chicken is the bomb

In defense of steppenwolf in the justice league movie– you gotta understand how far beyond humans his planet is, in our terms it’d be like if the US Army sent a seasoned respected general and a whole platoon to invade an island populated only by chickens and he somehow lost that war, then after like 30 years of mockery he finally gets approval to just nuke the hell out of Chicken Island without even trying to fight the chickens again, and he’s in the plane with the nuke and he looks around to find there’s somehow six very angry chickens in the plane, two of whom are disarming the bomb and the rest of whom are pecking him to death, and he loses Chicken War II just like he lost Chicken War I


Mchanzo week Day 5 - Traditional/Unorthodox

<- Day 4 | Day 6 coming soon

No one can resist a bomb ass chicken nugget from McDonalds

I took this prompt verrrrrry loosely, but I’d think that Hanzo was never allowed to go near fast food, so his move to America was full of complaints to Mccree’s food choice until he discovered the wonders of msg’s

Now you can catch Hanzo tearing into a crunch wrap at 2am

This is written for @gallusrostromegalus who is sick and apparently really enjoys chickens, so. Fair warning that you are going to read about my family and chickens. I don’t normally write stories on tumblr, so here’s hoping you enjoy the narrative despite the shoddy storytelling.

To begin, I should start with my mother the Undercover Hippie. I spent a good portion of my childhood thinking my mother was normal because she didn’t dress in tie-dye, but as an adult, I’ve realised there are several things that marked my mother as one of those Boulder Hippies. The types that aren’t really Hippie in the seventies sense, but more in the ‘making questionable health and lifestyle choices because it is the newest Organic Idea going around.’ Notable occasions on this list are the time that she filled the brownies with wheat germ and made them crunchy, the time she brought my east-coast-city-child cousins on a camping trip, and the time she got chickens.

Chickens, in and of themselves, are reasonable things to own. Usually. However, my mother wanted them for eggs and began by taking the childhood fort (which most of us had grown out of) and turning it into a chicken coop. By chicken coop, I mean she stuck some boxes in it and put a fence around it, and patched up the hole in the side from A’s Enthusiastic Ninja Punch, and the hole in the other side from C’s Peephole Experiment, and the last hole from my own childhood Cannonball, and both windows, and then got chickens.

My mother is the sort of learner who just starts a project and then learns as she goes. While she knew they needed food and basic heating, she was otherwise a bit naiive.

For example, it turns out L, my sister, is terrified of chickens. My mother apparently didn’t know this (Mom, I don’t like the idea of chickens) until the chickens (Mom, really, do you think we have to have chickens, because they have beaks, and I got pecked once) actually got to the house (OH MY GOD GET IT AWAY. GET. IT. AWAY. GET IT AWAY GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!!!).

Additionally, Mom forgot that chickens can fly short distances and the fort has a loft and thus made the interesting mistake of not wiring off the top areas of the roof.  On Day One she had to knock on the neighbour’s door and ask if she could retrieve her chickens from their yard.

Eventually, after many phone calls, Mom got a handle on chicken care - by which I mean she passed the project onto my chicken-enthusiastic younger brother, who adored them. Not only did Mom have chickens, she had Happy Chickens who were more than pleased to make Many Eggs, and the family chowed down happily.

W, my chicken-enthusiastic younger brother, explained chickens to me this way:

Chickens have a hierarchy, so you have to have a rooster. They’ll start pecking each other and it’s a mess, but roosters kinda keep them calm, though roosters can get aggressive if the hierarchy gets disturbed, so you have to keep the roosters calm. This isn’t really hard, except that if you have to have a rooster, you’ve got a chance of eggs getting fertilised, and we want to eat them, so you have to go out and get the eggs every day, unless you want more chickens, and there’s a limit of how many chickens you can have inside city limits.

All of which seems perfectly reasonable, and was perfectly reasonable, until Mom decided to go on a fortnight’s holiday with my younger brothers, including W.

This left L in charge of the chickens.

Now, my mother is not a reasonable person, so if you’re just now wondering why Mom left the chicken-terrified child in charge of the chickens, it’s because mom is either an idiot or an arse. I’ve still not decided to this day which one she is, so we’ll leave it at that. But regardless of Mom’s motivations, my younger sister is now in charge of the chickens. She can’t get within a few yards before wanting to burst into tears, but also has a Big Heart and doesn’t want the chickens to die.

The chickens need to be fed and watered.

According to W, several things had happened when he got home and took charge of ‘his’ chickens again.

  1. On day one, L had attempted to feed the chickens, and upon entering the coop had been met by the Rooster, who, not recognising her, had immediately gone into Protective Mode. L had fled the coop, dropping the food but leaving the door open. This led to L calling the neighbours in a panic asking for a Group Hunt for the Chickens because she was too terrified to round them up out of the yard. A friendly neighbour put the end of the hose into the water trough so L could just turn it on instead of going in.
  2. L had fed the chickens every day by taking a bucket about the right size full of feed and tossing it into the coop. Not just the feed - the whole bucket. W had to pick up 12 different containers because after L ran out of buckets she just started using old yoghurt containers and whatever else she could find. The chickens apparently didn’t mind being bombed with buckets full of food, just ran out of the way and then attacked the containers until they got their due.
  3. L didn’t fetch the eggs, not even once, which meant that now W was a full eight chicks over the city limit, and had to give six more to some friends in the foothills who weren’t in city limits and could have as many chicks as they wanted. He ended up keeping the eight chicks and bargaining with the neighbours that they could have free eggs, provided that if the city Chicken Inspectors came by, the neighbours would tell the Chicken Inspectors that W was just caring for their chickens while they built a new coop or something.

By the time W, L, A, and my mother left to live in Swaziland (another story altogether), my brother had ten chickens over the limit, all extremely pleased and contented with life, until L went Anywhere Near The Coop, at which point they would all start shrieking like the dickens and running out of the way of any impending Food Bombs, except for the Rooster, who would puff up and start attacking the fence in preparation.

Anyway, the point of this story is Don’t Leave L In Charge Of The Chickens, with side morals of Don’t Buy Pets You’re Not Prepared For and Don’t Fuck With Roosters, and also I hope you feel better.

imagine southern John Laurens

• instead of yo yo yo he says y'all y'all y'all
• “my dharlin’ Alexander”
• “sweetheart, you need to get come rest”
• he owns a horse and it’s name is Minnie
• Alexander refuses to ride Minnie
• John when Alexander roasts Tjeffs: “oh bless your heart”
• John using a lot of southern slang and confusing the hell out of Alexander
• John hating his accent
• Alexander loving his accent
• John and Alexander getting into little arguments about John’s accent
• John’s southern accent getting stronger as they argue
• And Alex is just grinning the whole time
• John trying to wake Alex up in the morning, and Alex is just grumpy and John teases him by saying “My, Alexander, aren’t you just peachy this morning?”
• Deadass this man makes some absolutely bomb dot com fried chicken
• He loves peaches
• And iced tea
• Alex heard John mutter “fucking yankees” one day and he has no idea what the hell that means
• “dharlin”
• please imagine southern John Laurens
• p l e a s e
• s o u t h e r n b e l l e j o h n l a u r e n s

Ok but listen...

What if the Suriel has offspring somewhere? I’m not saying it’s in Mor’s bloodline because her family/the Night Court seems hella into keeping their blood “pure” (I just threw up in my mouth) but I’m not ruling it out. The Shadows exist and they’re mixed in a way that seems out of the ordinary—at least to Amren (who said of them that High Lords will stick their cocks anywhere). But it doesn’t even have to be Mor’s line.

Suriel said it (he?) couldn’t read Feyre’s emotions because they were happening too fast. We know Shadowsingers hear and feel more than others, and we know Nesta can at least pick and choose between her own emotions similarly.

It honestly doesn’t have to be connected to anyone we know or have met. Just the idea. That a half Suriel is roaming around out there. Lookin half terrifying maybe. Enjoying long robes and chicken. Maybe by the seaside. Dropping truth bombs like dollar bills at a strip club. You know. Keepin’ it casual.

a list of  Facts™ about Lego Joker:
(that some people seem to have forgotten)
  • A little chubby, ranging from stocky with a straight figure to ROUND like a friend “too much flab, not enough ab”
  • surprisingly strong tho???
  • Probably snorts when he finds something genuinely funny
  • If a gay hipster, a ringmaster, and a clown had a baby, it’d be him
  • considers annoying pop music “funky beats”
  • Not really yandere, just wants to be recognized as batman’s MIV (Most Important Villian) 
  • loves his girl buddy Harley and treats her with respect 
  • Attempts to keep a level head by doing yoga and tai chi
  • Face isn’t stuck in a perpetual smile; has a very wide range of expressions
  • Often looks tired, bags under eyes, creases on his forehead when displeased
  • Looks cute, but not young
  • Has the ability to look convincingly menacing
  • extremely Smart and clever but still can’t put 2 and 2 together sometimes
  • sharp,Yellow, teefs
  • Makeup a little messy, but not too messy, pays more attention to his hair
  • Has tattoos on his arm because he thinks they’re pretty
  • um, trans?
  • like’s rubber chickens and bombs more than knives
  • doesn’t want rivers to run red with batman’s blood, just wants him to grovel at his feet
  • at least an inch or two shorter than batman
  • #DRAMA
  • theater kid
  • carrys a comb in his pocket to keep his hair neat 

sentparagraphsofnonsense  asked:

Sooo.... What's the time you stole your middle school all about? You did say to ask.

+_+ I’ve only been dropping hints for months for someone to ask

ok ok so first of all i need to clarify this is going to be exactly and nothing like and episode of leverage. where in i did not, in fact, go “i need to steal the middle school” but did go “i gotta do something against the authoritarian regime i refuse to bow down to in this hell pit of a society called private school.” but first let me tell you a little bit about my middle school. it was fuckn tiny. there were 15 middle schoolers max. and middle school consisted of 7th and 8th grade. the poor 6th graders were still considered elementary level at this school and managed to escape open warfare that year mostly unscathed. 

after my ice cream trade fiasco my parents sent me off to private school to avoid the bad influences. but i brought all the bad influences with me and honestly i think the next 5 years were hell on earth for my teachers. who mostly just let me get away with murder because tiny me was a terrifying monster who wasnt afraid of the consequences anymore and my mother was the devil and even more frightening than little me who might shank you with a paperclip. now i went to a montessori school which are good in theory and very rarely successful in execution. the entire theory is that the school mostly operates on “students learn at their own rate and need to be responsible enough to decide what and when they learn things.” and mostly i decided that i never wanted to learn anything ever and i wanted to spend the entirety of 7th grade reading books not on the reading list. which created conflict with my teachers who didnt know how to handle a smart kid that could talk circles around them to the point that when they came to my mother completely frazzled and out of their minds with dread they said things like “she’s so smart if she wasnt so stupid” and “i just want to shake some sense into her” which usually resulted in the devil peering down at them from her throne of hellfire and stealing their souls and damning them to hell on earth and the riot act and a general “just go to school and do what you want” blessing to me. which i, tiny hell spawn who just got my period for the first time that year and had a bone to pick with everyone, took entirely to heart.

now the middle school peerage was open combat from week one everyone hated one another and there was no escape when you’re all stuffed together in one room and the teachers prefer group projects to individual work. and i was queen bee last year in 6th grade ruling the roost of elementary and then all of the sudden they wanted me to be small man on the totem pole to the 8th graders??? that wasnt about to fly. id been running a long con scheme out of the snack bar for years and nothing could stop me at that point. so i was fighting everyone, and a few times literally fighting a classmate or two (did i get suspended even though i started at least one of those? i did not. did i get about two black eyes that year and a broken nose? yes i did.) this is all very important to my amazing episode of leverage which happened about half way through the year. 

my school was in a small developing community and the houses were being constructed at an alarmingly slow rate around the building and my class had a door to the outside. so one day when i got so sick of life and my teachers telling me, yet again, “no you cant read comics you need to learn the history of the us government” and the stupid fucking 8th graders egging the teachers on about how we all needed to learn these things, i got up and left. walked right out the door and down the access ramp and over to the playground. i got yelled at pretty good but i realized something very very important that day. I could leave. Nothing could stop me. sure i had to go back in eventually but that wasnt nearly as important as the fact i could walk out those doors and take off whenever i wanted. 

remember how i said a key point of the montessori education program was responsibility? well part of that responsibility was at lunch we self-monitored and the teachers usually pissed off to eat in the office away from the evil brats they had to teach. and like always, away they went at lunch and there we were all of us. eating without the careful adult eye lurking over our shoulders. and i dont remember why or what happened that day but i decided to use my new power of leaving (only used once so far, you can never be too careful with things like this) and said something along the lines of “bye guys I’m outa here” and probably one of my friends said something like “can i come with you?” and i definitely said something stupid like “yeah sure i cant stop you” and out we went. followed by the rest of the the 7th and 8th graders. 

and this i do remember happening very clearly: the one bitch ass shithead i had problems with all year goes “guys you cant leave we have class” and i absolutely responded with the ever mature “you a fucking chicken? lets go already” and under the pervasive power of dropping the f bomb and the infuriating questioning of her honor she also came along. and now that i wasnt by myself i finally gave into temptation that the very slow construction sites circling the school had been offering all year. so i took my class adventuring.

meanwhile, all of which we later found out, my rebellion sent everyone into a tailspin back at school because 15 students were missing. the cops got called and kept very hush hush because no one actually wanted to admit to a hoard of what would be angry parents that their children were missing. 

i of course set off to the largest house in the neighborhood and opened the unlocked door (unlocked because no one had installed the door handles yet) mostly because i heard a rumor that there was an indoor pool in the house and i wanted to see what kind of other bullshit a house with an indoor pool had. turned out it was mostly a lot of stairs and dust since it was, ya know, a construction site. the pool was very cool and we all mostly sat around the edge of a empty pool for a few hours before we all decided that going back to school so we could get picked up to go home was probably the most important thing to do. and of course before we left i swore everyone to secrecy about who left first since all of us went. and used the dirt i managed to compile on the fucking 8th grader who i hated to blackmail her into silence. and back we went ready to go home after a day of thievery for the greater good. 

and since none of us where talking when we got questioned about what happened, where did we go, who went first– none of us got in real trouble. the school got in trouble for losing 15 students of course. and the teachers all knew it was me generally because i couldnt help the smirk of satisfaction™ anytime we made eye contact. but they couldnt do anything about it. 

this also led to my fellow comrade and enemies alike realizing that the teachers couldnt really do shit to us since our parents mostly owned the place by way of a paycheck and that meant the spring semester devolved rapidly into hell once we all went back to the status quo of hating each other. 

at the end of the year my mother was politely told that i wasnt invited back for 8th grade. and off i went back to public school with my bad influences leaving behind a legacy of greatness no other 7th grader has ever lived up to. 

the time i fucked with the 5th graders

If you don't want to be nice, don't eat out

I work at a Japanese Steakhouse, although most of my Asian coworkers are Chinese. Last night some guy came in and asked for sesame chicken before he was even seated. We’re a Japanese restaurant so we don’t serve sesame chicken, and when he found out he started throwing the f-bomb in our front room with children around. My coworkers told me about this, and we all just rolled our eyes and brushed it off. 10 minutes later I heard him shouting “I WANT TO PAY FOR WHAT I’VE GOTTEN SO FAR AND LEAVE” and when my (Asian) coworker that was his server apologized and said she didn’t know why he was upset he kept screaming louder “NO YOU’RE NOT SORRY, IF YOU WERE SORRY YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TREATED ME LIKE THAT. ACTING LIKE YOU CAN’T SPEAK ENGLISH. THIS IS AMERICA, IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE HERE YOU SHOULD SPEAK F U C K I N G ENGLISH!” And he said he was giving her $20 for the food he had order but gave her nothing and stormed out. My manager ran out and took his license plate number and we called the police. Afterwards I found out that he had also screamed at one of my (white) coworkers because he wanted to send the sushi back that he had already eaten half of because it tasted “fuckin nasty”
…it wasn’t his first time in our restaurant. Why was he so confused about our menu and why did he order sushi if he had been before and probably knew he didn’t like it? Most importantly, why did he freak out on my coworker for having an accent when he deliberately came to a Japanese restaurant. Fuck him.

In Light of New Info, Things Anti Has Canonically Said/Done:

Please, add more!

anonymous asked:


21. most likely to get attacked by a bird

This one is most definitely Betty. She’s such a sweetheart I would love to see her running like a dork away from a bird:

“NO! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” Betty flung her sandwich halfway across the beach, jumping to her feet and nearly tripping in the sand.

“Stay still Betty! He’s more scared of you than you are of him!” Veronica was crying from laughter as she held her stomach and leaned on Archie, the red headed boy was throwing French fries at the seagull attempting to sway its direction away from his blonde best friend.

“I love animals! I’m friendly! I was a vegetarian for two years! I DONT EVEN EAT CHICKEN.” She squealed when the seagull dive bombed her, nearly grabbing a piece of her hair.

Cheryl had her cellphone out recording the entire thing, “a little to the left Betty, this is not your good side!” She called out.

“JUGGIE PLEASE!” She called desperately, veering between beach blankets and umbrellas, Jughead wiped his eyes and ran after the bird, swooping Betty up bridal style and making a U turn for the ocean, he jumped in the water and took them both under. Popping up a few seconds later, the bird was gone and Betty was still in his arms. He glanced down at her and burst into laughter.

Betty’s hair was covered in sand and she had seaweed in her mouth.

“My hero.” She mumbled, spitting out water.

I really want to know who is who. I know Nori is whipping Ori but what about the rest? 6 are playing chicken fight, Bombur just made a canon bomb, two just slid down from something, and one dwarf is by himself. So who’s who and what dwarf is missing

I think it’s time to appreciate a special lady….

Everyone, may I introduce my girl Chickita:

She is such a sweet, hard working pullet and I am just so happy to have her around! So here a selection of 5 reasons why I love her!

1. She was the first of my flock to give us yummy eggs.

2. She was the first to go broody and ever since she’s been doing an outstanding job - incubating, hatching, nurturing, teaching, suffering through impertinent youngsters’ silliness… she’s mastered it all with ease.

3. At only 4 weeks post hatching, she started laying again!

4. While still looking after her babies!!

5. And look at the size of her first few eggs since then (above, far right)!!!

So thank you, Chickita, you’re the bomb!!

Chicken Noodle Soup

Relationship: daveed x reader

Warnings: like one f bomb

Word Count: 618

Summary: daveed is sick and reader can’t cook.


“Babe,” Daveed whined, grabbing at your arm.

“What?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“Take care of me, I’m sick.” You chuckled at his neediness.

Daveed was normally very confident and independent, which was something you admired in him. But when he was sick he was incredibly whiney and needy. It was adorable, but also extremely draining for you.

“You’re a grown man, you can take care of yourself,” you said as you tried to get out of bed, but Daveed grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back down. You laughed and looked at his puppy eyes.


“Fine, you win. But I expect the same treatment for when I get sick.” Daveed cheered and smiled.

“You got it babe.” He then leaned in to kiss you, but you pushed his face back.

“Get off of me, you’re sick.”

“Don’t be mean to me, I’m vulnerable,” he pouted.

“Shut up,” you said while laughing.


The rest of the morning went rather similarly. Daveed would try to cuddle you as you tried to get dressed and shower, but eventually you gave in and climbed back in bed with him.

But lunch was a different story.

“I’m hungry,” Daveed whined, laying on the couch instead of your bed.

“What do you want?” You got up from the leather seat and made your way to the kitchen.

“Chicken noodle soup,” he said in the manner of a six year old.

You sighed and said, “babe you know I can’t make that.” You then started to rummage through the cabinets for an alternative.

“All you have to do is put some noodles, chicken, and vegetables in chicken broth, it’s not that hard.” You rolled your eyes.

“Do you not remember when I fucked up microwave mac ‘n cheese?” You relived the memory of burning the noodles because you’d forgotten to add water, and how the apartment smelled like smoke for a good four hours afterwards.

“I believe in you, (Y/N). You can do it,” Daveed said, half asleep, and with half of his face covered by a throw pillow.

With that encouraging message, you got to work on the soup. You spent 15 minutes looking up a recipe that had fewer than five ingredients. Once you found it, you got all of the ingredients together and started to heat up the chicken broth on the stove.

You then cut up the chicken and vegetables, which went surprisingly well. Although it looked like a seven year old with a hammer did it, you’d managed to not cut yourself, which was a big win in your book.

Once your culinary masterpiece was finished, you played it and brought it to Daveed in the living room, who was still sleeping.

You stood in front of the couch and looked down at his peaceful form. He was cuddling with the pillow, and his hair was soft and messy. You reached down and touched his forehead, pushing the hair back and waking him up.

“What?”, he asked in a groggy tone.

“I made your soup,” you said softly. His tired eyes lit up, which brought a smile to your face.

“Thank you baby.” You helped him to sit up and gave him a bowl.

He tried the soup, and made a noise of agreement.

“I like it. Granted, I can’t taste anything, but I bet that it’s wonderful.” You smiled and tasted your creation for yourself.

You had to stop yourself from grimacing at the taste.

“Mm, it’s pretty good,” you said, lying through your teeth.

“I love you,” he said sweetly.

“I love you too,” you said, hoping for when you got sick that he could make chicken noodle soup better than you could.


this is just a short little thing that i wanted to write. but honestly this is p much just "how to make chicken noodle soup by someone who’s never made chicken noodle soup before.”

hope you enjoyed :)