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Okay but my biggest bitch about living by a meth lab is how desensitized you get to the smell of burning wire. Like, a few months ago, we smelled burning wire in our house and we both went "oh the neighbors are cooking". But finally Spouse goes "um hey you can't smell this outside" and it turns out my couch went Maximum Overdrive and melted my charging wire. Then this morning I go to my mom's and smell burning wire but ONLY ON HER PORCH. We call Dad the Electrician home from work, and it turned out that the circuit board on his grill melted. Dad the Electrician smelled it this morning when he left for work a whole 4 hours prior, but waved it off because he thought it was Our Local Chemist. So, yeah. Merica?

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I keep my spirits up with a different motivational background every day.

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I sure hope no one tells Anish Kapoor about this.

Wake up kids, new extreme paint dropped

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this sign left no survivors

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I just really like this tweet

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More Ghost Bros for the spooky season.

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I Declare Sept. 22 to Nov. 1 as Haunting Season

Here in America, Halloween is a holiday of ambiance. With decor, celebration, and lots of tasty treats. But for a lot of us, it goes much deeper than that and the modern American ideal of Halloween just isn't enough. Today marks the Autumnal Equinox, where night and day are in accordance, and with that comes a familiar feeling for lovers of the macabre. Death lingers in the air, ready to shake leaves loose from the trees; standing in wait to ferry souls to our world for a short time. This time of year, historically, is for harvest, gathering, and appreciation for the lives we're able to live. Also historically, to be thankful for life is to understand and respect death. We celebrate this spooky season to keep the balance; for with all life, there is always death. We honour the dead, we celebrate them, we commiserate them. Folks who live within those old ways truly understand that this season is far more important than candy and costume. We prepare for Winter, we give thanks to those living and those dead, we reflect on life and what it means to us. This time of year is not only a cute celebration for gathering candy and playing dress-up. No, Autumn is a time for humbling the hubris of mankind, for we all perish.  This spooky season, think about what everything means to you and learn new ways to respect it all. Also, be sure to wear your most terrifying representation of your favorite demon and decorate accordingly, for the dead will soon walk among us and we must make them feel welcome. Happy Haunting

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I wanna start a booty shorts company w @villageviking

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Gordon Ramsey fursona reveal!

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What Do Trees Think Of

What Do Trees Think Of

I wonder what trees think of? I only wonder this because I recently recalled a story my parents used to tell when I was young. A forest at the edge of town that stood like an impossible wall of darkness. Most ever went in the forest; everyone knew the stories. Many told tales of folks going in and never coming out. Some stories told of monsters and otherworldly creatures living there. I’m not sure what I believed, I just know I was always afraid. Which, I suppose that was the point of the tales; to keep kids out of the woods where they’d most likely be injured by completely normal means. Nonetheless, that forest held a mystical notion to anyone who grew up this way. Throughout my life, there were dozens of news stories about missing people, who were last known to be going hiking or camping in those woods. But, honestly, the real stories never scared me as much as the woods from the stories. I always thought it was kind of funny that I feared stories about trees more than going on a hike and being mauled by wild animals. 

I recall being able to see the forest from the highway on the way to the city. From far enough away, it looked to be a line of green trees, and then just black. Beyond the first treeline, you couldn’t see the forest floor. I was knowledgeable enough to know that this was just a very dense forest, but that didn’t stop my feeling that it was something more. Over time, I suppose folks stopped telling the stories to me because I was older. There was no reason to put the fear in me any longer, it was seeded quite deep. I stopped thinking about it for the most part. It became like a faint fire in the back of my mind. I would only acknowledge its existence while passing it on the highway. By that point, my feelings about the forest were that it was simply haunted. Like a silly campfire ghost story or a myth you pass on to your younger cousin but embellished because you enjoy seeing the fear run through him. I had become like most others in town, only thinking of the forest briefly when another person went missing. “Those are dangerous woods, I just don’t know what compels folks to keep trying to camp in there”, my father would say each time. 

When I reached high school, the most you would hear about it was juniors and seniors daring each other to enter the woods. The foolish antics of angsty renegades brought on by the sheer lack of concession and entertainment in a small town. Even as I went through those years, I had no interest in the forest. It wasn’t until I was grown, with a child of my own that I remembered just how scared I was. I was laying my daughter down for bed one night, and she asked for a story. She would often do this, and I obliged because it got her to sleep faster. I rummaged through her books, and both of us agreed that they had been read far too many times. So, I thought for a moment of a story to tell, and the forest came to mind like a bullet that had been chasing me for decades. I told her the story of the forest just as it was told to me. 

She cried, and I read her one of the stories that had been read too many times instead.  The forest story was not a good idea. 

The fire had been lit. I recalled all my fear for the forest in an instant, and I struggled to fully understand why I felt that way about it. I suppose, from my perspective, I had written it off as stories my parents would tell and nothing more. But those very stories had instilled great fear in me. Honestly, I was kind of miffed about that, so I decided to fix it. The next day I went to the store and bought some camping gear. A tent, lanterns, backpacks, canteens, solar-powered cell phone chargers, seven packs of lighters, and various other bits and bobs. All the standard camping gear a family would need. I convinced my wife and daughter to go on a camping trip the next weekend, they seemed delighted. My daughter didn’t remember the story I had told her, and my wife grew up in another town. They didn’t have the same fear. But to me, the fear had been sewn so deep that I was angry at it. It was childish and needed to be conquered. Decades I had spent ignoring this beautiful part of my home, and all because of children's tales. 

That weekend, we headed to the forest for a fun family camping adventure. In about thirty minutes we came to a dilapidated parking lot, overgrown with weeds and shrubbery. An opening in the treeline revealed a trail that seemingly hadn’t been used in years. We loaded up all our gear and entered the woods. I had to cut back some greenery to clear the path, it did look like no one had step foot there in years. We pressed into the darkness of the forest, and the deeper we got, the more it seemed normal. The pressing darkness felt more like a bit of welcome cool shade on a hot summer day. The forest was darker than outside, for sure, but only due to the thick canopy. I felt good, nothing about being in the forest gave me that fear. I felt like I was overcoming it. 

We stayed the night, no excitement, just a nice relaxing time with family. It was serene and beautiful. The next morning we packed up and hiked out of the wood, got in the car, and left. That was that; no fear, nothing bad, just forest. I still wondered what the trees were thinking though. I’ve always wondered that. On the drive home I wondered if they thought we were beautiful in the same way we do for them. I got lost in this thought. I pondered on the personality of trees, how they communicate with each other, how they grow with each other, and how they see things happening below them each day for centuries. I suppose I must have been lost in thought so much that I don’t remember getting home. The whole trip seemed like a blur, but when I ‘came to’, so to speak, I was home. For a moment I was confused, my memories playing tricks on me. I felt like this home was not mine, like I was in the wrong place. I assumed this feeling came about because of my daydream while traveling, so I shook it off and settled in. I always enjoyed being home, just nestled in place. My feet reaching through the soil, arms outstretched into the sky, feeling the wind blow through my hair, my body creaking slightly as it too is moved in the wind. It always feels good to be home. It feels good to always be home. I wonder what trees think of.

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The fae smiled, sharply: “Give me your name, child.”

“Uhhhhh. Stick.”

“What.”

“Does Leaf work better? I’m just kinda looking around this clearing. Look, I’m trans, I haven’t decided on one yet, I’m throwing some spaghetti at the wall, you know how it is.”

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Whispers

A voice whispered through the phone today. 

Sitting at work, your small ‘L’ shaped desk wrapped around either side; nestled in the corner like it would protect you from the burden of your employment, which in turn would protect you from the burden that said employment was not enough. It was one of those days where everything feels off just a bit. Like, when you woke up that morning, you couldn’t shake off that last bit of sleep. You go through your routine in a daze. You get in your car and ready to leave when you stop to rub your eyes. You think for a moment, perhaps you shouldn’t drive, as you feel quite tired. But you put the car in gear anyways. “It's okay”, you think, “I’m going to work. That’s the responsible thing to do”. 

It was not the responsible thing to do. 

Off you went and, as luck would have it, you made it to work safely. Just before you get out of the car, you feel like you’ve forgotten something. You key into the office building where you’ve spent the majority of the past 5 years. The lights blink on above as you enter the empty hall of cubicles. It's quite early, you’re the first one there, just as you have been for the last 1300 business days (barring holidays, of course). You sit down at your desk and get right to work. But as it turns out, there isn’t much to do. Work had been slow like that for a few days. You didn’t worry much about it. 

You sat there and just did little things to pass the time. You played cards on the computer, wrote in your journal, and even invented a neat little game with pens. You’re a real powerhouse of ingenuity. Nothing can knock you down. 

The phone lights up. 

Not to ring, just light. 

Suddenly, at the height of your creative genius, everything falls silent. The air conditioning has shut off, and the tiny hum of computers is distant and faded. You focus your empty gaze on the phone. You wonder why it's lit, but not enough to inspect it. The change is almost welcome. 

The phone whispers. 

It's faint at first, but then quite clear. 

A whisper coming from the phone. 

As soon as you realize, you pick up the receiver and put it to your ear. The whisper pauses and then says, “Don’t go outside.”

Nearly horrified you hang up the phone, and its lights shut off. You hadn’t planned on going outside anyways. You hate the heat and it's always so very hot in the summer. 

You realize you forgot your wallet. 

Today sure is weird. 

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I will never not reblog this. It gets better every time.

memeception

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Reblog this if you AREN'T homophobic.

Just want to see how many of my followers actually reblog this.

IT’S OKAY

TO BE GAY

I WON’T MIND

IF YOU LIKE YOUR KIND

IT’S OKAY

TO BE GAY

I’D STILL LOVE YOU

AND OTHERS WILL TOO

people are fine by me.

everyone should reblog this

for the gifs XD

this is so….. .__.’ *reblogs*

  via laugh-addict

I’m lesbian

if you don’t reblog this unfollow me NOW

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