Muncie Evening Press, Indiana, January 19, 1922  

The effect on the sausage market of the slang expression is serious..

Returning soldiers revived the almost forgotten bit of slang and the public once more began to speak of “wienies” as “dogs.” The effect was instantaneous, Russell says, and sensitive people found themselves unable to eat sausages. 

As the phrase grew in popularity, sausages lost caste. Now only the hardened buy them.

anonymous asked:

Why are your favorite techie/Matt fics!🙈

Wonderful question Anon :D! Let me list some for you while: 

SFW (Safe for Work):

NSFW (not safe for work):

There are so many Techienician(their shipping name) fics out there, that i have yet to read but i will get to them soon ;v;! I hope this list helps you out!

Cuz i’m wienie..i’m going to through one more which is Techie x Mitaka (Mitechie)…this is a pair that should be appreciated too ;v;….i love Mitaka has much has i love

Thank you for the question <333

My sister doesn't know what's good

Guys, my sister finished the Thrawn novel, and she said she didn’t like it for two reasons. First she doesn’t like political intrigue manipulation type stories like Game of Thrones. But secondly, she said she hated Eli’s character. Like, she thought he was pathetic and unlikable and in her own words “a wienie.”

I told her that if I said such a thing on Tumblr that so much hate would be directed towards her, and she just kind of laughed.

I think she needs to know just how much people love Eli and how very wrong she is.

anonymous asked:

i want to make yuma scream,,, maybe in the sexual way, maybe not. maybe i wanna push him off a bungee, or just beat his ass at mario kart. either way, i wanna hear that fucking scream likE THE PUSSY HE IS COME AT ME, WIENIE

this post is so relatable like…if this weren’t my blog and I were somebody else and I saw this ask, I’d be like “nat probably sent this ask”

For most of my college career I was a hard-core syntax wienie, a philosophy major with a specialization in math and logic. I was, to put it modestly, quite good at the stuff, mostly because I spent all my free time doing it. Wienieish or not, I was actually chasing a special sort of buzz, a special moment that comes sometimes. One teacher called these moments “mathematical experiences.” What I didn’t know then was that a mathematical experience was aesthetic in nature, an epiphany in Joyce’s original sense. These moments appeared in proof-completions, or maybe algorithms. Or like a gorgeously simple solution to a problem you suddenly see after half a notebook with gnarly attempted solutions. It was really an experience of what I think Yeats called “the click of a well-made box.” Something like that. The word I always think of it as is “click.”

Anyway, I was just awfully good at technical philosophy, and it was the first thing I’d ever really been good at, and so everybody, including me, anticipated I’d make it a career. But it sort of emptied out for me somewhere around age twenty. I just got tired of it, and panicked because I was suddenly not getting any joy from the one thing I was clearly supposed to do because I was good at it and people liked me for being good at it. Not a fun time. I think I had kind of a mid-life crisis at twenty, which probably doesn’t augur real well for my longevity.

So what I did, I went back home for a term, planning to play solitaire and stare out the window, whatever you do in a crisis. And all of a sudden I found myself writing fiction. My only real experience with fun writing had been on a campus magazine with Mark Costello, the guy I later wrote “Signifying Rappers” with. But I had had experience with chasing the click, from all the time spent with proofs. At some point in my reading and writing that fall I discovered the click in literature, too. It was real lucky that just when I stopped being able to get the click from math logic I started to be able to get it from fiction. The first fictional clicks I encountered were in Donald Barthelme’s “The Balloon” and in parts of the first story I ever wrote, which has been in my trunk since I finished it. I don’t know whether I have that much natural talent going for me fiction wise, but I know I can hear the click, when there is a click. In Don DeLillo’s stuff, for example, almost line by line I can hear the click. It’s maybe the only way to describe writers I love. I hear the click in most Nabokov. In Donne, Hopkins, Larkin. In Puig and Cortázar. Puig clicks like a fucking Geiger counter. And none of these people write prose as pretty as Updike, and yet I don’t hear the click in Updike.

But so here I am at like twenty-one and I don’t know what to do. Do I go into math logic, which I’m good at and pretty much guaranteed an approved career in? Or do I try to keep on with this writing thing, this “artiste” thing? The idea of being a “writer” repelled me, mostly because of all the foppish aesthetes I knew at school who went around in berets stroking their chins calling themselves writers. I have a terror of seeming like those guys, still. Even today, when people I don’t know ask me what I do for a living, I usually tell them I’m “in English” or I “work free-lance.” I don’t seem to be able to call myself a writer. And terms like “postmodernist” or “surrealist” send me straight to the bathroom, I’ve got to tell you.

—  David Foster Wallace, in a conversation
5sos Bsm preference #4: Your Scared To Met The Boys.

It was requested a bit younger than this, but just a bit.

Luke (4): You sat on Luke’s lap and he said “You want to met some friends?” You were always a really shy girl, and you had seen, and heard, how loud and crazy all the boys could be when they we’re all together. So you shook you head. Luke looked at you and said “Come on bug! I promise they’ll be nice.” You shook your head again, then said “No, to loud.” You started to fall asleep and Luke put you down on the couch. He walked out of the hotel room. When you woke up you heard talking. “Aw, she’s so cute.” “Better than her brother.” And many other laughs and words. You yawned and stretched your arms. Your eyes were barely open and you rested your head against what you thought was Luke. Then you looked up to see a new face. You backed away and said “I want Luke!” Luke picked you up and said “These are my friends. Ashton. Micheal. And Calum, the one you were sleeping on.” Calum laughed and you said “Too loud!” Even though they weren’t even loud. You just felt sad you didn’t choose your brother over someone else. Even though you had no idea he thought it was adorable.

Calum (3): You sat on the floor, watching Calum play his bass. He would sing and you’d laugh. He started playing your favorite song. You smiled at your brother as he strummed along. Then the door opened, and three boys came in. You screamed and hide behind Calum’s leg. You heard him laugh and he stood up. You wrapped your arms around his leg and sat on his foot, he dragged you along. He walked up to the loud boys and said “This is Y/N, my shoe.”

Ashton (2): You were attached to Ashton’s hip as he carried you through the hall. “Ash, I scared.” He kissed your head and said “Come on Y/N, you gotta toughen up!” You frowned at your older brother and said “No! Want if they no like me!” He laughed and said “If you look anything like me, which you, they’ll love you!” You didn’t really get the joke. Soon enough, you were in 5sos rehearsal place. You looked around three other boys sat on the leather couch. They looked up at Ashton. None of them really said anything. But you started crying, thinking they didn’t like you. Ashton tried calming you down. But it didn’t work. As soon as the other three boys started to comfort you, you realized, they didn’t hate you. 

Micheal (4): Of course you had known about the boys, but you were really scared to met them. Because the only time Micheal ever brought them around, you were asleep. And sometimes, you could just hear them shouting and saying bad things. But you never had the guts to go and investigate. One day you were playing in your room and heard screaming. You walked out to see that Micheal and the boys we’re sitting on the couch playing a game. They we’re screaming bad things at the Tv and you said “Micheal what does fuc-” He scooped you up in his arms and said “Where did you learn that?” “You!” Then you saw the other three boys staring at you. You blushed and buried your face in Micheal’s shoulder. He laughed and threw you in the air. You screamed and Micheal said “My little sister is such a wienie.” “Micheal what does wien-” “No!” All three of the boys shouted.

Sorry if this is bad! *Request?*

laferry at prom tho 

with laf dancing super ridiculous and obnoxious to get perry laughing when she sees the dude dancing with the girl he ditched her for and perry eventually having to drag laf away because she maybe ended up dancing a bit too close and started getting a bit too aggressive when she “"accidentally”“ bumped into him and he told her to watch it 

perry and laf leaving early just to drive around the city being dumb teenagers in a limo and laf convincing the drive to go through a mcdonalds drive thru with it all while perry is doing her best not to look absolutely mortified by what they’re doing (but she loves it and lafontaine is such a smug ass about it so she’ll never say it out loud)

lafontaine dropping perry off at home complete with awkward rambling about the great night they had and how she hope perry had a great time even if it wasn’t the prom she always imagined and perry telling her that even if it wasn’t the one she always imagined going to it was 100x better because laf was with her 


laferry’s first date being prom night 

im not really seeing the reasoning behind pretending like you never were in a state where you didn’t have a lack of knowledge about a certain thing?

there’s nothing wrong with saying you weren’t fully aware or educated about a certain topic, that’s the great thing about life…you’re constantly learning.

it makes no sense to act better after learning about something around people who still haven’t learned what you know…teach them, help them and don’t go about it acting like a wienie hut jr.