Good news for you, this August 23rd.
It’s that time of year again.
Nice
just spent like an hour playing “who’s that pokemon” w my sibling and i was flabbergasted when they couldnt identify like half the pokemon they were seeing. (shrek voice) he didnt even know garganacl
the masses are uneducated . we must bring back the pokerap
“… but you’ll never be able to beat my Servine!
SERVINE: Servine!
ASH: A Servine?
PIKACHU: Pikaa?
SERVINE: Servine.
WHO’S THAT POKEMON?!
———
IT’S SERVINE!
SERVINE: Servine!
SERVINE: Servine.
ASH: That’s Servine, it’s gotta be.”
thinking about how milk jugs are so perfectly designed; not a bit of wasted space. the handle is part of the container as well and you can clearly see how much of the liquid is left. genius. im thinking of eating the mushroom growing in my frontyard whole. if even one person is nice to me today i will kiss them on the lips
so my fridge is covered in femboy pinups i got when i was a subscriber to this porn artist's patreon and i just have like so many femboy pinups and also a furry pinup on my fridge it really is quite erotic
and my wifi password is "onthefridge"
so whenever someone new comes over and i offer to let them use the wifi i tell them the password is "onthefridge" and they go and look at the fridge and are met with all this femboy ass and are like where is it there's a lot of stuff here and i reiterate it's onthefridge and they go where!!! and i come over and type "onthefridge" into their phone and they get so mad
My stage career began when I was a little under two months old, when I took the spotlight as Baby Jesus in a Christmas pageant. I’m told that I did a wonderful job and slept calmly through the whole thing, which can only speak to my talents as an actress, because I was 1. the wrong gender 2. a colicky screaming demon of a baby and 3. about as far from divine as it’s possible for an allegedly-human child to be.
I continued to be actively involved in theater as a kid (and frequently played roles of various small animals, because I was tiny for my age). Around the age of ten, I was cast as the lead character in a musical about cowboys that I no longer remember the name of. It was my first real lead role, and I took it very, very seriously. And because I am myself, that means I maaaaybe went…a little overboard.
My character’s introduction was early in the play, accompanied by the crack of a bullwhip. This was more-or-less pre internet (or, at least, our director was not tech-savvy enough to find sound effects online) and we didn’t have a sound effect track for that noise. There were plans to acquire the appropriate sound effect before opening night, but I rapidly tired of making my entrance during rehearsals to the sound of someone yelling “BULLWHIP NOISE!”
This, I thought to myself, is a problem I can solve.
I learned early in life that it’s good to be friends with people who have skills; they always come in handy eventually. After rehearsals one day, I put on my cowboy boots and biked a couple miles over to my friend Grace’s house. I went down to their basement and knocked on her older brother’s door.
“Hello,” I said. “I need to learn how to use a bullwhip.”
“….Okay,” he said. It did not seem to occur to him that he might ask further questions about why I, a tiny horrible munchkin composed exclusively of rage and pointy elbows, needed to be weaponized any further. Clearly, I had come to the right person.
My friend’s older brother would have been an SCA nerd, if SCA was a thing where we were. Instead, he was one of those unsupervised 4H kids with weird hobbies, largely oriented around ancient forms of combat. He was somewhere in his late teens at this time, and he liked to make stuff. It was an urge I, even at age ten, could sympathize with. His name was Aron.
Aron got out his bullwhip (which I had noticed hanging on his wall on a prior visit, and had filed away mentally under a for future use tab) and we went to the backyard.
“Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron began, “Swinging the bullwhip.”
We rapidly discovered that since I was god’s tiniest, angriest creation, a full-size bullwhip was way too long for me to use. Aron’s shins suffered for my attempt.
“…Step one of using a bullwhip,” Aron said, “Making a bullwhip.”
So we went back inside, found a tanned cowhide (that he just…had? I don’t remember if there was a reason for this.) and some razor blades, and I learned how to cut and braid a bullwhip. It took a few tries, and I wound up coming back for a while, because I kept getting frustrated with the bullwhip-braiding process and Aron kept distracting me with bait like: “Hey kid, wanna learn to make some chainmail?” and “Hey kid, wanna fletch some arrows?” and “Hey kid, wanna try doing horseback archery?”
Obviously the answer to these questions was “BOY, WOULD I EVER!” Some delays are necessary to the artistic process.
(At one point my mom asked me “Hellen, what are you doing over at Grace’s house all the time?” And I, perfectly innocent, said, “Making weapons!” and my mother, who never understood why I was like this, but accepted that a girl has needs and those needs occasionally involve stocking a personal armory, said “Okay! Have fun!”)
Soon, the bullwhip, size extra small, was finished. The lessons on actual bullwhip use commenced.
It should be noted that Aron was self-taught, and really had no idea what to do, so this was mostly an exercise in the two of us standing twenty feet apart and flailing wildly with our respective whips until snapping noises happened. And then we figured out what we’d done to make the snapping noises. And then we kept doing that. Extremely vigorously. So vigorously that at one point one of the bullwhips launched into the air and caught on a tree branch and we hand to drag the trampoline over so Aron could bounce me high enough to grab it. But we persisted!
Eventually we reached a point where we could line up pop cans on a fence rail and hit them off three times out of five.
Feeling extremely accomplished and like I finally understood method acting, I packed my bullwhip into my backpack for the next play rehearsal. Soon enough, it was time for me to make my entrance.
I leaped on stage in my cowboy boots and cracked the bullwhip as hard as I could, immediately launching into the song despite the fact that the sound of five feet of braided leather breaking sound barrier had startled the accompanist so badly she’d keysmashed on the piano.
The director shouted something she probably shouldn’t have shouted in a room full of small children, and then demanded, “WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!”
“I made it!” I declared proudly. “I’m a cowgirl! I can make my own bullwhip noise!”
“You…made it?”
“Yes! Because we needed a bullwhip sound effect. And bullwhips are where bullwhip sound effects come from!”
This was, of course, impeccable logic.
It is apparently difficult to argue with a gleeful ten year old who happens to be armed with a bullwhip longer than she is tall. After some negotiation, the director agreed that I could use my bullwhip for my opening song, provided that I didn’t pop it while anyone was anywhere near me on stage and I didn’t let anyone else play with it. These terms were acceptable to me.
Somehow, no one was injured and the play went off without a hitch. We can only chalk up these things to the magic of the theatre.
Nearly a decade later, an unsuspecting college classmate asked me, “Hellen, wanna take a class on bullwhip combat with me?”
And obviously I answered, “BOY, WOULD I EVER!”
thefeelofavideogame
a mummy who broke out of his sarcophagus wrote this
scotchtapeofficial
reblog if ur a striminal
pokemonprofessor
nice.
furikomaru
I am so embarrassed that only 31% of us have the good sense to lie when someone asks if we’ve committed a crime.
*a strime
guys the consequences of inaction are noooootttt enough to motivate meeee
phineas and ferb but everything is ambiguous and mundane
dartfrogs
im sorry but this is SO funny and i was jsut OVERCOME with a need to transcribe it
theres a hundred and four days of summer vacation
and school comes along just to end it
so the annual problem for our generation
is finding a good way to spend it
like maybe
building
fighting
climbing
discovering somethin’
or a shower
surfin’
creating
locating frank
finding a bird
painting
and driving
as you can see theres stuff
gonna do it
gonna do it
“locating frank”
locating frank
Locating frank was always my favorite
i think everyone needs to get into wildlife identification it's like a minigame for real life
i think everyone needs to get into wildlife identification it's like a minigame for real life
Checked in on my parents in CA cuz the hurricane and my dad sent me this
wish i had a bit going where whenever i said "the prophecy" like three of my friends would repeat "the prophecy" in different tones while squinting into the distance and rubbing their chins like sages deep in thought. i would also do this for them, im a team player
okay, so, be me, 27 years old at the time, an adult by any definition in the world
be me at the los angeles zoo, one of my very favorite places in the world, because i love animals. i am immedietly 8 years old when presented with a little creature. i can’t help it.
okay, wait, go back. we must establish two things for this to hit right
first:
the year before, i’d gone to the san diego zoo with my aunt and grandma and! they let you feed giraffes there!!
how wonderful a world and how wonderful a life, where for $10 I can hand feed a giant creature three crispy biscuits. i go “i am feeding the giraffes right now” and go in line to buy the biscuits and return moments later triumphant, 3 biscuits in my grasp
“oh good!” my grandmother says, “one for each of us!”
“yes,” i say, despondent, “one for each of us.”
i wanted to feed all three to the giraffes myself but since i am an actual adult and not a child i do not say this and share the biscuits
second:
my friend group echoes. a lot
someone tells a story and ends it with “and that’s what happened!” and the rest of us will repeat “and that’s what happened!”
often in unison. and it’s constant, all the time, even to little stuff. often said in the tone of “they don’t even have dental”
ok, so we’re back at the los angeles zoo. they have opened the giraffe feeding
i am not going to be thwarted again
my two friends (K and M) get in line to feed them and i go to buy the biscuits. i return with nine biscuits because i am going to give the giraffes three biscuits myself and i do not want to hear a word of protest. i am being fair. i am being equitable. i am sharing. no one can judge me
“wow!” says K. “that’s a lot of biscuits!”
“the cult provides,” i say generously, handing over their share, because what is a friend group if not a small cult
and then, automatically, in unison, like they have so many times before and thinking nothing of what exactly they’re saying, M and K reply, “the cult provides”
two different people in line turn to stare at us while we all blink at each other and then M nervously shouts, “we are definitely not in a cult!” which sounds like something someone who is in a cult might say
and ever since it’s been a running bit where one person says “the cult ____” and everyone echoes it as seriously as possible, no matter where we are or who we’re around
which is to say, OP, that you could be living the dream if your friends weren’t cowards
it’s ok batman we all make mistakes
not doing batman fanart anymore bc nothing can top this