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Seventeen Cats on a Red Brick Road

other country: wow we solved drug crimes by doing this and the problem is practically completely resolved
america: there is just no stopping the war on drugs........
other country: we have the most successful schools because we implement these rules to encourage real learning
america: no hope....... kids just cant cut it anymore........
other country: gun related crime is all but non existent thanks to our restrictions
america: wow..... if only there was some way to stop these shootings before they happened..............
other country: nothing bad has happened as a result of our equal marriage/bathroom laws for lgbt
america: if only there was a way.............................



my favourite kitty bootstrap died today and im never gonna forget her

im never gonna forget how we found her at a party loitering by a puddle of puke outside cause she was a stray and likely hadnt eaten anything in a long ass time

im never gonna forget how jack and i wrestled her into a box and then into davids bathtub

im never gonna forget staying up all night while half drunk petting her and giving her love

im never gonna forget how beat up she looked when we first found her

im never gonna forget how good her fur looked after even a few weeks of having a home 

im never gonna forget how shed do her best to jump up on the bed at the hostel and then purr at you until you pissed her off

im never gonna forget how happy she was to have a family

and im gonna miss her like crazy cause even though she wasnt my cat she was still my cat

and im just sad that i couldnt go visit her before she passed

but im happy because she had a warm, loving, happy life for her last year and a half on the earth

we’ll miss you bootstrap

rest in peace baby

She was your kitty too, love. And we’re gonna have a get together for her, when Mataya gets home. This is a really nice post, thank you.

She was all of ours, or we were all hers. She made us her family as much as we made her part of ours.


Cat photo dump. Bootstraps likes knees


I hope one day to do anything with as much confidence as Aaron Tveit’s entrance in “One Day More” at the Oscars


I hope one day to have Aaron Tveit enter me with as much confidence as this.

(via hulklinging)

I once told a joke about a straight person.

They came after me in droves.

Each one singing the same:

Don’t fight fire with fire.


What they mean is: Don’t fight fire with anything.

Do not fight fire with water.

Do not fight fire with foam.

Do not evacuate the people.

Do not sound the alarms.

Do not crawl coughing and choking and spluttering to safety.

Do not barricade the door with damp towels.

Do not wave a white flag out of the window.

Do not take the plunge from several storeys up.

Do not shed a tear for your lover trapped behind a wall of flame.

Do not curse the combination of fuel, heat, and oxygen.

Do not ask why the fire fighters are not coming.


When they say: Don’t fight fire with fire.

What they mean is: Stand and burn.

—    Stand and Burn by Claudia Boleyn.  (via claudiaboleyn)

(via feeshed)






Who the fuck named the Sahara Desert anyway

Sahara is just the Arabic word for “deserts”

You fucking named it the Desert Desert

way to fucking go

chai tea

I’ll take “European Imperialists Who Never Bothered To Translate The Local Languages” for $200, Alex.

River Avon

Table Mesa.

The La Brea Tar Pits.

(via dagontreadswater)

They’ll scatter a little earth, and thank their God

(Source: roryomalley)


E n d l e s s  L i s t  o f  F a v o r i t e  C h a r a c t e r s :

Billy Kaplan - Wiccan

"We don’t just act like Avengers anymore…we are Avengers.”

(via hulklinging)

“ The talk test is a simple way to measure relative intensity. As a rule of thumb, if you’re doing moderate-intensity activity you can talk, but not sing, during the activity. ”


Centers for Disease Control and Prevention



have you

 ever seen

a musical?



I don’t even know why I’m aloud on the Internet anymore.





On deviantART

bro you got aloooot of notes




(Source: iiyoku, via meu-meu-meulin)

(Source: dan-egans, via paininthearsenic)

If you’re going to call someone ‘insane' or a 'psycho' as a means to deride them, to dismiss them, to treat them as less than human, maybe first you should sit down with me so I can explain to you what you are saying.

I can tell you what it was like to be helped into an ambulance as blood soaked through my jeans from a wound I didn’t even feel.

I can tell you about the girl who shook in my arms crying her way through flashbacks, and more importantly about her activism, her volunteer work, her strength in supporting her friends.

I can tell you about medications making me manic, making me numb, making me nauseous, giving me headaches, blinding me in daylight, making me forget the day of the week twice in an hour, making me lose whole days, making me gain and lose alarming amounts of weight, making me unable to come, making me sleep two hours a night or sixteen, making me miserable, and making me discover for the first time what the feeling of contentment is like.

I can tell you about one of the most giving and caring people I know eating a head of lettuce and two crackers in a week, having full-body shakes and crying in loud hiccups over a half-cup of Ensure.

I can tell you about the queer activist who scrapes together the money for anti-anxiety pills because there is work and the work needs to be done.

I can tell you about the schoolmate who weathered cruel jokes about her suicide attempts without blinking, who lost her shit quietly in her room in the dead of night and aced art and chemistry and mathematics by day, who watched over me like a mother bear when I was scared and alone.

I can tell you about showing up to ED group with my face and neck crosshatched with box-cutter slashes and feeling like a freak not because of that but because I wasn’t an affluent middle-aged blonde woman.

I can tell you about holding vigil, waiting to know whether a tough-as-nails girl was strong enough to survive opening both radial arteries.

I can tell you exactly how it felt to have three bags of cold saline drain into my arm through an eighteen gauge needle while I watched my heart rate hover around fifty BPM after I overdosed on painkillers and antipsychotics.

I can tell you all of these things knowing that the people in these stories are real humans, good people. Strong people, deserving of love and admiration. Not scapegoats or monkeys in a cage. Not walking diagnoses. Not monsters under the bed. Not punchlines.


he has a point

(Source: groovy-rnutations, via hulklinging)


My dad’s pretty dang rad.

(this was a protest against the pipelines, in my hometown. 1000 people came out. I love my hometown.)

(Source: hulklinging)