why does this have 32k notes? it’s just a picture of a knife in a ranch bottle, is there some unspoken joke that 32 thousand people share? what is going on here, i dont get it. it’s just a fucking picture of a knife in a ranch bottle. is there some spiritual connection people have to this picture? is there some ominous and mystical reasoning that this has 32 thousand notes? do people reblog this because it makes them look like some indie blogger? or is there just something funny to this? someone please explain
no one tell him
(Source: zero1infinity, via sniffing)
(Source: trezpassing, via sextronautt)
Who cares about the ps4 and xbox one when there’s the game sphere?
Be careful who you vent to. — Realest shit I’ve heard all morning. (via corivicious)
(Source: itsthelesbiana, via sextronautt)
Women aged 15-44 are more likely to be maimed or die from male violence than cancer, malaria, traffic accidents, and war combined. — [source] (via heisenburger)
(Source: thecheekylibertarian, via struck-by-perfect-colfer)
My friend had her daughters at a zoo when she heard, “Ma’am, there’s a lemur on your baby
pretty patties RULE!
This is the one time of year that I love wasps.
Not because the wasps themselves get any nicer. They’re horrid little creatures year round. No, it’s because I have a couple of big apple trees out back, and late August, early September is when the apples start ripening.
Now, if you don’t harvest your own fruit, there are two things you need to know about apples.
The first thing you need to know about apples is that, when apples get ripe, they tend to fall from the tree at the slightest breeze.
I often work late at the office; by the time I get home, there are piles of apples scattered everywhere - and sure enough, the wasps are out in force, gorging themselves on the fruit. When I go to clean up the windfallen apples, the wasps naturally do the “rawr, I’ma fuck you up!” routine for which wasps are known.
The second thing you need to know about apples is that they ferment very rapidly in the late August heat.
So: the wasps try to come at me, but they’re too drunk to fly. They get about an inch off the ground, then faceplant directly into the turf, flip over onto their backs, and lay there, legs twitching in the air as they try in vain to find something to sting.
Perhaps I’m a man of simple pleasures, but I bust up laughing every. single. time.
I tried to reblog this with a witty tag, but Tumblr took it as serious advice:
I read the tweet, and then I read the username.
(Source: axmxz, via nycklaine)