poor imitations

No Forests on Flat Earth is a masterpiece of efficient storytelling. It argues that thousands of years ago, the planet was covered by a layer of forests where the trees sprouted for miles into the atmosphere. You know, as if the planet was subtly trying to signal to the cosmos that it had super-inadequacy issues. Some unknown cataclysm in the biosphere then came along and wiped out these gigantic specimens, leaving us stuck with the piss-poor imitations that you can see outside your window. 

Obviously, extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof and, luckily, we have that in spades.

That’s Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. Some shills in Big Geology would have you believe that’s a natural rock formation known as a ‘butte’. However, the folks over at YouTube University for the Woke AF have news for you: it’s actually an ancient petrified tree stump because…well, it looks like a big tree stump. 

At our best guess, 90% of this movie’s runtime (nearly two motherfucking hours!) is spent idly alternating between pictures of tree stumps, pictures of suspicious-looking rock formations, and pictures of our beautiful planet before we came along to pollute it with No Trees on Flat Earth. The video also challenges viewers to name two differences between tree stumps and rock formations that don’t have anything to do with size and material type, as if those are just inconsequential details in their theory. Adorable!

6 Magically Insane Conspiracy Theories (We Wish Were True)

“What is this?” asks Lukas as he grabs the small piece of paper. Philip looks up from where he had been doing something on his phone.

“Oh, that?” he gives a cheeky grin, and Lukas can just tell that whatever the answer is, it is gonna have him rolling his eyes. “It’s my to-do list.”

And as Lukas had predicted he would, he rolls his eyes. “It’s just a post-it note with my name on it.”

Philip waggles his eyebrows at Lukas, “I know!”

A chuckle escapes him even as he does his best to keep it in. He shakes his head, “I can’t believe you,”

“I know. I’m unbelievably amazing.”

“According to who?”

“You.” replies Philip, a smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re amazing. I mean…you’re awesome.” Philip says in a poor imitation of Lukas’ voice.

A blush appears on Lukas’ face. “Shut up!” he says, adorably embarrassed.

Philip just can’t help himself, he crosses the distance between them only stopping when there’s basically no room between the two of them. He gives a sly smile and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Make me.” 

He intentionally licks his lips, knowing Lukas with follow the movement with his eyes and unknowingly mimic the motion, and surely enough he does. Lukas doesn’t need any other prompting to close the gap between them and slot their lips together.

It isn’t perfect; it never is, but it good. It is them.  The kisses they share are playful, a competition of who can get the other to laugh the most into the kisses. Most of the time they are just huffing air into the other’s mouth, hands gripping just a bit tighter where they are holding on to each other’s shirts.

At one point, Philip tugs at Lukas’ lower lip with his teeth, biting down gently. The breathless gasp Lukas lets out, leaves Philip lightheaded for a moment.

Lukas pulls back after a bit, panting, he rubs his hands up Philip’s back, over his shoulders and into his hair. “Alright. I’ll concede; you’re not all bad.”

anonymous asked:

I reckon we gotta deport ALL the muslims, no brown-skins in Australia! Pardoning the Pakistanis of course, they're fair dinkum good at cricket and their capital is literally called Islambad so they're pretty alright in my book

I don’t like this satire. There’s no real joke here, it’s just a poor imitation of a racist. Back to the workshop with this one.

Seek to distinguish yourself from others only in your generosity. Be like gods to the poor, imitating God’s mercy. Humanity has nothing so much in common with God as the ability to do good.
—  Saint Gregory of Nazianzus (325-389), Doctor of the Church

blondealchemisted  asked:

(¬‿¬) ((Just drops this here XD))

For every (¬‿¬) I get my muse will remove a piece of clothing.

“ ‘Who would ever want to kiss you’ he says.” Envy teased, doing a poor imitation of the blonde while pulling off his headband, “‘Take off a piece of clothing’..You should really make up your mind.”

Humayun's Tomb

Let’s flee the city together
To this poor imitation
Of heaven on earth

Walk with me,
I’ll be on one side of the empty canal
And you be on the other
Let’s sing Ho Hey
As we carry
An imaginary picnic basket
An imaginary sheet to lay on the grass
And an imaginary dog whom you detest

Listen to me
I’ll tell you about the armies
That camped once on these lawns
I’ll take you back centuries with me
I’ll show you the double dome being laid,
The architects playing with strands of light
The marble breaking into the red sandstone
Hold my hand, darling, and escape time with me.

Will you sit with me
Under the mango tree
I will pick fourteen grass stalks
One for each month I knew you
Bits of earth will come out too
And I will ask, how long will you take to heal
Hoping to pull the scabs off of your wounds
Without taking care of the blood that will trickle slowly
Down your legs, down your feet.

‘It’s absolutely true,’ Draco assured him. 'Long ago, Veela were dull, homely creatures. Quite ugly, really. But then one caught sight of a Malfoy and fell instantly in love with him and his beauty. Veela have attempted to mimic that beauty, decidedly poor imitations, if you ask me, ever since.’

'So – everyone falls for Veela, but Veela fall for Malfoys?’

'Naturally,’ Draco said. 'For eons, our beauty has been our curse.’

Harry pretended to study Draco. 'Congratulations then. The curse has been lifted.’

—  Master Work by mahaliem

doheegp  asked:

‘ your plan sucks, you know that right? ‘

He let out a heavy sigh. “I know, but it’s all I’ve got. My mom has been needling away at me for months about this, you know? ‘Have you met any nice girls at work? Are they too focused on work right now? I know this lovely girl that would just love to meet you,’” he muttered, using a high-pitched tone that was quite the poor imitation of his mother’s voice. He’d considered just telling his mom he was gay (which wasn’t completely true) just to have that be the end of it, but he didn’t want to fracture their relationship entirely if he did tell her something like that. “Just come to dinner tonight. It’ll be fun. We’ll hold hands, and you can be my pretend-girlfriend.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, wondering how he could sweeten the pot. “I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

the republican nomination is so surreal. a racist and homophobic serial killer who looks like an alien doing a poor job at imitating a human being and failing terribly can drop out of the presidential race but instead of celebrating i’m left sorta terrified because somehow the alternative might be even worse

octavia braids clarke’s hair every morning. it’s a poor imitation of the commander’s braids, but it’s as close as octavia can get, and it’s the way clarke has chosen to remember her. 

well, one of the ways. 

octavia sees more of lexa in clarke than she ever had before. it was in the way she spoke, the way she moved, the expressions she made, even the way she dressed. clarke said titus had given her access to the commander’s wardrobe. it was no surprise, then, that clarke wore nothing else. and they always smelled of the candles clarke burned in their her room.

the others looked at clarke with pity. lexa was gone, they said. clarke needed to move on. it’d been months. months since they’d destroyed alie and the city of light, months since they’d narrowly avoided that nuclear disaster. months since they’d finally come to an uneasy alliance with the rest of the grounder clans. a full year since lexa’s untimely death, and clarke still held herself like a widow in mourning. 

octavia supposed she was, in a way. it had taken a long time, but eventually–with the two of them sharing the loss of a loved one, of a soulmate–clarke had opened up to her. she told octavia about the private moments they’d shared. at first it was hesitant, uncertain, like clarke was afraid she’d break the sacredness of those memories by speaking them aloud. then she recounted them with a wistful smile and a longing in her eyes that octavia often saw in her own when she looked in the mirror. she told octavia about the vow lexa had made her, the vow that she’d kept not just until her death, but beyond it–with the nightbloods and the city of light and everything in between. 

“she might as well have just proposed to you,” octavia had joked at the time. sometimes it helped to make jokes. the laughter would be wet, mixed with tears, but it was there, and that was enough. that was a bandaid on the wounds. on the sorrow. it helped. a little. 

and clarke had laughed in her soft, pained way that she did now, and said, “i think she did.” 

lexa was gone, but clarke still held her close to her heart–literally. she tucked the flame beneath her shirt, slept with it cradled in the palm of her hands. she never let it out of her sight. even if there was another nightblood out there somewhere, octavia wasn’t convinced clarke would ever let it go. 

once, bellamy suggested they look. “there’s got to be one somewhere,” he said. the grounders tolerated them for now, but if there was a commander, if there was someone to truly unite them as lexa had, they would all feel safer. “like luna. we could find her, bring her here. we could do the transplant and–”

“no.” clarke hadn’t let him finish. “there won’t be another commander. there will never be another lexa.” 

just like there wouldn’t be another lincoln. octavia and clarke had spent a lot of time on opposite sides, tense with distrust and disdain and maybe a little resentment on octavia’s part, but. well. they were united in this. they’d both lost the love of their lives. 

and now all they had was each other. 


“It’s… a bit…”

“Cute, right?” Nozomi beams, her smile hitting that certain angle, dimples included, that strikes all of Eli’s weak spots at once, and all her bravado and iron spine wobble dangerously. Eli slowly shakes her head. Being Student Council President never trained her for this.

“I guess?”

“Then I’ll leave it in your care!”

No, no, Eli was never one for pets no matter how much her sister wheedled her to get a puppy or kitten. But pets are pets and this is something entirely different. If any combination of words had to be used, maybe it’d be something like, the unholy child of bad marketing and poor design. She’d rather adopt a whole shelter of dogs than have this, frankly.

The furby weighs heavily in her hands. It slowly blinks its eyes and waves its ears with soft, mechanical whirrs, a poor imitation of something that was intended to be cute and endearing.

Ladada dododo~”

“… Oh,” is all Eli can manage to say. How scary. 

“It already likes you, Elicchi!”

“But it’s not even alive,” Eli says, already exasperated and holding the furby out at arm’s length like it’s a ticking time bomb.

Dodododo~ Hehehehe~”

It’s still moving! Why is it still moving. “Nozomi, I thought we’d agreed on teddy bears.”

“But unexpected surprises are fun, too! Also, don’t forget to change its batteries when it dies.”

The furby is staring straight into the core of her soul (probably) and Eli feels her arms tremble as if it suddenly weighs a ton. An unexplainable chill runs down her spine. Her fight or flight responses are screaming at her to flee. Yet Nozomi’s smile is making her waver and Eli realizes she has no choice but to accept the gift, if she wants that smile to stay intact.

Well, it’s from Nozomi, so of course she has to accept it.

“Chachaaaa dododo~”

Though maybe she’ll pass it off onto Nico later, when she gets the chance.

during series 3, pre-His Last Vow

He’d made a spare key years ago, though occasionally he’d amused himself by going up the fire escape before slipping through her bedroom window. There was hardly any security on Molly Hooper’s flat, which made it a convenient little spot whenever he was in the area. Sherlock had always relished the expression on her face when the lights had flickered on in the bedroom and she’d spotted him stretched out on her bed. She was always a deer in headlights, cheeks reddening and mouth in a permanent ‘oh’, until she’d finally offer him some tea or biscuits or both, tripping over herself. He’d enjoyed taking refuge in her flat, except when she’d gotten engaged - - soon to be Mrs Holland to a boring IT man who looked like - “No,” he thought locking himself into her dark flat, hanging off his coat and grimacing at the poor imitation already hanging there.

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