Tag: textt

swearwolvez:

youre-a-fucking-human-being:

ua86:

hardboiledoldman:

travelling-cat-salesman:

pon-raul:

psyducked:

please raise your children to wash their hands after they use the restroom I’ve watched too many men walk straight out of the bathroom from the stall without a second thought and it’s keeping me up at night

I mean if you taking a piss who cares if you don’t wash your hands, unless you just like go full power and spray yourself like a out of control fire hose

stay the fuck away from me

people who wash their hands after peeing are weak and must be culled

The only excuse for not washing your hands after you piss is mastering the art of pissing without touching your genitals.

You wash your hands every time you touch your dick? How grimy is your dick?

I’m literally never shaking a man’s hand ever again in my life y’all need jesus

nekosol:

malfvoys:

alright disney,,,,,,if yall are really going to be going on some ‘live action remake of all our old cartoon movies spree’ then listen up,,,,,atlantis. do you hear me?atlantis the lost empire (2001). diverse cast. strong plot. good moral lessons that kids will understand. everything. no more cinderella no more snow white no more sleeping blondie. a t l a n t i s

If I get to see the giant lobster break their submarine in top quality cgi I am literally gonna die

smuganimebitch:

smuganimebitch:

i don’t really think the relationship between generation z and millennials is comparable to the relationship between baby boomers and millennials

mostly because largely speaking. baby boomers are the parents of millennials but millennials aren’t the parents of generation z

your older sibling telling you you’re an idiot for eating laundry detergent just isn’t the same thing as your parents berating you for not having a job in a shitty economy

whitebear-ofthe-watertribe:

broliloquy:

chasecharmer:

entropy-and-inkblots:

chasecharmer:

pretty sure I went to purgatory today

do tell

Ok So 

today, friday 13th, i had two things scheduled to happen. 1 was taking my drivers test (not really relevant to the purgatory thing but i feel the need to include it on the basis of friday 13th fuckery), 2 was picking up my diploma. as it turns out, somewhere between home and the dmv a taillight went out, so the administrator wouldnt let me take the test, and rescheduled me to NOVEMBER. so thats how my 9am went. 

with that under our hats, me and my mom went to find my diploma. 

it started bad. google maps did not recognize the address as existing. it took us several tries to convince it there was a west school avenue in anywhere but california, and when we finally did, the street names didn’t match. some of them just didn’t match the physical signs, but others changed or disappeared in the map itself. and as we approached, we discovered that the facility we were looking for was not only off the road, but the only way to get to it was through a backwoods neighborhood, inhabited EXCLUSIVELY by hicks sitting on their porches and judging us for some unknown sin. 

finally, google says we’ve arrived. surely not, we whisper. please no. jesus christ. we’re faced with what appears to be a small penitentiary, the front of which is plain white with massive blinded windows, and the only parking in sight is through a gigantic chain-link fence. there is no signage anywhere whatsoever to indicate whether we’re allowed in, but there’s nowhere else to stop without blocking the teeny little road, so we pull in. the energy of this place is absolutely befuckened. we’re talking deserted. the parking lot is jam-packed, but there’s not a human in sight. it’s not a closed building either, more like a campus, with dozens of doors opening onto little courtyard areas. the doors are all either unmarked or covered in seemingly arbitrary words and numbers. some of them have strangely large locks and no knobs. some of them have keypads. 

well by now we’re both thoroughly fuckin spooked, so my mom calls my dad to explain we were gonna be a little uh late and i go to find. something. anything. civilization, perhaps. i find a little hallway to the front of the building, where i can now see a gigantic sign declaring the name of the facility. the letters are two feet tall, but the exact same color as the roofing behind them. they are not faded. they were painted that way. beneath them is an easily 4-meter-tall arched metal gate, which is the only opening on the entire front of the otherwise clean building, and, therefore, logically represents the main entrance. 

directly inside and left of the gate is a door with a cartoonishly large keypad lock and a sign which reads ‘NOT AN ENTRANCE.’ there are no arrows and no directions. 

i turn around and head the opposite direction, down a long hall. at the end of it is a set of double doors which are shrouded in darkness. i’m about 30 feet away when there’s a flicker of movement behind the doors. then, out of the shadows, steps an old hick. “you look lost.” he says. “y-eAh” i reply. he enquires what i’m there for, and i explain my diploma. he directs me to a door next to a blue car. there is no logical way for the car to be inside the buildings courtyard, but it is no less next to a door. as i turn to see where i’m being directed, a young woman seemingly materializes in the middle of the hallway perpendicular to us, walking briskly. without slowing she turns to me, says “she’s making a pb&j sandwich,” and carries on her way. when i turn around the man is gone. when i turn back, she’s gone too. i run for my mom. 

ngl at this point im dead fucking sure she wont be where i left her and when i find her the car will be gone and we’ll be trapped in this hellhole if we don’t get out before sunset, but she’s there, and we go and enter the door. inside we can hear idle chatter from an adjacent office. after a few seconds a woman comes out. she does not ask who we are. she asks whose diploma we want. we tell her mine. she pulls it out of a stack of loose paper, hands it to us without another solitary word, and bids us farewell. 

mom drove outta there about 70mph and tbh i wouldve done the same that was an evil place and i do not plan on returning 

You went to Hell’s waiting room

“the energy of this place is absolutely befuckened” 

this might be my new favorite phrase 

asynca:

vexj:

cheezitslut:

pulpgang:

“real life doesnt have trigger warnings” imagine supermarkets taking all of the allergy warnings off of all of the foods and then being like “sorry sweetie, welcome to the real world (:” when everyone started going into anaphylactic shock

Or movies stop having previews or ratings and 5 year olds are crying in Quentin Tarantino movies and their parents are saying “time to grow up (:”

lmao sjws and their fuckin wet floor signs

At our industry conference in May, a speaker got up in front of 600 people, managers from banks, telcos, creditors, debt collectors, etc and said, “I’m about to talk about family violence. So if that’s going to be difficult for anyone to listen to, I suggest now would be a good time for you to go and grab a cup of coffee from the cafeteria.”

The real world does have trigger warnings. Everywhere. 

jerseyfiredragon20:

thewhaleridingvulcan:

crystalsoulslayer:

I always hate it when people are all “so do you go to school, or are
you working, or” and I either have to

  • make up some lie, or
  • eventually get
    around to “I am not working because of depression/anxiety,” and
    subsequently have to deal with whatever bullshit-riddled and completely
    unsolicited opinions on mental illness this stranger feels obligated to
    share with me.

So my therapist was like, “You don’t have to do either.
You can just say you haven’t worked in a while because you’re recovering
from an illness.”

I tried it when the home inspector was here today, and it fucking worked.
He was like, “oh, I’m sorry, are you doing better now,” and I’m like
yeah, and don’t worry, it’s not contagious, awkward laugh, and we moved
on.

MY THERAPIST. IS A GENIUS. Because it is an
illness, so it’s not a lie to say that, and it’s also none of his
business to know specifically what it is, and I clearly don’t want to
give more details, so we should move on from this topic. MY THERAPIST IS A GODDAMN GENIUS.

Dude I needed this. I never know what to say when people ask if I work because I’m severely disabled and don’t work.

REBLOG TO SAVE A LIFE HOLY SHIT

the-modern-typewriter:

It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? We always paint evil as either very beautiful or very ugly. Never just ordinary. Perhaps because we always think of ourselves as ordinary people and oh, oh the monsters could never be like us. There has to be some secret to telling.