nightblog

Petroleum, when you think about it, is definitely an escaped piece of worldbuilding from a twee gothic fantasy dystopia

“The elven civilization gets energy from poisonous, flammable rock juice mined deep underground, sometimes causing earthquakes in the process. It’s slowly roasting their planet, but they keep doing it anyway to light their disposable palaces and fuel nihilistic displays of opulent wealth. Its stabler aethers are used in cosmetics rubbed upon the skin.”

What do you get if you divide the circumference of a pumpkin by its diameter?

PUMPKIN PI

Hospitals are so weird, like

on one floor a woman is bringing a new human life into the world while the father of her child looks on

and on the floor below her a frat boy is getting a wiimote removed from his butthole

What if you could replace your GPS sound with anyone of your choosing?


I would love to replace mine with Gordon Ramsey’s voice:

“Great job, you missed the bloody exit you fucking donkey.”

Early 2000′s Internet Fandom Gothic
  • Someone has been leaving increasingly bizarre messages on your guestbook.
  • You get a favorite on one of your drawings featuring a character’s death. You go to thank them, but have second thoughts when you see their page consists only of a bloated gallery of faves that are all about that one character dying.
  • Just who else is a sock puppet of that BNF?
  • Your favorite fansite still hasn’t come back from hiatus. Rumors swirl on the forums of a different site that the webmistress died, the broken banner on her splash page her online epitaph.
  • You swear you’ve read this songfic set to My Immortal before, but it’s the most recent submission. You couldn’t have. 
  • Your computer doesn’t support Japanese characters but that doesn’t stop you from trying to navigate your fandom’s doujin circles. You somehow stumble onto a page dedicated to lovingly-rendered anatomical dissections of every character.
  • Your favorite fanfiction is getting progressively weirder and more incoherent with every update. You hope the author is okay.
  • You get the feeling you shared this positive fanart of a female character with the wrong crowd.
  • There’s a new batch of icons posted on one of your LJ communities! None of them are loading. Everybody else is commenting on them; why are you the only one who can’t see them?
  • You make a new friend on a forum, and you exchange AIM handles. After a few days of chatting, she begins to tell you about her experiences in something called “the Astral Plane”.
  • This video is taking an eternity to buffer. 
  • DxHxR citrus, PWP, H/C, NC, CBT, WS, M/M, M/M/M, WAFF ^_^ WIP please R&R!!!
  • As you finally turn out the light and close your eyes to go to sleep, you swear you can hear it coming from outside: the dial-up noise.
Standardized Testing Gothic

-You are given cryptic instructions. Told not to question it. The test administrator runs it’s purple young over it’s needle-like teeth. You don’t question it.

-You must perfectly fill in the ovals. This is hard. They seem to move around in The page. Spelling dire warnings. You ignore that and hope this doesn’t affect your score.

-“You must write out the certification”. You do. You feel a small part of your soul leave your body.

-The air-temperature fluctuates wildly. Stifling hot. Freezing cold. The boy sitting in front of you removes his hoody and dons it once more a dozen times.

-The test administrators move along the rows to make sure no one cheats. Their tall, shadowy forms make you uneasy. As do the antlers stained with what looks like purple blood. You keep your head down and look straight ahead. A test administrator is behind you. You hear it’s heavy breathing and offer up a silent prayer.

-There is a 10-15 minute snack break. Several of the students with more cannibalistic tendencies gang up on the weaker ones. There will be good eating tonight.

-“You have five minutes remaining”. You finished this section 3 hours ago. You didn’t even study arcane sciences. Another hour has passed. Is time even real?

-A girl a few rows down is crying. You feel the dreadful chill in the air as a test ainistrator glides past you in her direction. The crying suddenly changes to a soft weeping.

-“Pencils down”. Your arm is compelled to lower your pencil to the desk. You try to fight it and cannot. It hurts.

-Some poor unfortunate kid left his ringer on. He is made an example of. You are afraid.

-All the calculators have been replaced with hovering runes. You hope these are not in the list of prohibited calculators.

-The questions are unclear. Literally blurry smudges on the test booklet. You try to focus but the bleeding hole in the ceiling commands your dread and attention.

-You are now dismissed. You are glad to have come out of it in one piece, with little or no blood loss and most of your fingers.

Someday, once humans are extinct, I hope whatever species rules Earth makes chicken nuggets in the shape of us like we did for dinosaurs. 

(._.) me  : I shouldn’t watch any tv shows I have a ridiculous amount of work 

also me: watches skam —> *then decides to FUCKING LEARN NORWEGIAN*

What if Bruce Wayne is actually in Arkham the whole time and Batman is just a delusion he has. All of his ‘villains’ are the orderlies and doctors who work there.

“Poison Ivy” is the nurse who sedates him when he gets out of control

“Two-Face” is an abusive orderly who acts nice when the doctors are around and then beats up the patients when their backs are turned

“Riddler” is a therapist who asks him questions that he has a hard time answering

“Mad Hatter” is a hypnotherapist who Bruce is convinced is trying to brainwash him

and of course his arch-nemesis..

“Dr. Joe Car” and his assistant “Dr. Harleen Quinzel” see Bruce as their top patient, both desperately trying to bring the man back to sanity, and Batman will fight with all he has to protect gotham from “Joker” and “Harley Quinn”

​Imagine if we could turn our heads around and upside down like owls

Someone could talk shit about me as i pass by them and i would just 

*turns head around* 

WHAT WAS THAT, YOU LITTLE SHIT?