🐾 🔈🔉🔊

having a cat is great. there's a small little animal wandering around. effervescent

EATING MY CHARGER

I have reposted this before but I am always impressed by how well-thought out every spot is. There is no good place to sit. “Oh, Eomer’s cool, I’ll sit with him” but then you will have to listen to Gollum and Bilbo the entire flight. “I’ll sit with Sam!” Pippin and Merry will be turning around the entire flight to talk to him. Sure, you can sit with Elrond, but you’re going to deal with him staring down Aragorn and Arwen. You may love Legolas and Gimli, but will you love sitting BETWEEN them? Just when you see a spot that seems okay, somewhere behind or across the aisle is a terrible option. This is so good. No good seats on the LOTR plane

no i think 17 looks good

they say you can't pour from an empty cup but i've been doing it my whole life and aside from all of these mysterious ailments it's working out great for me

Having bunnies as pets is so funny because everyone thinks they're just cute and don't do much and then you have to explain convincingly to non-bunny owners that they're actually the entire chaos of the universe crammed into 4 pounds of fluff with a chainsaw for a mouth and a thirst for destruction rivaling that of a hungry T-Rex.

technically not my photo, but the photographer did call it "the world's worst picture" so don't worry, it won't make him feel bad

Starting off my challenge to make 1 zine every week until march, it’s some of my favourite baby birds!

I’m doing this challenge to try to kick my habit of overthinking and never starting stuff, though I will admit I’m posting this now on my self-appointed deadline day because I spent the whole week overthinking, gotta start somewhere I guess. Once I forced myself to just sit down and just start drawing it only took me an hour which makes me feel a bit silly

the lesbian computer from portal was right. given the circumstances ive been shockingly nice

insane like/reblog parity on this post btw

Yay

So my family has a Gay Pirate Plate.

Stay with me.

We do not know how the hell the Gay Pirate Plate was first acquired. This being a point of contention is actually pretty plot-relevant; the saga of the Gay Pirate Plate began with my grandmother and her sister, who, for some ungodly reason, both BADLY wanted the Gay Pirate Plate and believed it to be rightfully theirs.

I should back up, firstly, to establish: The Gay Pirate Plate is the cheapest, tackiest, ugliest plate in existence.

It is in no way a collector’s item. It is physically impossible for it to complement anyone’s decor, because the colors in it are garish. It’s just a ceramic plate with a gay pirate painted on it, and the painting is, this cannot be emphasized enough, extremely bad.

(How do we know the pirate is gay if he’s just posing on a plate? Listen. Fully 100% to stereotype, but he is. He is gay. There’s an energy. That pirate is a flaming homosexual. That pirate has sex with men and does it frequently. That pirate is fucking gay, all right, he just is.)

Anyway. The point is that this is an extremely cheap and ugly plate with a poorly-executed painting of pirate on it who is like a nine on the Kinsey scale.

My grandmother and her sister fought a blood feud over this plate for their entire lives. It would be on the wall in my grandma’s house, and then her sister would visit, and then it would be gone. She’d visit her sister and the plate would be on the wall and her sister would pretend it had always been there. She would steal it back, hang it up, and, when her sister visited, pretend it had always been there. This continued for DECADES.

When the sister died, the Gay Pirate Plate lived triumphantly in my grandmother’s house. And then my grandmother died. And my aunt, who had lived with her and been her carer throughout her life, rightfully inherited their house.

We visit my aunt after the funeral and stay with her for a week or two.

Me, my sister, and our dad. Her brother.

The three of us look at each other. We don’t say anything. We studiously avoid making eye contact with the Gay Pirate Plate mounted proud and ugly on the wall. We notice one another studiously avoiding looking at it. We notice one another noticing. We say nothing. We come to a silent consensus. We pack up to leave. We get in the van. Our aunt comes out to say goodbye. I loudly announce I need to use the restroom before we leave. She obviously stays outside to continue talking to my dad.

I take down the Gay Pirate Plate, stuff it under my oversized sweatshirt, go outside, and get in the van. She happily waves goodbye as we drive off.

Two days later my dad gets a phone call that opens with hysterical laughter and “You FUCKING ASSHOLE did you seriously STEAL THE PLATE–”

Anyway. The gay pirate plate lives in my dad’s house currently.

But he’s trying to get me and my sister out to visit him. And plate mounts are cheap.

The rules of Gay Pirate Plate are simple by the way.

WOE

PLATE BE UPON YE

STATUS UPDATE

I texted this image to my family at around 2am their time last night and woke up to appropriately indignant messages about theft, betrayal, etc.

nothing could have prepared me for how gay the gay pirate plate was

“The average number of migraines you should be having is zero”

Maybe for you. I’m special though

Bohemian waxwing

You can only reblog this on the 3st of January

the 3st huh?

the 3st.

An old woman will arrive at the station at 2:47 AM, she will not have enough money to pay the fare, let her in anyway. She will then board an unscheduled train at 3:00 AM. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TURN HER AWAY UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.

It was either a joke or some train executive's wife, that's what I thought when my manager gave me those specific instructions.

He proceeded to stress them again three more times during orientation. No biggie, I figured, and set a reminder on my phone for 2:45 just to be safe. Other than that I was just shown how to work the ticketing machine and where to find the spare D Batteries for the ancient flashlight they provided me with.

At 11:50 PM the last scheduled train departed. By 00:20 AM all the disembarked passengers had milled off. There was only one other person at the platform, a young homeless man missing a leg. Probably a veteran of one war or the other, there had been so many recently. He was sleeping on one of the benches. My manager had said I was to politely urge any passengers remaining after midnight to leave. He did not seem like a passenger so I let him sleep. It is how I was raised.

At 2:45 AM my alarm went off. I put aside my book, made sure my booth was tidy in case the executive's wife or mother or whoever would come was going to inspect it.

At 2:47 AM she was there.

I did not hear a car, nor approaching footsteps. The Babusia was simply there when she had not been before. A heavily wrinkled old woman, with a crooked nose and a scarf tied around her brittle-looking grey hair. A knobbly wooden walking stick was held by an equally knobbly left hand. She did not seem like the mother of some rich rail tycoon. She reminded me of my grandmother.

But I had never met my grandmother.

"One ticket, please." she requested in a firm voice, placing a small handful of coins on the counter without looking up at me. Most of the coins were obsolete Kopeks, and even counting those it was not enough for half a ticket, but as I was told before I nodded my head and accepted her money. "Of course. "

It suddenly occured to me that I was not told how to print a ticket for this unscheduled train. Before I could remark about it, I saw that the ticket was already at the mouth of the machine. It was green, with red lettering, something the black-and-white printer should not have made. But yet it did. The printing seemed in cyrillic of some sort, but I could not read it.

"Your ticket." I presented, and without thinking added "Do you require assistance to climb the platform stairs, grandmother?" It is how I was raised.

"Yes. Assist me." she replied curtly, beginning to shuffle slowly through the dark station towards the platform. I locked up my booth, and caught up with her just before the stairs. I switched on my heavy flashlight with my right hand, and offered the woman my right to brace herself. Her grip was strong. She probably would have had no issue climbing by herself, but assisting a grandmother was always the right thing to do, even when her sharp fingernails dug painfully into my palm.

We arrived at the platform. The clock hanging from the ceiling read 2:56. She released my hand and took a few steps, then looked at the sleeping man on the bench. "A friend of yours?" she asked. I thought about lying; if she was truly an executive's family, perhaps hosting a friend would be a lighter offense than turning a blind eye?

"No, grandmother." I responded truthfully. "He is not breaking the rules, so I left him alone." It is how I was raised.

The woman hummed. She seemed taller than before. Taller than me. The night draped her shoulders like a shaul and my torch did not reach it. Her gray hair shone like woven starlight, and her eyes were the night sky. I could not look away.

"You are a well-mannered girl." she said, her voice echoing in my ears like silence. She placed something small and hard in my hand.

A train arrived. It had only one car. I think it had a steam engine. It may have walked on chicken legs. I could not look at it.

The Grandmother boarded her train without another word. I was alone in a perfectly dull train station. Almost. The homeless woman behind me mumbled and stretched her legs in her sleep.

In my hand was a wrapped piece of hard candy.

This makes me happy in particular because that's exactly what I was going for

Every time someone leaves kind words in the comments it makes my day! Even if I don't reply to each and every one (mostly because I can't think of something to say usually) I love it, so thank you all!

what is the january mood?