something by dr seuss

Call Me Human

I may be tall with arms of steel

I may be short with eyes of teal

I may like girls with long pink hair

I may like boys who read Voltaire

I may like both or none at all

I may play card games or baseball

I may dress differently than you

I may sing always out of tune 

I may be from a foreign place

I may like makeup on my face


No matter who I like or how I dress 

Or how I look or deal with stress

Or where I’m from or where I’ve been

I’m the same as you. I am Human. 

Questions for Our Pro-Abortion Friends.

What shall we call the unborn in the womb?

If the entity is a living thing, is it not a life? If your person began as a single cell, how can that fertilized egg be something other than a human being? Isn’t it more accurate to say you were an embryo than that you simply came from one?

So when does a human being have a right to life?

Shall we say size matters? Is the unborn child too small to deserve our protection? Are big people more valuable than little people? Are men more human than woman? Do offensive linemen have more rights than jockeys? Is the life in the womb of no account because you can’t hold him in our arms, or put him in your hands, or only see her on a screen?

Shall we make intellectual development and mental capacity the measure of our worth? Are three year-old children less valuable than thirteen year-olds? Is the unborn child less than fully human because he cannot speak or count or be self-aware? Does the cooing infant in the crib have to smile or shake your hand or recite the alphabet before she deserves another day? If an expression of basic mental acuity is necessary to be a full-fledged member of the human community, what shall we do with the comatose, the very old, or the fifty year-old mom with Alzheimer’s? And what about all of us who sleep?

Shall we deny the unborn child’s right to life because of where he lives? Can environment give us value or take it away? Are we worth less inside than outside? Can we be justly killed when we swim under water? Does where we are determine who we are? Does the eight inch journey down the birth canal make us human? Does this change of scenery turn “it’s” into persons? Is love a condition of location?

Shall we reserve human dignity only for those humans who are not dependent on others? Do we deserve to live only when we can live on our own? Is the four-month old fetus less than human because she needs her mom for life? Is the four-month old infant less than human when she still needs her mom for life? What if you depend on dialysis or insulin or a breathing apparatus? Is value a product of fully-functioning vitality? Is independence a prerequisite for human identity? Are we worth only what we can think, accomplish, and do on our own?

If the unborn life is human life, what can justify snuffing it out? Would it be right to take the life of your child on his first birthday because he came to you through sad and tragic circumstances? Would you push an 18 month old into traffic because she makes our life difficult? Does a three year-old deserve to die because we think we deserve a choice?

What do you deserve now? What are your rights as a human person? Did you have those same rights five years ago? What about before you could drive? Or when you used training wheels? Were you less than fully human when you played in the sandbox? When you wore a bib? When you nursed at your mother’s breast? When your dad cut your cord? When you tumbled in that watery mess and kicked against that funny wall? When your heart pounded on the monitor for the first time? When you grew your first fingernails? When you grew your first cells?

What shall we call the child in the womb? A fetus? A mystery? A mistake? A wedge issue? What if science and Scripture and common sense would have us call it a person? What if the unborn child, the messy infant, the wobbly toddler, the rambunctious teenager, the college freshman, the blushing bride, the first-time mother, the working woman, the proud grammy, and the demented old friend differ not in kind but only in degree? Where in the progression does our humanity begin and end? Where does life become valuable? When are we worth something? When do human rights become our rights? What if Dr. Seuss was right and a person’s a person no matter how small?

Why celebrate the right to kill what you once were? Why deny the rights of the little one who is what you are?

- Kevin DeYoung

Warm-Up  -  One Shot

Recipient: @gothamsmermaid

Prompt: Fireplace, fluff/smut

Pairings/Characters: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 4063

Trigger Warnings: swearing, le smut! mild dirty talkin, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex

A/N: Happy Ficmas!!! Here is my ficmas post. Hope you like it, @gothamsmermaid. :) It is muuuch longer than usual for me… not sure how that happened, but I’m just going to run with it. 

Originally posted by circusgifs

Pulling through the large gate, you could see the house from here. Your jaw dropped and you let out a stunned scoff as you climbed out of your car. Your luggage would definitely have to wait. You nearly ran to the stairs but took your time climbing them, admiring the enormous pillars of wood erupting from the ground to frame the house. You ran your fingertips across the cold stone boulders that stretched halfway up the walls, stopping when you reached one soaring glass panel window.

A wide smile lit up your face as you found the beautifully wrought iron and glass door. Flinging it open wide with a heaving pull, you slipped inside and suddenly felt very very small in the massive foyer. You continued around the house room by room, touching each beautifully rough texture around you.

Finally making it to the wall of windows at the back of the home you burst into a fit of disbelieving hysterical laughter at the sight before you. Soft pillows of glistening snow, tall pine trees with branches bent and leaning, laden with heavy snow like something out of a Dr. Seuss tale.

You spun around taking in the enormous fireplace, the stone reaching high to the vaulted ceiling. Finally recovering yourself a little you made your way to the kitchen, looking for the coffee pot, seeking some warmth. It was absolutely freezing in here!

Too busy pulling on drawers and cupboards, you never noticed as he approached, not that you probably would have heard him anyway, ex-assassin and all. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his deep unfamiliar voice.

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anonymous asked:

What do you think of jay parks rapping? Is his flow good? His lyrics?

His flow isnt anything special or unique. it’s passable. As for his lyrics, I think he’s alright most of the time but he overdoes the wordplay. And on top of that most of the time he’s not using it in any meaningful way. Like it’s not really useful, it’s just like dr.seuss rhymes or something. It’s not actually clever like wordplay is supposed to be.It’s like something you write for that dreaded poetry assignment in 7th grade or something but with more cuss words and sexual innuendo.

For examples of good, useful wordplay, look at Mino. Even look at G Dragon, his wordplay is probaby his strongest point as a rapper (besides charisma and style).

Surprise (Request)

Could you maybe do a daddy!harry blurb where he has two or three children and he is away on tour and they surprise him and go and watch one of his shows/ or he surprised them coming back from being on tour x

Okay, I realize that by calling them D1 and D2 it sounds like something out of Dr. Seuss, but I didn’t want to give the girls actual names and it got really confusing trying to do (Y/D/N/1) and (Y/D/N/2)…

ALSO: Check out thehoranandi; another writer. :)


There were still way too many days on the countdown calendar. Ever since the kids had been old enough to understand why their daddy was away so much, you had started a countdown calendar in the kitchen so they would know exactly how many more days it would be until he got home. It also gave them something fun to do each morning when they came down for breakfast, often arguing about whose turn it was to take down the numbered piece of paper from the wall.

But there were still way too many days left.

This particular stretch of time had been a lot longer than they normally were. Typically, the countdown calendar fit nicely on the side of the kitchen counter, but this time you had needed to get creative. The initial number of days had actually been more than your youngest was able to count and she had needed to get her older sister to explain just how many it was. The numbered pages had spread past the kitchen counter and on to the wall beside it. Each day you came down, you let out a little sigh when you saw just how many pages were left. As much as the girls enjoyed the countdown game, both of them were starting to get a little anxious.

“When’s daddy coming home?” Your oldest daughter, (D1), asked.

“Still a while yet, my love.” You replied, pointing to the wall. “How many more days?”

Your daughter looked at the countdown and pouted a bit. “27 days.”

She sat down at the table with a bit of a huff and started picking at the cereal you had placed in front of her. You could tell that something was off by the way that she pouted into her bowl.

“What’s wrong, bugaboo?” You asked, ruffling her hair.

“I miss daddy.” She mumbled.

“I know you do, baby. Mummy misses him too.”

“Why does he have to be gone so long?”

“Because that’s daddy’s job, sweetheart. He needs to go away because people want to hear him sing.”

“He should stay here and sing to us. We would listen.” She said, earnestly.

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sometimesangryblackwoman  asked:

Prompt: Roland's first trip to the zoo.

Roland Hears a Who

(Lots of thanks as always to @belleoftheballpoint for giving this a read!)

It starts out the way most mornings do in the Mills household, with Mom up before the sun and Roland not long after that, Henry heading downstairs too when he can’t successfully tune out the sounds of the kid tearing through his breakfast. Robin eventually wanders into the kitchen to join them, once the smell of coffee becomes “far too much to resist,” as he says into Mom’s hair while she turns pink and pretends to scold him for sleeping in past the boys.

“‘enry,” Roland says around a mouthful of bacon, “what’s the zoo like?”

It’s only about the twentieth time the kid has asked him since yesterday, but Henry gamely pulls up a chair and begins to tick off with his fingers every last exotic creature he can remember seeing at the Storybrooke Zoo. Penguins and zebras, monkeys and crocodiles, even a few small dens of lions and tigers and – well, he refrains from mentioning the bears then, knowing what a touchy subject Oz still is with the grownups.

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