I love this photo. So many “historical” daguerrotypes show solemn faces (which makes sense if you only have a few photos taken in your life!) But you can practically hear the laughter in the last frame.
This is so cute! :)
(Source: golden-notebook, via justyouraverageginger)
I’m afraid to find out what happens if I click the “Listen with Alison” button.
Does it make her show up here, of do I go there?
Does it give me time to clean up?
Now I’m imagining it opening a video chat session without warning her, and playing the song exactly where she is in it.
I don’t know; it’s just weird.
It’s like having an “Eat with Alison” button after she says she likes Teddy Grahams, or a “Live with Alison” button after she says she’s hanging up a Teddy Grahams poster in her living room, or a “Help Alison” button when she posts a video of herself knitting little clothes for her Teddy Graham family.
(via busybeelauren)
(Source: gr0ssadler, via gabbybranam)
You must accept that’s who he really is.
You must accept you cannot be his
unless he is yours. No compromise.
He is a canvas on which paint never dries;
a clay that never sets, steel that bends
in a breeze, a melody that when it ends
no one can whistle. He is not who
you thought. He’s not. He is a shoe
that walks away: “I will not go where you
want to go.” “Why, then, are you a shoe?”
“I’m not. I have the sole of a lover
but don’t know what love is.” “Discover
it, then.” “Will I have to go where you go?”
“Sometimes.” “Be patient with you?” “Yes.” “Then, no.”
You have to hear what he is telling you
and see what he is; how it is killing you.
(Source: eyesttothesunn)
Dear guy who just made my burrito:
Have you ever been to earth?
On earth, we use the word “burrito” to describe a tortilla filled with things you eat. Pretty simple stuff, and I’m surprised you at least got that part right. My burrito was, in fact, filled with food. In this, you and I agree and are friends. But this is also where my lifelong hatred begins for you and anyone else whose brain has been repeatedly scrubbed with the same mixture of bleach and Pop Rocks as yours has. Because that should have killed you, but left you around long enough to do what you did to me today. Let me explain:
You’re an idiot.
Let me further explain:
Burritos are eaten from one end to the other. So that means when you assemble a burrito with motherfucking ZONES of ingredients from one end to the other, you create a disgusting experience for the burrito’s end user. When you make a burrito, you should put the ingredients in layers lengthwise. That way, every bite has AT LEAST A FUCKING CHANCE of getting at least two types of ingredients, and there is little chance of becoming almost hopelessly trapped in a goddamned cilantro cavern.
Have you ever eaten one of the things you make all fucking day? You should try one. They are pretty good WHEN YOU ARE NOT WILLING YOURSELF THROUGH THE FUCKING EMPIRE OF SOUR CREAM TO GET TO LETTUCE COUNTRY.
When you eat a burrito, you don’t stand it up and bite down on it lengthwise like a fucking Rancor. Humans cannot usually dislocate their jaws to accommodate such methods. But you must think that’s how it’s done, since that would be THE ONLY FUCKING WAY to take a bite of your crapstrosity and have it taste like a burrito and not a multi-stage rocket to the planet Fucking Disgustingupiter.
And guess what else, player? You can’t guess anything, because I’m pretty sure you’re just a mop with a hat on it that fell over and spilled some shit into a tortilla, but just in case, here’s what:
Humans also don’t eat burritos like fucking corn on the cob. Like a fucking typewriter from one end to the other a little at a time and then DING next line. But today I wish I had tried that. Because at least THEN I would be able to eat some rice, then beans, then be all like HEY BEANS I’LL BE RIGHT BACK JUST GOING OVER HERE TO THE GUACAMOLE FOR A SECOND.
Nope.
My experience was more like HEY BEANS IT’S JUST GOING TO BE YOU AND I FOR A MINUTE UNTIL I CAN FUCKING EXCAVATE THE RICE FROM BENEATH YOU BUT BY THEN YOU WILL BE A FADING MEMORY OH HEY I WAS WRONG I’M IN THE FUCKING CHEESEOSPHERE NOW RICE MUST BE NEXT I HOPE IT’S NOT ANOTHER FUCKING SALSA POCKET.
And don’t even fucking think I’m about to open this shit up and re-engineer this nonsense. You and I already know this tortilla was made to maintain its physical integrity for thirty seconds once touched.
In conclusion:
You’re the worst thing that has ever happened to the universe, you owe everyone everywhere an apology for this burritobomination, and I hope your babies look like monkeys.
“For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.”
In the 1920s, Ernest Hemingway bet ten dollars that he could write a complete story in just six words. He wrote and he won, calling it his best piece of writing.
(Source: theworldandback, via michaelfapson-deactivated201109)
