The passion, the passion 
My big fat heart expands 

Two pickup trucks 
One cylinder block 
Crush my body
Like a rock 
So beautiful 
No stars tonight just fireworks and eagles in the sky 
The founding fathers cry 

Two trucks having sex (Oh yes) 
Two trucks having sex (Oh yes) 
My muscles (Uh) my muscles (Oh) 
Involuntarily flex (pbbbbt)
Two trucks, having sex (Oh yes) 
Two trucks, having sex (Oh yes) 
My muscles (Uh) my muscles (Ooh) 
Involuntarily, huh, flex, yeah-eah, yeeeeeeeeeeah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaa

(Beatboxing)
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka
Aah chicka chicka

Two trucks having sex 
Two trucks having sex 
My muscles, my muscles 
Involuntarily flex 
Two trucks having sex 
Two trucks having sex 
My muscles, my muscles 
Involuntarily flex 

Two trucks (having sex) 
Two trucks (having sex) 
Two trucks (having sex, having sex, having sex) 
Two trucks (having sex) 
Two trucks (having sex) 
Two trucks (having sex, having sex, having sex)

renaissance high school AU
  • michelangelo: the angsty gay art kid who hates literally every other person even though everyone respects him.
  • machiavelli: honors student but still rollin in the hoes and always in trouble. makes really long political posts and gets into fights on facebook. gets expelled for his schemes.
  • raphael: the chill art kid that smokes a lot of weed and is loved by everyone. gets even more women than machiavelli.
  • leonardo da vinci: jack of all trades nerd who smokes even more weed than raphael. loves animals. actual genius.
  • lucrezia borgia: queen bee. owns every boy in the school. uses them for test answers.
  • isabella d'este: the other it girl. has it all: style, grace, gets amazing grades. fucking hates lucrezia for stealing her man.
  • julius ii: angry alcoholic football coach. may be a huge dick but gets results and the school worships him. bisexual art hoe also somehow.
  • lorenzo de'medici: the sugar daddy principal. knows how to run the school and keep people in order. talks big game on expanding art and science programs.
  • rodrigo borgia: that one sly fucking math teacher. knows when you're cheating (because his class is too hard) and exacts punishment swiftly. flirts with other teachers in the lounge.
  • savonarola: the puritanical disciplinarian. convinced the entire student body is evil and does everything in his power to stop their debauchery. hates rodrigo in particular. would light the whole school on fire if he could.
  • cesare borgia: school drug kingpin who put every other petty dealer out of business. spiked the punch at prom. has a knife fetish.
  • caterina sforza: silent freak. everyone's afraid of her. bookish. could probably kill cesare if she tried but she gets her weed from him.
  • leo x: school secretary who constantly embezzles money to buy weird exotic pets at shady conventions. never seen without a literal buffet on his desk. kinda creepy.
  • martin luther: disgruntled student who talks a lot of shit and writes graffiti in the bathroom stalls about all the fucked up shit people are doing.
9

How Big Was The Universe At The Moment Of Its Creation?

“We like to extrapolate our Universe back to a singularity, but inflation takes the need for that completely away. Instead, it replaces it with a period of exponential expansion of indeterminate length to the past, and it comes to an end by giving rise to a hot, dense, expanding state we identify as the start of the Universe we know. We are connected to the last tiny fraction of a second of inflation, somewhere between 10^(-30) and 10^(-35) seconds worth of it. Whenever that time happens to be, where inflation ends and the Big Bang begins, that’s when we need to know the size of the Universe.”

13.8 billion years ago, the Universe as we know it came into existence. Today, the part we can observe is 46 billion light years in radius, having grown tremendously thanks to the expansion of the Universe. But if we extrapolate that backwards, we find that the Universe couldn’t have been infinitely small at the moment of its birth, but rather was a finite size at all finite times. We know an awful lot about the moment the Universe can first be described by the hot Big Bang thanks to the last 50 years of modern cosmology. People used to think the Universe could be contained in a volume no bigger than a marble, or that the part accessible to us could have been the size of the Solar System at birth. No more!

Between the size of a soccer ball and a skyscraper-filled city block is the only range left, and the more we learn about inflation, the smaller that range will get. Find out the science behind it today!

Telling George

Jack is nervous when he knocks on the front door of George’s house. He’d wanted to have this conversation in person, but it’s not one for public consumption, and he feels like he owes it to her to let her be the first person in the Falcs to know since she’s the one who scouted him. He doesn’t know a lot about George, aside from the fact she’d played in juniors, then for a couple of the few professional women’s hockey teams they’d had prior to the NWHL, and she’d played in the Olympics. He doesn’t know anything about her personal life except that she wears a wedding ring, he realises.

And the door opens. The woman on the other side is not George, but she looks familiar. It takes a moment for Jack to place her due to the weird context, but he realises she’s Thirdy’s wife Carrie.

“Oh hey Jack,” she says, sipping the wine she’s holding. “George said you were coming by. Come on in. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Keep reading

I know I have posted this one before at various wip stages, but I’ve decided I’m done messing with it; for now.

2

Incarnations of Romana: the First (Mary Tamm), the Second (Lalla Ward), the Third from books (based on Louise Brooks) and Trey (Juliet Landau).

“I still love you.”

Three years ago, God gave me a revelation of how much I’m worth in His eyes while buying a new mug. I bought the simplest mug I’ve seen to remind myself that it doesn’t matter who I am, what I’ve done, or what I’m going through—God bought me with a price. That price was Jesus Christ, and it didn’t matter if that payment was too much for me. God is happy with His purchase, He is satisfied with Christ’s finished work, and I—seemingly small and ordinary human being that I am in the big, expanding universe—am valued.

I kept that mug. For the past three years, I’d been drinking in that mug, placing it beside me during long nights of schoolwork, and refusing to buy a new one. Granted, part of the reason for the last one is I had no need for another one. I also didn’t think of God’s ultimate love for me whenever I see the mug. Most of the time, it’s just another thing I have to pack and unpack, use, wash, and fill every semester.

This afternoon, though, as I washing it, my hands slipped, and the mug broke. I was preoccupied with the things I still have to do tonight. It hit the edge of the sink, its handle broke off, and its lip was cracked. Goodbye, mug. I stared at it for a moment, assessing the damage, when felt the God whisper in my heart. He told me, in the damp, dimly-lit washing area of my dormitory, that, “I still love you. You’re still loved, valued and precious to me. You’re still special. Even if you think you’re broken and failing and flailing, I still love you.”

And I was, you know, actually thinking of those things to myself the past few days. I felt like a failure, a demoted and worn out version of my old passionate for Christ self, a girl lost not because she didn’t know the right directions, but because she’d forgotten what her initial destination was. I was confused, tired, and weary of the things I was doing, thoughts invading, and the mistakes I can’t seem to escape.

But look at our Father. I was that mug, in all aspects. I bought it because it was simple and plain; no one would look at it twice in a shelf filled with bigger and more colorful cups and mugs. I was that kind of mug, but God saw me. He bought me. I don’t think I’m really worth it, but He was firm that I am, and He gave everything up to have me. I was valued, loved, and special—I had a place in God’s heart—not because of what I can do, what I have, or where I’ve come from. My life was changed from the inside-out, my value was given, and my life was rerouted all because He redeemed me. All because He chose to. All because He wanted to and that He loved me.

Now, even if I have failed, even if I have forgotten that sacrifice for a while, and even if I tried to work out my own value futilely in my own ways for a while, He still loves me. He didn’t discard me even if I was ungrateful and forgetful. He’s still, still, still so in love me. That value, love, and favor He held in His eyes when He looks upon me is still there.

I looked at that mug, broken and cracked, and I saw myself, so very different than who I three years ago. Still, in the span of three years that took me from then to now, God never changed. He still cared. My standing and position in Christ were never tainted or lessened by my forgetfulness and lack of focus.

And here, the metaphor between me and my mug ends. The mug, after serving me so well for three years, will find itself in the trash and tomorrow will be replaced. I’ll never forget about it, though. It’s become a symbol of God’s work and grace in my life, even if the mug had to go. On the other hand, God will not discard me. He’s more than able to work His grace and carve something beautiful out of the broken. He’s even doing it right now. Breaking, shattering, failing, forgetting, compromising, falling, sinning—no matter one’s history constitutes, His grace can and will work through it.

At some point, we may think that we are already too far to be redeemed. We may think that we are too weak to still be able to make that journey the prodigal son made to come back home. We may think that we’re too broken, too dirty, too notorious, too shunned by society, too ugly, or too changed to still be loved, used, and embraced by God.

Not true.

God also wants you to know that: “I still love you. You’re still loved, valued and precious to me. You’re still special. Even if you think you’re broken and failing and flailing, I still love you.” The price that He’s paid for you was so great it had no limit. I’d like to believe that the Universe is still expanding this very moment just to contain what Christ has done, to try to fit that love whose height, depth, breadth, and length could never be measured. That love that was poured out for you.

Wherever you are right now in this journey, He’s still for you. He loves you. He doesn’t just see the broken, He holds them and loves them. He heals them, beloved, and gives them fresh beginnings, redeemed hopes, and abundant futures.