A Kid in Sitting in Front of Me on my Flight was Sending a Nice Message to his Sister

i think his funniest tweet is the pic of just the oval office but it has a gamer chair 

The last time I played Puck, the director was a huge freak about not letting us wear shoes on stage because it would "ruin the look", but we all kept eating shit, and instead of just letting us wear skintone dance shoes or something with grip, motherfucker poured Pepsi on the floor so it'd be sticky and we had to schlorp around. I fucking hate you, David.

Why couldn't this have been a one time I dreamt

Coking the stage (mopping it with diluted soda so it's a little sticky) is a legitimate low-budget tactic for slick floors, but he just poured so much Pepsi on the floors that for about a whole week, it was audible.

Maybe the course of true love would run a little fucking smoother if we didn't have to ford your Pepsi river, DAVID.

I would just quit. Fuck people like that. It's easy to walk away

No it's not. Didn't you read the post? There was dried Pepsi everywhere.

Tbh some of the tags on this are great but nothing will come close to this masterpiece

STOP PUTTING MY BAD TAGS WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE.

This is potentially life saving information everyone should know.

No you guys this post helped me find my cat. He was missing for almost a month and I’ve had him for over 12 years. After seeing this I put his favorite blanket he always slept on outside hoping he would smell mine or his scent and he was back the next fucking day asleep on it.

When my cat got out, we called and called for him, and then, later that night, I remembered similar advice to this, and so put his little scratching pad, which he adores, on the front porch. Not even half an hour later, I heard a thump, opened the door, and there was his big butt, meowing at me.

Important and vital

I don’t care that I reblogged this today I’m reblogging it again

Have done. Works. Dog or cat.

Sorry for who-posting in the year 2019 but the Doctor is actually so named because he wrote and successfully defended a dissertation at an accredited university whereas the Master completed a 2-year graduate program in his chosen field, which points to the existence of a third less-advanced and less-specialized counterpart, the Bachelor

The Bachelor is never seen in the show because he’s still living with his parents on Gallifrey, listlessly applying for jobs and stress-eating

I thought the bachelor was being fought over by 12 women in a big house

😭😭😭😭

I found more on this:

Just thought I’d share this YouTube comment I saw on a FMAB review 😂

I don’t know if I ever told you guys but I had this history teacher in high school who was OBSESSED with George Washington. Like…he thought George had the most beautiful eyes. And when we had to go over past presidents, he dedicated a whole week to Washington. 3 days of that week were just looking at pictures of George Washington and hearing him say, “look at his eyes…they hold secrets. He’s beautiful, but manly as hell. He’s a man’s man. He’s my ideal hero. He’s everything” and he had a giant painting of Washington above his desk. My teacher was not okay

He also had a bit of a crush on Theodore Roosevelt and he said if he had been alive back then, he would have written letters to Roosevelt saying how much he loved him. He described him as a “soft looking bear with power and love”

@letitrainathousandflames You have the best ideas!

this is ojisama to neko, and this is just a preview for the series! the first chapter comes out on Feb 22nd x

@manjuliahalala

Signature

It’s a few days following the Promised Day. Al is regaining his strength, although it happens slowly. Ed, save for the occasional spike of pain through the puncture wound in his arm and the dull soreness in his body, is more or less back to normal. He still has a lot to do before the two of them can leave for good—accounts to close, resignation forms to hand in to the military, personal budgets to balance, tabs to pay. What may be weeks’ worth of paperwork he needs to get sorted out before he can finally close the military chapter of his life. He plans to get the jump on it while Al recovers, so the two can return to Resembool as soon as Al’s ready.

So hardly 72 hours following his defeat of Father, Ed is standing at the hospital check-out desk, running through a mental laundry list of loose ends he has to tie up. He flies through the hospital check-out form—name and date of birth and signature and home town. The secretary at the desk takes the papers and makes a small noise. It stops Ed just as he turns to leave. “You’re not 18 yet, are you?” she asks.

“No. Why?” “Then you need someone to sign the parent or guardian line. You can’t check yourself out until you’re 18.” “I’m a state alchemist. I’m pretty sure that qualifies me to check myself out of a hospital if I want.” “Sorry. These are different rules.”

Biting back a comment, Ed twists back down the hallway. He keeps his eyes peeled for the names on the door, hoping (though he knows he’s wrong) that maybe Hohenheim stuck around for a suture or two. He passes Mustang, who can’t help but comment, “You’re in a rush today.” “Of course I am. I’ve got about 800 different forms to sign before the military cuts me loose, and I can’t even check myself out without a parent’s signature. Where’s my stupid excuse for a father?”

He doesn’t stop to gauge Mustang’s reaction. He rounds corners, climbs stairs, sharp eyes bouncing back and forth from room card to room card. Nothing with “Hohenheim” on it. Nothing even close. His arm aches—both do, actually—but he hardly notices past the aggravation brewing in his mind.

And after 20 minutes of rounds, he ends up back at the secretary’s desk, more flushed than before, arms folded over his chest. “My dad’s not here. How much do I have to pay you off to let me go?” She looks up at him, somewhat confused, and somehow much more tired than before. She blinks behind dusty glasses. “Oh…No, you’re free to leave now. …I guess.”

“Well why didn’t you tell me before?” Ed asks. She pulls his form out and pushes it back to him. Ed takes it, turns it, scans it. All the parts he’d filled out are still there, but the bottom has changed since he last saw it. On the line, in tight blue ink, is “Col. R. Mustang, (Military Commander)” Ed blinks, brow knitted, because the line goes on: “Lt. R. Hawkeye” is looped in neat cursive beside it. Black ink below: “Izumi Curtis” then in thick blockish letters, just the word “Sig”. Taking up the most space, and done in the neatest, most brilliant cursive font: “Major Alexander Louis Armstrong”. To its right is an almost flat line, with just enough bumps to perhaps say “Gen. Olivier Armstrong”. A flowery “Maria Ross” and a messy “Denny Brosh” (both in to visit Major Armstrong). A “Zampano”. A “Jerso”. A “Heinkel”. A “Darius”. “Tim Marcoh” is squished in the paper’s dwindling space. “Kain Fury” “Heymans Breda” “Vato Falman”…

Ed glances up to the secretary, who looks suddenly so tired. “We just… At least one of those is…probably valid. You’re free to go. You’re released.” Ed nods, smiling and peddling backwards. His one metal leg clanks with each step. “Right, thank you!”

The secretary leans over her desk, shouting to keep up with his happily retreating figure. “Just so you know, these are official documents. Patient protocol is not a game. It doesn’t reflect well on me if your Colonel thinks it’s okay to round up half the hospital to sign–this is not a “get well” card–just…Please tell him not to do this again!”

“Oh sure thing,” Ed shouts back. “But that depends on how difficult you plan to be with Al.”

THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL! *sniffs*

please watch brooklyn nine-nine

hoooOw dare you detective diaz i am your supIORIOR OFFICER! (BONE!!!!)whathappensinmybedroomdetectiveis none of your business (!boOoOoNE?!) dont, ever, speak to me like that again.

I’ve already reblogged this scene but the last comment is a masterclass in punctuation and vocal emphasis.

How I imagine Kylo Ren in any relationship:

you know, i’m willing to say that imagine dragon’s radioactive is a legitimate banger, however, no part of me will ever be able to defend that stupid ‘breathing in the chemicals’ sound, ever

I’m breathing in…

the chemicals

GHKKUHHHHh

AHhhh

and that’s the story of how Ozpin recruited Qrow.

Imagine that you’re twenty years old. You were born in 1996. You were five years old on 9/11. For as long as you can remember, the United States has been at war.

When you are twelve, in 2008, the global economy collapses. After years of bluster and bravado from President George W. Bush — who encouragedconsumerism as a response to terror — it seems your country was weaker than you thought.

In America, the bottom falls out fast. The adults who take care of you struggle to take care of themselves. Perhaps your parent loses a job. Perhaps your family loses its home.

In 2009, politicians claim the recession is over, but your hardship is not. Wages are stagnant or falling. The costs of health care, child care, and tuition continue to rise exponentially. Full-time jobs turn into contract positions while benefits are slashed. Middle-class jobs are replaced with low-paying service work. The expectations of American life your parents had when you were born — that a “long boom” will bring about unparalleled prosperity — crumble away.

Baby boomers tell you there is a way out: a college education has always been the key to a good job. But that doesn’t seem to happen anymore. The college graduates you know are drowning in student debt, working for minimum wage, or toiling in unpaid internships. Prestigious jobs are increasinglyclustered in cities where rent has tripled or quadrupled in a decade’s time. You cannot afford to move, and you cannot afford to stay. Outside these cities, newly abandoned malls join long abandoned factories. You inhabit a landscape of ruin. There is nothing left for you.

Every now and then, people revolt. When you are fifteen, Occupy Wall Street captivates the nation’s attention, drawing attention to corporate greed and lost opportunity. Within a year, the movement fades, and its members do things like set up “boutique activist consultancies.” When you are seventeen, the Fight for 15 workers movement manages to make higher minimum wage a mainstream proposition, but the solutions politicians pose are incremental. No one seems to grasp the urgency of the crisis. Even President Barack Obama, a liberal Democrat — the type of politician who’s supposed to understand poverty — declares that the economy has recovered.

I know stuff like this has been a topic of conversation on my dash for years but this bit was a nice articulation: