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I work at Waffle House. Recently we lost power overnight, and I got some cool pictures. No flash in the last image of the back room, just the emergency lights. Front doors were locked during this

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I literally cant fucking breathe 

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i hope a ceiling fan falls on the empty spot in the bed next to you and it starts understanding your needs

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its so sweet to me whenever a reconstruction of a neanderthal's face shows up on social media and people are like "oh they would have loved minecraft" "they would have loved weed brownies" it's so sweet. i hope that continues on to the next stage of human evolution. i want whoever comes next to dig me up, reconstruct my face, and for the girlbloggers of this far-flung civilization to go "duuuude she would have loved churfing back a freefing zarbee"

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"average cat owner spends 3 years in prison" factoid actualy just statistical error. average owner spends 0 years in prison. Miette's mother, who kicked her body like the football and went to jail for One Thousand Years is an outlier adn should not have been counted

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I'm trying to get ready for a date but I can't stop listening to the mess inside? And that is not the vibe not the vibe

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God I fucking hate Olaf the snowman so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every frame he’s in, every scene, every gif, every jpeg, he’s got this painfully vacant, stupid as shit, fuckass look on his stupid lumpy face. Absolutely no part of his ugly as sin piece of shit character design is endearing. His stupid fucking legs? Who the hell makes a snowman with legs. His dumb flaily fucking twig arms? His shitty, lumpy bastard head? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking SNOW BUCK TOOTH that no snowman has EVER FUCKING HAD IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD’S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate him. I hate him so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a stuffed toy Olaf or an Olaf gif or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I’m overcome by the need to punt this shitty little homunculus into the fucking sun. “Bhurr blur, I’m Olaf the fuckshit snow fucker, I like warm hugs”. Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like Tow Mater summoned a patronus. Your dumb fucking twig hair makes your whole shitty head look like a hairy skin tag. I hate your dumb fucking lumpy carrot nose and your stupid, empty googly eyes and your over-the-top goofy ass upbeat asshole personality. Any scene he’s sad it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That’s the worst part. I know he’s just a shitty fucking side character in a stupid fucking children’s movie, I know it doesn’t matter, I know I shouldn’t care. But that’s part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether inconsequential. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing character design utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate him. I hate him on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world’s array of sinners, and I can’t even begin to justify it. Shitstick the snow dick is, for all intents and purposes, the animated corpse of all of humanity’s saccharine pretenses- every condescending, passive-aggressive statement of meaningless upper middle class suburban drama distilled into a single, hateable form. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate him so much. I hate him so, so fucking much. I want to light his ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat him to death with his own stupid fucking nose. I want to punch him to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It’s EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it’s disgust. The wordless knowledge that his existence as a fictional work is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this fictional snowman

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five night's at diddy's. p diddy's freakeria

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p ib p diddy is short fro predator

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tumblr users will see the word shrimp and black out and hit reblog without reading the rest of the post

🦐

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Personally assaulting everyone got me 50 likes why does tumblr offer this automatically? These posts are for me tbh

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genuinely wanna know what the hubbub is about

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i fucking love the meat shots its like woah meat

I think I'd enjoy this saints forsaken show a lot more if we could just stop zooming in on peoples orifices, showing a 2000s cgi of their internal organs. Or at least not so often.

I get it. There's meat in there. It's doing meat things, but somehow not the correct meat things and it's upsetting the rest of the meat.

I just don't need to see it. It's a show about malfunctioning meat, I knew that when I hit play.

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so many people go on here and call her by the wrong pronouns :/

babygirl

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columboposting

fucking sucks ass that detective is a subtype of cop or always some type of law enforcement. a detective should be someone who is a master of disguise, a weirdo, socially maligned, and hated by the police. he should solve the cases using his ultra specific knowledge about geography, linguistics, human biology, and cigar ashes