SCREAMS

I ALMOST GOT DRAGGED INTO A GATHERING WITH NINE

*NINE* GODDAMN PEOPLE

WHO ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FAMILY

AND I DON’T KNOW A SINGLE ONE OF THEM

AND THEY EXPECT ME TO GO SWIMMING IN FRONT OF THEM

I HAD TO SAY THAT I FORGOT SOMETHING AT THE HOUSE

I AM DEFINITELY NOT GOING BACK

OHGOD IM TRYING TO THINK BACK IF I ACCIDENTALLY DRAGGED ANYONE ELSE INTO SOMETHING SIMILAR

I THINK I DID

OH MY GOD I AM SORRY

I AM SO SORRY

CRIES HIDEOUSLY

I KEEP HAVING TO YELL AT IMAGINARY PEOPLE WHO ANTAGONIZE ME FOR BEING NERVOUS

ITS NOT GOING WELL

PLEASE TELL ME THAT ILL EVENTUALLY GROW OUT OF HAVING THESE HORRIBLE ARGUMENTS THAT ARENT EVEN HAPPENING

yeaheyecandy:

National Geographic Society’s Explorer-in-Residence Wade Davis called on architect and designer Travis Price to construct his very own personal at-home workspace in Washington, DC.

I’m posting this again because it’s brilliant

bookshelfporn:

Most awesome bookshelf ever made from a Daimler

(via nalden)

Is

Is that a chandelier made of tea pots!?

I’m remembering the time I was anxious about something and started open-mouth gnawing on my iPod and I accidentally made a little puppy growling noise and everyone in the dorm room immediately stopped and looked at me and I just sat there with an iPod clenched in my teeth

goretrait:

can we all just take a second to appreciate the fact spiders can’t fly

I feel REALLY FUCKING BAD about the books I’ve given as gifts, they’re all missing that stitch and now every other signature will separate and fuck themselves up, quite possibly snapping whatever thread I used AND IT FIGURES THAT AFTER ALL THAT I FIND A SPOOL OF STURDY PRE-COATED UPHOLSTERY THREAD TO USE.

I DEEPLY REGRET THAT LEATHER JOURNAL, I HAD TO USE GORILLA GLUE AND IT WAS ALL FIDDLY AND AWFUL AND IT’S MISSING THAT STITCH TOO AND I’M AFRAID IT MAY BREAK APART SOONER THAN WOULD BE ACCEPTABLE FOR A BOOK LIKE THAT.

IT’S NO LONGER MY BEST WORK AND- OH MAN

THROWS HANDS UP UN THE AIR

THEY FLY AWAY AND KEEP SPIRALING INTO SPACE

MY CONCERN OVER THIS IS INFINITE

AT LEAST UNTIL MY HANDS ARE KNOCKED INTO THE ORBIT OF AN ALIEN PLANET BY A PASSING ASTEROID

THE INHABITANTS GAZE UP IN WONDER AT MY ETERNAL FRUSTRATION

THE STORY OF THE FLYING HANDS LIVES ON FOR GENERATIONS

THE PLANET IS VISITED BY OTHERS, BUT THE LEADER TOOK THE HANDS SMACKING UP AGAINST HIS SHIP AS AN INSULT

SO IT CAUSES A MASSIVE WAR THAT SPANS CENTURIES AND ESCALATES TO INCLUDE SEVERAL ENTIRE GALAXIES AT ONCE

PEOPLE ON EARTH WILL LOOK TO SKY IN THE FAR FUTURE TO SEE BRILLIANT FIREWORK-LIKE DISPLAYS

ITS THE SIGHT OF A THOUSAND SUNS EXPLODING DURING MASSIVE TERRITORY SKIRMISHES

THE DEBRIS EVENTUALLY REACHES EARTH AND FUCKS EVERYONE OFF THE FACE OF EXISTENCE LIKE SO MANY ZITS UNDER A SANDING BELT

ALL THAT’S LEFT OF THE RAZED LANDS IS MY PETRIFIED STATUE, KNOCKED OVER IN THE GROUND, STUBS RAISED, WAITING

THE HANDS SMACK INTO THE ROCK AND SKIP ACROSS THE EARTH, EVENTUALLY ROLLING INTO PLACE NEXT TO MY STUBS

I SCREW MY HANDS BACK ON AND SURVIVE ON MINERAL RICH SOIL UNTIL I DIE IN A LAVA FLOOD

ALL THAT’S LEFT OF CIVILIZATION IS ANGRY LOOKING CLAW-MARKS IN A ROCK FACE WHICH READ:

‘i missed a stitch’

Yay! A whole 38 pages of uninspired, bland writing, bound with the stitch that’s missing from all the other books I’ve bound, smattered with a bunch of white-out, and it’s about to be tossed into the fires of mount doom, never to be seen again.

I’d say this was a successful test, implementing the old typewriter and a bit of bookbinding to make a book that’s been Filled With Things and I don’t have to be bothered by the thought of marring dozens of clean, white, beautiful pages with my horrid chicken scratch.

I won’t be starting up another until the replacement ink ribbon gets here and I can fetch the rest of my materials too.

I can’t be the only one who has to rub their face and lips over the smooth parts of the frosting on a poptart before eating it.

OHGOD IT’S LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING GROSS AND FLESHY AGAINST THE SIDE OF MY NECK BUT THERE’S NOTHING THERE

fluffywhite:

sketchamagowza:

MARRIAGE

GOOD

suncalf:

i really want a dick just for the sole purpose of jerking off and stuff. or a tentacle-dick. that seems like a good idea. i want that

suncalf:

a creature lives alone on an island, frightened of the ocean all around it. sometimes it screams, a long lonely sound, and the noise echoes through the mountains and out across the water and the compass needles of ships spin wildly as a storm brews above. if it is lucky the ship will splinter apart on the rocks, and it will find the bodies the next day and play with their teeth and chatter to them long into the night. it is not a happy life.　

can anybody tell me where my spine went

i may have lost track of it