manny-at-the-disco

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her: you must be smirking cookie dog if you think we're fucking me:

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We just knew.

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your cum does not impress me dr watson

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hey you know these comics that always have the signature cropped out

yea i found the original artist and

1, these dudes have names 2, theyre happy now 3, the dude is still making these comics

4, theres a shop

so basically what im saying is buy me pon and zi merch thanks

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on this day, 6 yrs ago, bruno mars was surprised to see pete wentz

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billions must die

harvard has fallen

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literally this

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sometimes i forget wizardposting isn’t a regular occurrence on any other website. what do you mean your posts don’t randomly get taken over my evil wizards casting spells on your peunis

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Reblog if you didn’t write My Immortal

We’re going to find the author by process of elimination.

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Please tell me you've seen that footage of Barnaby sprawled over a planter box & swearing into his phone filmed overnight

Ladies and Gentlemen, the former deputy Prime Minister of Australia

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the women characters in hideo kojima’s games are really sexualized, but in a way that a reclusive gay man would sexualize them

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A report just came out from a Palestinian hostage saying he was strapped with bombs and sent into a Hamas tunnel, with Israel prepared to blow the tunnel up with his body if fighters were found inside and yet people are still making the “Hamas uses human shields” arguments that have been confirmed to be a myth with no supporting evidence

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ねるのよ

I'm going to sleep

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Consider a Depressed Cat

A few days ago I found myself in a smoke shop buying weed from the guy behind the counter. I was shocked by how much cheaper you can get the goods in a prohibition state than back home. The shopkeeper brought his cat to work, and I fell in love. He leapt into my arms and as I cradled him like a newborn, he shoved his little white head into the crook of my elbow.

"Smitty has leukemia," the guy told me. "He's doing fine now, but he's gonna start getting sick on and off. Eventually, it's gonna get bad enough that we have to put him to sleep. He's still got a couple good years left in him though."

Smitty didn't react. He just closed his eyes and pushed himself closer to my chest. I wondered then if he realized that his days were numbered. That his own body was working overtime to kill itself and there was nothing more to be done. In his book When Breath Becomes Air, author Paul Kalanithi describes ignoring the early signs of terminal lung cancer for fear of acknowledging his own mortality. Maybe that's just an affliction we thinking mammals suffer from. After all, Smitty seemed pretty comfortable with things as they were. Maybe he didn't even realize he was sick at that moment. Maybe he remembered some grave illness from a few months ago that -- by the grace of all the feline gods -- passed him by. A silence hung in the air between his human companions though. Neither of us could voice it but we were both thinking about how our time with that beautiful, loving creature was limited.

The Buddhists would argue that's the root of the entire problem. We put so much emphasis on what could be that we never appreciate what is. Why am I letting myself get depressed over the eventual death of this cat I didn't even know existed ten minutes ago? I doubt I'd be thinking this way if the cat wasn't sick with cancer. For some reason, we regard deaths from natural illness to be "untimely." Paul Kalanithi describes his own anger at not being allowed by fate to fulfill his potential as a gifted surgeon. This is a particular curse of capitalist society, as a life is only deemed to have value if it is capable of productivity. We do not similarly bemoan the death of an elderly man in a vehicle accident as a loss of potential.

I don't know if Smitty is aware of his own mortality. I don't know if he ever feels helpless in the face of his situation. Barbara Natterson-Horowitz and Kathryn Bowers documented cases of suicidal depression in a number of mammal species, so such a case would not be out of the ordinary. I personally know a number of domestic pets who are on the same SSRI regimen as me. But Smitty, faced with a painful and prolonged death, shows no signs of this.

For almost a whole week I have been trying to understand Smitty's psyche. I don't know if I ever really will, but it's clear to me that he's onto something big. All I know for sure is I'm going to keep going back to see him for as long as I can.

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Comments on erotica are so funny because a lot of the people in those sections are trying to compliment the author without directly saying "awesome job, I jacked it to this!"