giants fart

The Seventh Wheel: A Case for Black Lion Lance

Alternatively titled: Lance Deserves The World Because He is My Son and I Love Him

Okay, so Shiro’s gone and someone’s gotta fill his big ass shoes. In the toss-up between him, Allura, and Keith, I’m going to be arguing in this post that Lance could be the guy to do it. And, fair warning, this is going to be ridiculously (like, ridiculously) long lmao so here’s the TL;DR right now: I think that a) Lance already shows the character traits of a good leader, and b) there’s a good chance of him becoming one, given his impending character arc. 

It also has a chance of not happening, of course, but who cares?? I already started writing this thing, so:

Alright, let’s begin at the beginning, because that’s always a good place to start.

Lance is first introduced to the audience as the classic loud, arrogant, goofy flirt. The perfect comic relief character. He rescues a guy because his “rival” was gonna do it first and he can’t have that, the first thing he does in the giant robot cat is fart, and he hits on a girl who just fell out of a pod in a magic castle. He’s there to make you laugh.

I can’t imagine anyone looking at a character like that and “You know what? This guy could be a leader.” Allura says it herself in episode 1. The black lion is supposed to be the decisive head of Voltron, a person who’s a natural born leader, who’s in control, and,

Basically, calm, collected, and respected. “A natural born leader.” So, definitely not Lance. Case closed.

But, not really. Because Lance actually is calm and collected. He’s just not respected. He has all the leadership traits– the problem is that he’s not treated as someone who could be a leader.

Keep reading

5

Meg here, and it’s a crime how long some of these messages have sat in the Thundercluck inbox! Nevertheless, I wanted everyone to know just how much Paul and I truly appreciate just how truly kind and sweet our followers are. We are so lucky to be able to create content for such a wonderful audience. Your words motivate us to always strive to improve and entertain!

‘Parks and Recreation’: Leslie Knope Writes Letter to America Following Donald Trump’s Victory

Dear America,

Amidst the confusion, and despair, and disbelief, it was suggested to me by a very close friend of mine (I won’t say her name, to protect her identity) (Ann. It was Ann) that perhaps a few people would enjoy hearing my thoughts on this election. So I sat down at my computer, cleared my head, and opened a document. Then I started crying. So I had some hot chocolate, and my close friend (Ann) rubbed my back for a while, and I got myself together, and sat down. And started crying. Then more Ann comforting me, and more hot chocolate, and back and forth like that for about six hours or so, the chain of hot-chocolate-and-back-rubs only interrupted briefly when I had to run to the store for more hot chocolate packets (“Just give me all of them, all the boxes,” I remember saying, through tears, to a very scared stockroom boy) and now I am ready to go.

When I was in fourth grade, my teacher Mrs. Kolphner taught us a social studies lesson. The seventeen students in our class were introduced to two fictional candidates: a smart if slightly bookish-looking cartoon tortoise named Greenie, and a cool-looking jaguar named Speedy. Rick Dissellio read a speech from Speedy, in which he promised that if elected he would end school early, have extra recess, and provide endless lunches of chocolate pizzandy. (A local Pawnee delicacy at the time — deep fried pizza where the crust was candy bars.) Then I read a speech from Greenie, who promised to go slow and steady, think about the problems of our school, and try her best to solve them in a way that would benefit the most people. Then Mrs. Kolphner had us vote on who should be Class President.

I think you know where this is going.

Except you don’t, because before we voted, Greg Laresque asked if he could nominate a third candidate, and Mrs. Kolphner said “Sure! The essence of democracy is that everyone—” and Greg cut her off and said “I nominate a T. rex named Dr. Farts who wears sunglasses and plays the saxophone, and his plan is to fart as much as possible and eat all the teachers,” and everyone laughed, and before Mrs. Kolphner could blink, Dr. Farts the T. rex had been elected President of Pawnee Elementary School in a 1984 Reagan-esque landslide, with my one vote for Greenie the Tortoise playing the role of “Minnesota.”

After class I was inconsolable. Once all the other kids left, Mrs. Kolphner came over and put her arm around me. She told me I had done a great job advocating for Greenie the Tortoise. Through tears I remember saying, “How good, exactly?” and she said “Very very good,” and I said, “Good enough to—?” and she sighed and went to her desk to get one of the silver stars she gave out to kids who did a good job on something, and as I tearfully added it to my Silver Star Diary she asked me what upset me the most.

“Greenie was the better candidate,” I said. “Greenie should have won.”

She nodded.

“I suppose that was the point of the lesson,” I said.

“Oh no,” she said. “The point of the lesson is: people are unpredictable, and democracy is insane.”

Winston Churchill once said, “Democracy is the worst form of government, except all those other forms that have been tried.” That is perhaps a pithier and better way to get my point across, than that long anecdote about Mrs. Kolphner. Should I just erase all of that and start with this? Whatever. I’m pot-committed now, and is there extra caffeine in that hot chocolate? Because my head feels like a spaceship. The point is: people making their own decisions is, on balance, better than an autocrat making decisions for them. It’s just that sometimes those decisions are bad, or self-defeating, or maddening, and a day where you get dressed up in your best victory pantsuit and spend an ungodly amount of money decorating your house with American flags and custom-made cardboard-cutouts of suffragettes in anticipation of a glass-ceiling-shattering historical milestone ends with you getting (metaphorically) eaten by a giant farting T. rex.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but I didn’t care, in that moment.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to Acceptance.  And here’s what I stand on that:

No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the President. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story. I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes, or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, super-ego!) Our President-Elect is everything you should abhor, and fear, in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you, and when the time comes you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

Love,

Leslie

youtube

I’D LIKE TO REMIND EVERYONE THAT THIS VIDEO EXISTS.

This video includes:

-Jamie Benn and Tyler Seguin competing in questionable competitions.

-Tyler Seguin and Jamie Benn being complete and total dorks.

-A giant panda.

-Fart guns.

-Jamie Benn and Tyler Seguin laughing.

-Tyler Seguin and Jamie Benn laughing. No, seriously, there’s a lot of laughing.

You know, this episode highlighted once more and in many big and small ways why I love Dean as a character so much. Not that I needed any kind of new reminder for why that is but “Regarding Dean” spelled all the reasons out so boldly and beautifully that it just makes me all kinds of emotional.

Because the key aspect about this episode wasn’t that Dean would be happier without some of the memories and the baggage of what he and his family has been through. Sure, their life would have been much easier and much less grim without some of the tragedies they have experienced, but it’s those experiences - good and bad - that made them who they are and that made Dean who he is. Yes, he may have coping mechanisms that’s aren’t all too healthy and he has suffered tremendously and dislikes what he sees when he looks in the mirror at times - but one could argue he prefers that to looking in the mirror and not knowing who is looking back at him at all.

The important thing is that he is still standing and that he knows that all those things that he did and that happened to him should not be erased, because they shaped him, made him who he is. And yes, I’d say made him stronger. Made him a survivor.

And Dean may not have verbalized it that often, but if there was one thing I took away from this episode in neon bright letters it’s that Dean knows that he needs all of his memories - good and bad - to be himself (and yes, even if that sounds contradictory) and to be happy. Because while Dean sure hasn’t had it easy for large stretches of his life, there is one thing that he has always managed to preserve, to save and keep alive: his inner child.

This episode showed that wonderfully and made a huge point about innocence. He may have been forced to grow up way too fast, but he was able to hold on to some of his childlike glee like a safety blanket. Whether it’s him getting excited about a giant slinky, a farting pillow or boldly admitting to loving watching “Finding Nemo” or “Finding Dory” and not feeling self conscious about that (cause there’s nothing to be ashamed of or self conscious about). It’s these small things that speak volumes.

And even though the ending montage was bitter sweet and sad due to how it spelled out the innocence of a lost childhood, Dean’s lost childhood, there is one thing to remember: That childhood, that kid is still well and alive inside of Dean - inside his heart - and sometimes it may need 4 shots of tequila to dare to come out and run free, but ultimately Dean wasn’t hexed when he decided to try and ride a mechanical bull. That was all Dean. No spell. Just a guy having fun and being happy. And so with all of the baggage he has. And frankly, I love Dean exactly for that, for who he is. With all of his flaws, his bad decisions, his darkness but also his vulnerability, his ability to love and his childlike glee.

Like most people, I deal with tragedy by processing the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. My denial over the election results was intense. My anger was (in Ron’s words) “significant.” My bargaining was short, but creative — I offered my soul and the souls of all of my friends in exchange for 60,000 more votes in Milwaukee, to any demon who cared to accept. (Tom told me it was a terrible deal, but in that moment I didn’t care.) My depression I have already mentioned. Which brings us to acceptance. And here’s what I stand on that:

No. I do not accept it.

I acknowledge that Donald Trump is the president. I understand, intellectually, that he won the election. But I do not accept that our country has descended into the hatred-swirled slop pile that he lives in. I reject out of hand the notion that we have thrown up our hands and succumbed to racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and crypto-fascism. I do not accept that. I reject that. I fight that. Today, and tomorrow, and every day until the next election, I reject and fight that story.

I work hard and I form ideas and I meet and talk to other people who feel like me, and we sit down and drink hot chocolate (I have plenty) and we plan. We plan like mofos. We figure out how to fight back, and do good in this infuriating world that constantly wants to bend toward the bad. And we will be kind to each other, and supportive of each other’s ideas, and we will do literally anything but accept this as our fate.

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, superego!)

Our president-elect is everything you should abhor and fear in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you. And when the time comes, you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty, misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

Now find your team, and get to work.

– “A Letter to America from Leslie Knope, Regarding Donald Trump” (x)

Accurate Descriptions of Instruments
  • Piccolos: no.
  • Flutes: what you are y'all like some of y'all are really weird and some of you guys are walking goddesses
  • Oboes: duck sounds, and tuning issues. also chill out ur not oboe god
  • Clarinets: SHADY AS HELL????? AT EACHOTHERS THROATS LIKE 24/7
  • Saxophones: You guys are really full of yourselves or emo.
  • Tenor saxophones: Weird. Wierdos.
  • Bari Saxophones: Even weirder than the tenors believe it or not
  • Bassoons: Either lil shits or angels blessed from the high heavens no in between
  • Bass Clarinets: Emo nerds. That's it.
  • Trumpets: The big ego thing is not a lie, you either know it or you are in denial.
  • French Horns: toot toot. hon hon hon baguette.
  • Trombones: A giant cult. Laughs at fart jokes, god complex.
  • Euphoniums: Y'all are fucking weird as hell.
  • Tubas: big toot
  • Percussion: sex jokes and rim shots

My friend made a very good point today (We were studying together and at some point, I let him play my MH4U game). You know how you throw dung bombs at monsters to chase them away?

He said that the dung bomb shouldn’t work on Congalala, since it’s literally a giant pink monkey that farts at you.

Doesn’t Congalala throw dung at the hunter too?

It would be pretty awkward if you threw a dung bomb at a Congalala, only to have it retaliate by throwing an even bigger piece of dung back at you.

A letter to America from Leslie Knope, regarding Donald Trump

(Written by a member of the Parks and Recreation writing staff - Read the full letter here)

And let me say something to the young girls who are reading this. Hi, girls. On behalf of the grown-ups of America who care about you and your futures, I am awfully sorry about how miserably we screwed this up. We elected a giant farting T. rex who does not like you, or care about you, or think about you, unless he is scanning your bodies with his creepy T. rex eyes or trying to physically grab you like a toy his daddy got him (or would have, if his daddy had loved him). (Sorry, that was a low blow.) (Actually, not sorry, I’m pissed, and I’m on a roll, so zip it, superego!)

Our president-elect is everything you should abhor and fear in a male role model. He has spent his life telling you, and girls and women like you, that your lives are valueless except as sexual objects. He has demeaned you, and belittled you, and put you in a little box to be looked at and not heard. It is your job, and the job of girls and women like you, to bust out.

You are going to run this country, and this world, very soon. So you will not listen to this man, or the 75-year-old, doughy-faced, gray-haired nightmare men like him, when they try to tell you where to stand or how to behave or what you can and cannot do with your own bodies, or what you should or should not think with your own minds. You will not be cowed or discouraged by his stream of retrogressive babble. You won’t have time to be cowed, because you will be too busy working and learning and communing with other girls and women like you. And when the time comes, you will effortlessly flick away his miserable, petty, misogynistic worldview like a fly on your picnic potato salad.

He is the present, sadly, but he is not the future. You are the future. Your strength is a million times his. Your power is a billion times his. We will acknowledge this result, but we will not accept it. We will overcome it, and we will defeat it.

A couple years ago my friend and her mom and litter of siblings brought my mom and I out to eat and it was great my mom ate a bunch of clam chowder and her mom ate 15 pounds of chocolate lava cake But about a minuet after getting in her mom’s van my friend farted and it made my mom throw up….and then her puking made her mom vomit which made my mom do it again and it become an endless cycle of vomit along the side of the van It splattered the kids sitting in the back and her mom was driving so she threw up in her hand and it so how got on the roof and made a puke chandelier above my friend and I and we used our backpacks to shield us The highway was the worst…

we finally get home and park in this van with one side covered in clam chowder and the other in chocolate lava cake and I’ve never laughed harder in my life and this memory still haunts me to this day