doesn't fly here

everytime i think of marriage equality here and how our chancellor has “bad stomach feelings” about it i think of the pastor that did my confirmation when i was 14, who was a lesbian trans woman and since she and her wife got married before she came out etc. the marriage is still legal. so technically, we already have our first gay marriage, and it’s between a lesbian and her trans wife who is still working as a pastor

eat shit, merkel

anonymous asked:

ty for the promos!!! youre one of the few ppl who loves abe woodhull and it makes me so happy bc everyone else makes me feel like i should hate him :\\\

you’re very welcome, anon! i try to encourage the abe love. all i can say is don’t let anyone dampen your enjoyment. ❤

Here's A Candle (For Your Birthday Cake)
Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds
Here's A Candle (For Your Birthday Cake)

I got my candle for my birthday cake
I got my dream for the wish I made
I got my map for the road I’m on
Don’t need a map ‘cos I won’t be long
I got my mirror and my look of love
And I know you smile 'cos it’s me you’re dreaming of 

anonymous asked:

Headcannon: Potdog's ears are so big that he can fly like a helicopter by spinning them

Headcanon accepted!

  • fred phelps: *leads church that actively opposed lgbt rights, picketed funerals, and exploited other tragedies*
  • lgbt people: wow I'm glad that guys gone

i was digging through new avengers for some Reasons, don’t worry about it, and then this panel

i’m crying


So there was this prompt a while back from a list of “AUs for when your OTP are both assholes”: “Shouting match over the last Thanksgiving turkey at the grocery store AU.” Which would, in the natural course of things, lead to…

“Blame Typey,” I believe a common expression goes. More-appropriate words were never spoken, as it’s Typey’s fault that these two ideas were put together, and thus it is also her fault that I give you:


“Here, turkey, turkey, turkey,” Myka muttered. Some kind of supermarket theory probably dictated why you always had to hike all the way to the back of the store to get to the meat department. Some kind of annoying supermarket theory that didn’t take into account the fact that it might be Thanksgiving and you might have, oh, eight people showing up at your place in not very many hours, and you would have been ready for that if you hadn’t been held up for almost thirty hours in the Phoenix airport and just got home this morning. Anyone with any sense would’ve just rented a car and driven home to Colorado Springs (only a twelve hour drive!), or bought a new ticket and flown to Denver and then driven (an hour and a half!). But oh no, she’d been stubborn. In an airport on the day before Thanksgiving, she’d decided to be stubborn.

Fine, then: now she was going to keep on being stubborn, keep on and make Thanksgiving dinner at my house like I said I would. She added a “damn right I am” at the end of that, as mulish punctuation.

And there at last was the big freezer, shining like… like the extremely shiny thing it was. No time for flowery language; she was on a mission. She looked down into the case, and just for her, wedged all alone in the back corner, forlorn and most likely freezer-burned, was Myka’s turkey. “Thanks for waiting,” Myka told it. Finally, finally, finally, she was going to be able to get this holiday back on track. She reached down for her prize, this turkey that had so steadfastly held its position, watching its friends bought by happy holiday shoppers over the past week, knowing perfectly well all the while that Myka was on her way. And so now, home to defrost, then cook, then serve (slightly late, but excusably so, given the airport situation) this sine qua non of the holiday meal. She would show everybody, particularly her mother and father, that she was perfectly capable

“I beg your pardon,” she heard, right next to her ear: a woman’s voice, low and extremely appealing, and was that a British accent? Myka could have sworn she could even feel breath on her neck. A voice, and warm breath, and she dropped the turkey, which landed with a crunch back into the veritable snowbank of ice crystals in the bottom of the freezer.

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crocodelicious  asked:

So, you can say "I hate whites" or "ugh white people" and it's just dandy and fine, but if I say "I hate blacks" or "Ugh, black people" I'm a racist. Do you see how the logic doesn't really fly here? I mean where is the disconnect in your brain that makes you believe that you will solve racial hate with more racial hate? I just don't get it, man. If you can justify it I'll accept it, but I'm sick and tired of people like you widening the divide by propagating more hate. Fight fire with water.

Okay… first off, I didn’t write that letter… 

for the 1,457th time…

or was it the 2,345th time? Sorry I lost count… ugh, White people…

Let me explain how that logic is sounded…

I can be mad at White people all day, every day. What power do you lose? Nothing. Because I have nothing. What can I do about it? Avoid interacting with White people?

That’s close to impossible.