jackfrostciicle:

choosechoice:

Children’s gender roles as imposed on adults. Very ,very, very well done.

thats the reasest shit

(via agentrodgers)

findsomethingtofightfor:

laracroftslover:

nobodycars:

THE HOLY TRINITY

don’t you mean the UNHOLY trinity?

Come with me
And you’ll be
In a world of pure procrastination
findsomethingtofightfor:

laracroftslover:

nobodycars:

THE HOLY TRINITY

don’t you mean the UNHOLY trinity?

Come with me
And you’ll be
In a world of pure procrastination
findsomethingtofightfor:

laracroftslover:

nobodycars:

THE HOLY TRINITY

don’t you mean the UNHOLY trinity?

Come with me
And you’ll be
In a world of pure procrastination

findsomethingtofightfor:

laracroftslover:

nobodycars:

THE HOLY TRINITY

don’t you mean the UNHOLY trinity?

Come with me

And you’ll be

In a world of pure procrastination

(via haus-of-hiddleston)

fuckjamesyouliferuiner:

SAD TRASH BABY
*sobbing* while *laughing*
fuckjamesyouliferuiner:

SAD TRASH BABY
*sobbing* while *laughing*
fuckjamesyouliferuiner:

SAD TRASH BABY
*sobbing* while *laughing*

liviatsang:

i’m laughing so hard at this picture

image

because

image

same

image

chris

image

same

(via suriella)

ohhowiloveunicorns:

someonesthunderboltsomeday:

lsdandthc:

skittlezthecat:

da-sy:

redvinesgiraffe:

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that’s when you met me.

“What… what happened?” You asked. “Where am I?”

“You died,” I said, matter-of-factly. No point in mincing words.

“There was a… a truck and it was skidding…”

“Yup,” I said.

“I… I died?”

“Yup. But don’t feel bad about it. Everyone dies,” I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. “What is this place?” You asked. “Is this the afterlife?”

“More or less,” I said.

“Are you god?” You asked.

“Yup,” I replied. “I’m God.”

“My kids… my wife,” you said.

“What about them?”

“Will they be all right?”

“That’s what I like to see,” I said. “You just died and your main concern is for your family. That’s good stuff right there.”

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn’t look like God. I just looked like some man. Or possibly a woman. Some vague authority figure, maybe. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “They’ll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn’t have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it’s any consolation, she’ll feel very guilty for feeling relieved.”

“Oh,” you said. “So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?”

“Neither,” I said. “You’ll be reincarnated.”

“Ah,” you said. “So the Hindus were right,”

“All religions are right in their own way,” I said. “Walk with me.”

You followed along as we strode through the void. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular,” I said. “It’s just nice to walk while we talk.”

“So what’s the point, then?” You asked. “When I get reborn, I’ll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won’t matter.”

“Not so!” I said. “You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don’t remember them right now.”

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. “Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It’s like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it’s hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you’ve gained all the experiences it had.

“You’ve been in a human for the last 48 years, so you haven’t stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for long enough, you’d start remembering everything. But there’s no point to doing that between each life.”

“How many times have I been reincarnated, then?”

“Oh lots. Lots and lots. An in to lots of different lives.” I said. “This time around, you’ll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 AD.”

“Wait, what?” You stammered. “You’re sending me back in time?”

“Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from.”

“Where you come from?” You said.

“Oh sure,” I explained “I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there are others like me. I know you’ll want to know what it’s like there, but honestly you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh,” you said, a little let down. “But wait. If I get reincarnated to other places in time, I could have interacted with myself at some point.”

“Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own lifespan you don’t even know it’s happening.”

“So what’s the point of it all?”

“Seriously?” I asked. “Seriously? You’re asking me for the meaning of life? Isn’t that a little stereotypical?”

“Well it’s a reasonable question,” you persisted.

I looked you in the eye. “The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature.”

“You mean mankind? You want us to mature?”

“No, just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature and become a larger and greater intellect.”

“Just me? What about everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” I said. “In this universe, there’s just you and me.”

You stared blankly at me. “But all the people on earth…”

“All you. Different incarnations of you.”

“Wait. I’m everyone!?”

“Now you’re getting it,” I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

“I’m every human being who ever lived?”

“Or who will ever live, yes.”

“I’m Abraham Lincoln?”

“And you’re John Wilkes Booth, too,” I added.

“I’m Hitler?” You said, appalled.

“And you’re the millions he killed.”

“I’m Jesus?”

“And you’re everyone who followed him.”

You fell silent.

“Every time you victimized someone,” I said, “you were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you’ve done, you’ve done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you.”

You thought for a long time.

“Why?” You asked me. “Why do all this?”

“Because someday, you will become like me. Because that’s what you are. You’re one of my kind. You’re my child.”

“Whoa,” you said, incredulous. “You mean I’m a god?”

“No. Not yet. You’re a fetus. You’re still growing. Once you’ve lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born.”

“So the whole universe,” you said, “it’s just…”

“An egg.” I answered. “Now it’s time for you to move on to your next life.”

And I sent you on your way.

O_O

yesss i found it again! one of my all time favourite reads.

Philosophy went to the max right here

OI SCROLL BACK UP AND READ ALL OF IT!

I was really intrigued by this

This is one of my favorite thank gosh I found it

(via george-harrisons-right-eyebrow)


requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl

requested by im-forever-a-fangirl
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college
aspookyblackghost:

college

maliciousmelons:

if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it

image

(via sorelatable)

avotica:

roshi-no-tabi:

lickystickypickyshe:

Most condoms are made of superthin latex, to help a man forget that he’s wearing one. But the Origami Condom, one of the designs spotlighted by the Gates Foundation, is intended to be felt. Its accordion-like silicone folds allow it to slip onto the penis more easily than a rolled condom, and generate pleasurable friction while in use. The Origami Condom has a roomier tip than a traditional condom and a lubricated interior, which creates additional tactile sensation as the wearer moves—the difference between wrapping yourself in plastic wrap versus silk sheets.

The designer, Danny Resnic, who began working on the project after a broken condom left him HIV-positive, is developing three types of Origami Condoms: a male version, which is still undergoing trials and modifications and which he plans to market as a gender-neutral “outer condom”; a female version, or “inner condom”; and the first-ever anal condom.

That’s amazing.  This man underwent (and is undergoing, unless someone cured HIV without telling me) something awful, and has dedicated time to seeking improvements to a design to try to stop bad things from happening to anyone else.  That’s how you do it.  Kudos, Danny Resnic.

Website

(via luciferofficial)

rangerkimmy:

driftingfocus:

Take note: this is how to properly disarm someone. Always go to the outside of the arm, not the inside.

ah yes I have been doing it wrong the whole time it seems cowering in fear was not the first step

rangerkimmy:

driftingfocus:

Take note: this is how to properly disarm someone. Always go to the outside of the arm, not the inside.

ah yes I have been doing it wrong the whole time it seems cowering in fear was not the first step

(via sixpenceee)

aki13th:

excavations-of-your-heart:

ei-nari:

harryashe:

Wtf

okay NO JUST NO.

Based on the cliche categories, vague explanations, and contextually limited examples, I’m going to guess the author wasn’t thinking too hard when they wrote this. The references to a school environment as well as the level of writing ability gives the impression of early teens, probably around 12-14, and the closing statement exhibits a primarily masculine viewpoint (“if your girl has all of [these traits], you are lucky”). On top of that, the lack of contractions is characteristic of an early approach to writing essays intended to sound professional or informative. This fall-back style becomes especially prominent when the writer has flimsy or poorly-presented arguments, or when they have a weak understanding of their own reasoning.
In short, it’s a safe guess that the author of this article is a young male trying to give the impression of intelligence as he presents arguments drawn from his peers (male and female, judging from the age group). He believes these arguments wholeheartedly, but it’s clear he has trouble giving them much weight or clarity. Therefore, this article does less to make its intended point than it does to expose the influences felt by middle schoolers.

image

(via theaadventureye)

thestrayline:

Clint told him to do it for the vine
thestrayline:

Clint told him to do it for the vine
thestrayline:

Clint told him to do it for the vine
thestrayline:

Clint told him to do it for the vine

thestrayline:

Clint told him to do it for the vine

(via ruinedchildhood)