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flomation:

kauvera:

supernatural-aka-tearsandgay:

wiener-cest:

demeaniac:

STOP SCROLLING

straighten your back, mate

NOW GO ON

woah thanks i really needed that today

tumblr user demeaniac doing little favors for tumblr one post at a time

FUCK THIS POST HAS SHOWED UP LIKE 10 TIMES TODAY AND I HAVE BEEN HUNCHED OVER EVERY FUCKING TIME

PLEASE KEEP THIS GOING it is the best reminder for me ever and I always need it omg

I’m lying on the ground.

(via carryonmywaywardstirrup)

Source: demeaniac
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yourbrobrooke:

sockmonkeyrenegade:

nyxocity:

sungodphoebus:

i’M READING ABOUT GOATS IN MYTHOLOGY/FOLKLORE AND I FOUND OUT IN THE MIDDLE AGES GOATS ‘WERE SAID TO WHISPER LEWD SENTENCES IN THE EARS OF SAINTS’ AND I JUST

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NOW IT ALL MAKES SENSE

I was wondering when people were going to realize that “you breed with the mouth of a goat” means “you talk dirty when you fuck.”

THAT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE OH MY GOODNESS

(via carryonmywaywardstirrup)

Source: sungodphoebus
Photo Set

"Imagine; I used to have really long blonde hair, always wearing heels, lots of make-up. I had been someone who was highly feminised and had chosen to look that way, partly because I was 6ft 3in but also I was into that aesthetic. I knew it had to be stripped away. I knew this would be an important part, not just for my work but in terms of my own development, because I would be confronting elements of myself that I didn’t want to confront (…) To see yourself displayed as unattractive, large, masculine, it’s quite tough… But I know it’s just perspective. A social conditioning that causes us to view these traits in a woman in a negative way." — Gwendoline Christie

(via bloodredandicecold)

Source: iheartgot
Photo Set

misskittystryker:

orocarni-mountains:

particlecollisions:

particlecollisions:

Self defence sprays that are legal to carry and use in the United Kingdom

Image 1: Farbgel
Image 2: StoppaRed

I’ve seen a lot of people (mostly women, for reasons which may be obvious) speaking about being worried when going out, be it alone or even with friends, both in the day and at night. I know that a lot of female friends of mine carry around a can of antiperspirant or a pot of pepper to use if they’re ever attacked. What I know a lot of people don’t realise is that there are products out there which work in a violent situation and help in catching the assailant for the best part of a week afterwards.

Known as ‘criminal identifiers’, these sprays are brightly coloured dyes which can be sprayed in the face of an attacker. Unlike things such as CS or Pepper sprays, criminal identifier sprays are legal in the UK.

There’s a few available on the market, with farbgel and Mace’s Stoppared being the mostly highly recommended.

What these sprays do is release a sticky, brightly coloured dye. It’s difficult to wipe away and stains the skin a bright red colour. No matter how hard an attacker might try to remove it from their skin and clothing, the staining typically lasts for around a week and doesn’t even start to fade until after a few days have passed.

Unlike CS and Pepper sprays (which, again, aren’t legal in the UK) criminal identifier sprays don’t cause irritation or pain to an attacker. Instead, they expand and clog up the area sprayed with a kind of sticky foam that’s difficult to wipe away. It should give you enough time to escape and report someone whose face resembles a baboon’s arse to the police.

Each can of the sprays costs around £10 each, though it may be cheaper when buying multiple canisters and if you shop around.

FarbGel 

StoppaRed UV Personal Attack Self-Defence Spray by Mace

This is an original post, but I’ve released it into the public domain. It can be shared, altered, reposted in whole or in part with no need for attribution (though obviously I would appreciate it!)

cc @misandry-mermaid

It should give you enough time to escape and report someone whose face resembles a baboon’s arse to the police.

That’s brilliant

omg yes!

(via bloodredandicecold)

Source: stars-and-spirals
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wsswatson:

skygosh:

wsswatson:

i feel like i’d enjoy being an assassin if it didn’t involve killing people

what if instead of killing people you got hired to just ruin their day.  like the mafia or someone paid you to park behind someone’s car so they can’t back out of a spot when they’re in a rush in the morning and you make them late for work.

i would enjoy that immensely

there is a long list of people that i would gladly do that to without payment

(via carryonmywaywardstirrup)

Source: wsswatson
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omniscient-being:

objectoccult:

Before the availability of the tape recorder and during the 1950s, when vinyl was scarce, people in the Soviet Union began making records of banned Western music on discarded x-rays. With the help of a special device, banned bootlegged jazz and rock ‘n’ roll records were “pressed” on thick radiographs salvaged from hospital waste bins and then cut into discs of 23-25 centimeters in diameter. “They would cut the X-ray into a crude circle with manicure scissors and use a cigarette to burn a hole,” says author Anya von Bremzen. “You’d have Elvis on the lungs, Duke Ellington on Aunt Masha’s brain scan — forbidden Western music captured on the interiors of Soviet citizens.”

THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME

(via bloodredandicecold)

Source: objectoccult
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fuckyeahthespianpeacock:


saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
FULL naked.
REAL naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit retard, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!

I get naked.

FULL naked.

REAL naked.

I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.

No cookies. Blatant nudity.

That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…

And there it was.

This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.

Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.

“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”

Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”

As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.

This was, nearly, one of those.

If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.

My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.

I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:

“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”

And inquiries such as:

“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”

Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit retard, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?

That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.

An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

(via carryonmywaywardstirrup)

Source: mythchief
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awwww-cute:

A bunny and his corn
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bloodredandicecold:

nayomiejade:

plupluru:

queer4you:

stereotypical feminist activities

Spending money on something (created by a woman) and then destroying it. I’m sure the patriarchy is trembling now.

Excuse you, that’s a perfectly good bra you’re burning there. I will take the money you spent on that bra and buy a bra that will actually be used, thanks.

What’s the point in taking your bra off and burning it up if you’re going to cover up your nips anyway

Plus this isn’t a typical feminist, this is the media’s distorted idea of what a feminist stands for. A typical feminist advocates for equality with men. A woman who buys a bra and then burns it is an idiot.

Source: queer4you
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