tbh the most unrealistic thing in harry potter is when mrs weasley in the first book asks “now what’s the platform number?”
like this woman has been going to that school for seven years and then dropped kids off on the same place for nearly ten like why on earth would she forget the platform number
I still have the headcanon that Molly BAMF Weasley saw a scrawny underfed child with an owl who had no idea where he was going and looked lost and confused and was like, “Ah, yep, new son.” but didn’t want to scare him by outright approaching and asking if he needed help so she was just like, “MUGGLES, MUGGLES EVERYWHERE! DOES ANYONE KNOW WHAT THE PLATFORM NUMBER TO WIZARD SCHOOL IS? WHAT’S THAT? NINE AND THREE QUARTERS? OH, YES, THAT’S RIGHT. THE PLATFORM NUMBER IS N I N E A N D T H R E E Q U A R T E R S!”
Of course seeing as how Harry isn’t the most observant bloke, she probably ushered her kids past him fifty times as different ones screamed the platform number until they finally got his attention.
With that being said, and I’m extremely sorry for taking over your post:
11:45:
They had just enough time to make it onto the platform, get their trunks loaded, and say their goodbyes. Molly ushered them all along, wishing that she could just Apparate them all onto the train and be done with it. There was too much to do, too much to say, too m—
All at once, she screeched to a halt. Percy crashed into her, causing the twins to snicker.
A tiny boy was being crossly turned away by a security guard. A boy whose ribs poked through his baggy shirt, whose glasses were broken, whose jaw was trembling as he tried to find his way. Well, surely she could be the person to guide him there? And did he…? Yes! He had an owl! He was one of them!
The poor child; he looked so lost.
Where were his parents?
Never mind, never mind. She would see to it that he would get on the train. But she had to be careful. She couldn’t startle him. He’d run off and that would be the end of it. No, no, they had to be crafty.
11:47 AM:
“Packed with Muggles of course,” Molly said loudly, ushering her very confused children past the boy. “What’s the platform number again?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Percy said. “Mother, how could you have forg—?”
It was George who nudged him as he understood what she was doing. She had done it before, after all, and she would do it again.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
The boy didn’t seem to notice them.
11:48 AM:
“Packed with Muggles of course,” said Molly again, marching her children past once more. “What’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Fred and George screamed in unison.
And still the boy remained lost.
11:49 AM:
“Mum,” Ron panted, tripping over himself as he ran to keep up with her. “Slow down!”
Molly ignored him as she practically flew past the poor boy. “Packed with Muggles of course! Now, what’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” Ron bellowed.
11:50 AM:
Molly honestly didn’t care if her entire family missed the train and she had to set off across the UK herself like a mother leading a flock of ducklings: she was going to help this boy onto the bloody train.
She marched past him with a fiery determination and said, “Packed with Muggles of course!”
The boy looked up.
Yes! Okay, this was it, this was it, this was it. Play it cool. He was following them. Listening. Pretending not to.
They stopped.
“Now,” Molly said. “What’s the platform number?”
“Nine and three quarters,” piped Ginny.
Victory!
The next nine minutes were a whirlwind of chaos but they managed to get the boy through the barrier. At Molly’s insistence, Fred and George popped up and helped him get his trunk into the compartment. She handed Ron an extra sandwich and muttered, “Tell him that everywhere else was full.”
He dutifully nodded.
As the train took off, she waved to her children, including her newest one.
Bristling with pride, she began to head back to the Burrow. There was simply no time to waste. She had a jumper to knit.
lately i’ve been replacing my “i’m sorry”s with “thank you”s, like instead of “sorry i’m late” i’ll say “thanks for waiting for me”, or instead of “sorry for being such a mess” i’ll say “thank you for loving me and caring about me unconditionally” and it’s not only shifted the way i think and feel about myself but also improved my relationships with others who now get to receive my gratitude instead of my negativity
Dammit, Lin-Manuel, how you you leave this out of the musical?
me: is sad
me: remembers that george washington's doctor recommended that he take some time and relax for his health so naturally the most relaxing thing he could think of doing was taking alexander hamilton and thomas jefferson fishing with him which went about as well as you'd expect
me: still sad but now i'm laughing through the pain
respectability politics is how we get people saying the entire BLM movement is a hate movement because some of the protests became riots or because some of the protesters chanted “fuck the police”, but when it comes to Neo-Nazis, they’re happy to engage them in “polite debate” because they appear “dapper” and calm/reasonable. it’s how people genuinely believe that “antifa are as bad as fascists” because we use violence against them.
it all comes back down to this bizarre preoccupation with how nice and polite someone seems, rather than the content of their ideas and their overall goals.
-I am coming to terms with the fact that I need to get better at distinguishing inanimate objects from human beings. On a separate and fully unrelated note, a small child in a full and immaculate Darth Vader costume stood perfectly still at the next lane for several minutes.
-As I looked at a small child to say hello, she immediately stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at me as a greeting. I have never been more proud in the entire 7474 days I have been on this earth.
-I handed a young boy a sticker. His mother prompted him to thank me. Instead, he stretched out his small fist full of popcorn as an offering. This is a much more meaningful show of gratitude in my eyes.
-I have not figured out what I am doing wrong, but I now know that the question “Would you like this in the bag or out?” is somehow inherently flawed. One guest answered, “Put it in the bag. Yes, just hand it to me.” Another replied, “That’s fine, thanks.” Another simply said, “No.” Communication seems to have not been a strong suit across the board today.
-I was truly blessed today in that I got to meet the happiest child on the face of the Earth. They spent the full transaction with their mouth wide open, revealing the only two teeth they had ever had in an enormous grin. I found myself unable to stop smiling and giggling to myself until this small bundle of contagious joy was well out of the store.
-My greatest pleasure in life is riding a small, motorized shopping cart through the store. This is where I am at peace and this is how I wish to spend my life.
-A woman went off on a five-minute speech about the sizes of her son’s pajamas. While she raised several valid points, I am afraid it was all for naught, as revolutionizing the fashion industry’s sizing system does not fall under the jurisdiction of a part time cashier.
-As I rang someone up, I heard a gruff man’s voice from behind me order me to give him small bills when the drawer opened. This turned out to have been his method of asking me to break a hundred for him. I would like to inform the world as a whole that this is arguably the second-worst way for one to ask for change.
-While organizing the card wall, I found that someone had torn open an NFL hat model mystery package. They left behind the hat and the display stand, having only taken the wrapper itself. This is a collector who truly knows what the real rare item is. I defy anyone to find a better wrapper collection than this ingenious shoplifter.
Image: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI)
Remotely operated vehicle surveys off the coast of California and Hawaii have produced several observations of a large deep sea ghost shark known as a “pointy-nosed blue chimaera.” The resulting video footage is the first-ever recorded of this elusive species in its natural habitat.
Lmao this American girl walked up to a Hungry Jacks (Burger King) register with her drink and really, really loudly (I was at the other side of the place) proclaimed:
“I asked for Lemonade, you gave me Sprite” in a really bitchy, entitled voice.
The cashier (and everyone within earshot) just looked at her like “the fuck is wrong with you”
In Australia, Sprite IS lemonade as far as we’re concerned.
Yeah this is correct. Lemonade is sprite. Clear fizzy liquid type thing. Solo is closer to what American lemonade is but we don’t actually have what you guys consider lemonade anyway so she was never going to get what she wanted lmao.
Y'ALL AIN’T GOT LEMONADE?!?!??
madness…
“we don’t actually have what you guys consider lemonade“
That entire continent exists on a different realm of existence
IT IS THE SAME DAMN THING. You Yankees and your fifty brands of the same :P
LEMONADE AND SPRITE ARE NOTHING ALIKE
Things heating up in the drink fandom
I’m pretty sure the same is true in the UK at least was in 2010 except Sprite didn’t seem to be a common brand so I’d ask for Sprite get blank looks eventually figured out to ask for lemonade
Sprite is a recognised brand here, but it’s not omnipresent, it is also considered a brand of lemonade.
This is fucked up.
Sprite: lemon-lime soda (pop/carbonated beverage).
Lemonade: lemons, water, and sugar. Still.
LEMONADE IS NOT CARBONATED WHATT HEFUCC CK ARE YOU ALL DOIGN
Living? Sensibly?
Also on what planet does Sprite have lime in it.
Sprite, the lemon-lime flavored
carbonated beverage, is made on Earth.
Earth is the third planet from the Sun, the densest planet in the Solar System, the largest of the Solar System’s four terrestrial planets, and the only astronomical object known to harbor Sprite.
The people of Earth are known as “Earthlings” or “Spriteloids” interchangeably (although not to each other).
At least in the UK, if you order lemonade you’ll sometimes get Sprite, but if it’s proper it’s a lemon soda akin to the Italian gassosa - less sweet than Sprite.
Oh shit, I’ve had gassosa, it’s AMAZING.
I just want to say that the whole ‘lemonade and Sprite are interchangeable’ is pretty common throughout Asia as well, in my experience
You guys have orange juice at least, right? Grapefruit juice? In the US, Lemonade is a juice, like orange juice, but made with lemons instead of oranges. You can buy “fresh squeezed lemonade” at many restaurants and fast food venues. Typically it’s diluted a bit with sugar water, so the sour flavor of the raw lemon juice isn’t so overpowering.
In the south, it’s very common for people buy whole lemons and make their own lemonade at home using a citrus juicer.
In Germany, you’d ask for “Limonade” and yeah, you may get a Sprite or a Fanta; it’ll always be a fizzy nonalcoholic drink and usually come in lemon, lime, orange flavor. Only in healthfood or hipster establishments would it ever be an actual juice drink.
As a fan of homemade rosewater lemonade, I am twitching at the thought of sickly sweet carbonated beverages that taste like they were invented by someone who may have been in the same room as a citrus fruit once but can’t remember what it actually tastes like being called lemonade.
Wtf did y'all think beyonce was talking about????
oh wow I hadn’t even considered that. Like millions of people worldwide hearing the album title but not understanding what lemonade means even on the most superficial level.
This is so epically disturbing. Lemonade is such an integral part of spring and summertime. I just … this breaks my brain and my heart. The cultural references too. Just, all the American shows that reference lemonade and people in other countries are thinking Sprite? There’s a reason kids do freshly squeezed lemonade stands. You can’t buy it like that from a store. And there’s nothing quite like screwing it up and getting the sugar ratio wrong. And parents grinning through the too sour or too sweet mess and praising your efforts. Lemonade Is a Thing.
Wait does that mean Aussies make Shandies with sprite?????
Does this mean a significant portion of the global population don’t know what to do when life hands you lemons?
Yes, Australians make Shandies with our carbonated soft drink lemonade, though if you’re using it as a mixer, you’re less likely to be using Sprite and more likely to be using Schweppes, which looks like this:
Like. We absolutely have a concept of flat, juice-based lemonade, but as an earlier commenter said, it’s a niche hipster speciality rather than the default, and even then, it’s still going to be premade rather than fresh.
OH GOD THAT’S WHY AMERICAN CHILDREN CAN MAKE IT AND SELL IT SO EASILY. I ALWAYS WONDERED HOW KIDS COULD MAKE A CARBONATED DRINK AT HOME.
Donors who pay at least $500,000 will have the chance to go on a multi-day excursion with Trump’s sons, according to the invitation. Other amenities include autographed memorabilia from performers Alabama and Toby Keith and — if he attends, which TMZ reports is still in flux — a photo with Donald Trump.
The report says proceeds from the event will go to conservation charities. The dress code is billed as “camouflage and cufflinks,” but “jeans, boots and hats are welcome.”
Nice to see them carrying on the family tradition of using other people’s money to look like philanthropists—and the new family tradition of selling access. Maybe the rationale is that it’s okay to sell access to Uday and Qusay, since everyone knows they don’t have as much influence on daddy as Ivanka does? This part of The Hill’s coverage is hilarious, though:
Trump’s children are noted outdoorsmen, and have influenced the president-elect’s thinking on conservation issues.
That thinking presumably being “leave just enough animals alive for us to kill personally our own selves.”
be careful about your cleaning products and dont get yourself injured or potentially killed ok
why it so dangerous to be clean
As someone who’s job is to handle chemicals like this, I need to state that this information is IMPORTANT. Plenty of people have accidentally injured or killed themselves at home because they didn’t know what kind of reaction certain substances have with one another. Play it safe and don’t mix chemicals.
A word of advice: before you use a bathroom outside of your home, maybe ask if there’s bleach in the toilet or flush before using.
Will never forget the day I used my aunt’s bathroom during a visit and almost died from the toxic fume caused by the combination of bleach and urine
“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO INVITE YOU TO BARBEQUE ON THE EVE OF THE BLOOD MOON. I FEEL WE GOT OFF TO A BAD START.”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, DO YOU NOT WISH TO PARTAKE OF THE UNCLEAN FLESH-MEATS OF PIGS AND THE POLLUTED ESSENCES OF TOMATO? PERHAPS YOU ARE A CAROLINA STYLE MAN, NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“PUT THE GUN AWAY NEIGHBOR STEVE, YOU KNOW I SHALL ONLY RISE AGAIN WITH THE DAWNING OF THE MOON. WE HAVE BEEN THROUGH THIS MANY TIMES.”
“LOOK AT THIS PICTURE MY SON DREW OF YOU AND CHILD TIMMY, YOUR SON. ARE THEY NOT THE PICTURE OF PACT-MATES? THIS COULD BE YOU AND ME, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“YOU MISSED THE UNHOLY NEXUS OF POWER THAT IS THE KEY TO MY CORPOREAL FORM, NEIGHBOR STEVE. YOU WILL NEED TO RELOAD NOW, SO I WILL GO INSIDE TO MY HELL-WIFE AND PUT YOU DOWN AS A SOLID ‘MAYBE’.“
I have the feeling that the families get along great except for Steve. Like, the wives are baking (questionable) brownies together, the kids are playing together, Antler Guy occasionally takes Son and Timmy to school (no car, just carries them in huge swinging strides through a nexus of ungoldly sights in a swirling netherworld shortcut. Sometimes they stop for McDonalds). Hell-wife gave them a potted Audrey Jr., Steve’s wife (who I now christen Sharon) gave them a begonia.
One time Steve tries throwing holy water but all Antler Guy does is thank him, saying that no, Antler Guy isn’t Catholic but it’s the thought that counts, he is so kind to water his creeping deathshade vines regardless.
For Christmas Antler Guy gives Steve a case of ammunition. To be funny/sarcastically mean Steve gets Antler Guy the world’s most hideous Christmas sweater, singing light-up reindeer included. He immediately regrets it because not only does Antler Guy love it and wears it for several months, it will never need batteries because Antler Guy powers it with his own eldritch aura.
When they come back from a holiday to Hawaii, Steve is horrified to find out Sharon bought them matching Hawaiian shirts. He is even more horrified that his wife means it that if he doesn’t wear it he will forever sleep on the couch.
I want to expand on this, since I see it’s still passing around and the ideas have grown in my brainmeats.
What drives Steve up the wall and down the other side is how… normal… everyone treats the Abominations. (Yes, that is their last name. No, it is not a joke. Son was asked his last name for the standardized testing at school, had a quick conference with Timmy, and decided that Son Abomination sounded good, “Since my dad calls your dad the Abomination anyway and we can paint it on your mailbox just like the Henderson’s did theirs!”. Antler Guy agreed and did a lovely rendition of it for the mailbox, with only a few glyphs of soul-rending terror added to keep up to snuff.)
The Great Plant Exchange went beautifully, though the Audrey Jr. (named Aubergine for the lovely shade of purple poison that drips from her fangs) is on a diet at the moment. She was in cahoots with the cat and the dog to get into the good people food and ate two frozen turkeys all herself. Now she’s restricted to the hallway table to answer the phone and the door. (Steve actually likes her, and keeps slipping her hotdogs when Sharon isn’t looking. Their door-to-door salesman rates have dropped dramatically since she changed abodes.) Hell-wife has almost gotten the begonia to bloom and say it’s first words.
The homeowner’s association just loves the Abominations. All paperwork stamped and dotted, in on time and in triplicate. Antler Guy likes filing, says it reminds him of his old job. There is a resident who spent 20 years as a lawyer and they have long, animated conversations about all sorts of things that make Steve swear to never need legal counsel.
Hell-wife joined the PTA and spearheaded a committee to fundraise in the fall with a haunted house. It was a county-wide hit, though the claims that a particularly rowdy group had been deliberately lost in a timeslip to the Outer Doors Of Chaos was firmly rebuffed. Most young people nowadays, it was agreed, just couldn’t appreciate flute music.
Antler Guy really does try to connect with Steve. The surprise birthday party was perhaps a bit much, given that most participants do not have the ability to suddenly materialize in front of the guest of honor to give them a hug. Sharon assured them that Steve normally screams on his birthday, and the remains of the cake were heartily enjoyed by all. (A plate was saved for Steve once he came down from the treehouse.)
After the Hawaii trip (which was a present for his birthday) and the Matching Shirt Ultimatum (which was Sharon’s attempt at patching things up with Antler Guy, he really was sad about the birthday screaming), Steve finally grabs his courage in both hands (plus the shotgun, which let’s face it is about as useful as a teddybear at the moment but it does comfort him) and confronts Antler Guy, about why such a group of……Abominations could possibly come to his quiet slice of suburban bliss.
“……BUT NEIGHBOR STEVE, WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE.”
“No no no, I read it in a book! Don’t you have to be invited or something?!”
“WELL YES, TO THE HUMAN WORLD. BUT THIS IS NOT THE HUMAN WORLD AS YOUR THREE-DIMENSIONAL BRAIN PERCEIVES IT.”
“What the hell does that mean?!!”
“DID YOU NOT KNOW, NEIGHBOR STEVE? LEGALLY SPEAKING, ALL OF THE VASTNESS OF HUMAN SUBURBIA IS, IN FACT, A PART OF HELL.”
“……..”
“THE FLAMINGOES ARE THE BOUNDARY MARKERS. IT WAS DECIDED THAT THE FLAMING SKULLS WERE TOO KITSCHY FOR MODERN TIMES.”
Reblogging cause I kind of want more of this….
Since you asked nicely ^_^
Antler Guy, as one may have noticed, is a calm sort of fellow. In the face of human atrocities he displays a curious Zen sort of state of mind. Timmy asks Son if he’d ever seen his dad angry, and Son hasn’t. (When asked, Timmy says that yeah his dad gets mad, but it’s like the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua down the street- mostly high-pitched noise and occasionally TV remote chewing. Sharon replaces the poor thing every 3 months or so.) When pressed (gently, at the monthly book club, and with many cups of tea and at least one daiquiri), Hellwife admits that this comes from serving many years at his old job.
After the revelation of the nature of his neighborhood, Steve has not been overtly mean to Antler Guy. Not yet in the realm of friends, but vastly better than before. No more holy water, no more shotgun blasts. (Still the occasional jumpscare, but Antler Guy really can’t help that part.) They even occasionally share news over the fence as Antler Guy trains the creeping deathshade vines in proper oral hygiene, and Steve waters his lawn (and occasionally slips a goldfish cracker to a deathshade vine that looks particularly adorable. Aubergine has trained him well.)
Which is how Antler Guy learns about the peeping tom that’s been plaguing the adjacent streets. Apparently the pervert has been getting bolder, and rattling doors. He almost broke into one apartment, whose occupants were a single mother and her daughter, Mildred. Millie, a shy girl who is a great horror fan and firm friends with Timmy and Son, had missed school because of it.
Steve knew because Sharon had told him, on her way to deliver a tuna casserole and a double batch of brownies to the pair. (Sharon has been dubbed the unoffical mob boss of the Mother’s Mafia. She is quite pleased with this title.) He tells her to wait, confers briefly with Aubergine, and sends her along with, “Only as a loan, you know, but Auby wants to stretch her roots and she’d probably like getting all ribboned and curled anyway. Little girls still do that, right?” She has strict orders to bite anyone that makes Millie or her mother cry. (Steve is dubbed the official neighborhood marshmallow for this. The bookclub buys him a jar of marshmallow fluff in commemoration.)
He turns to look at Antler Guy, and freezes, much as a chihuahua will when faced with a hungry hellhound.
Steven makes a very ungraceful exit when space starts bending around Antler Guy’s still, unmoving form.
When Steve sees a shadowy form in his back yard when he gets up to pee that night, there’s no hesitation. He grabs the shotgun from the cabinet and peeks out the back door window.
Just in time to see a nebulous form of soul-wrenching terror engulf the man reaching for the door handle. A sliver of moonlight reveals a very familiar eyesocket. After a moment (and a sincere prayer of thanks that he had already peed, cause otherwise he’d have done it then and there) Steve opens the door. The nebulous form freezes, reality bending around the edges.
“Good. G’night then. Oh, and if Hellwife has an extra Audrey Jr. that needs a home, let me know. Millie likes Aubergine a lot but Augy’s just too big for the apartment. Dunno if they come in miniatures though.”
There are no more peeping reports. Millie brings back Aubergine and spends an entire afternoon teaching Steve the particulars of Augy’s new “hairstyle” (a gravity-defying mass of teased tendrils, ribbons, and barrettes) in between games of tag and hide-and-seek with Timmy and Son.
When Antler Guy and Hellwife present her and her mother Beatrice with a tiny Audrey Jr. (”pOOr ThinG Is a ruNT And wOn’T geT MorE Than A FooT taLL, BEa, aNd NeeDS a New FRiEnD”, assures Hellwife), both mother and child burst out crying. Millie names it Bella, after Bella Lugosi, and shows it to the excited group of boys (Steve and Augy included).
IT GOT SO MUCH BETTER!!!!
Life in a subdivision partly populated with eldritch and possibly magical (officially classified as “extra-dimensional”, for even when faced with the physics-defying nature of their new co-habitating citizens the government cannot bring itself to acknowledge them as “magic wielding hell-beasts”, as some high-ranking staff members initially suggested) goes on fairly normally.
Sure, there are a few hiccoughs. The creeping deathshade vines get a stern talking to about appropriate afternoon snacks (”NOT the Fitz-Simmon’s chihuahua, I don’t care how much he has it coming or what he excreted where, now spit it out!”), Aubergine sheds all her leaves at once and snowballs the house (but does helps sweep up afterwards), and moonrise is a good time to watch the night-gaunts fly by (but on moondark it’s best to stay inside, no matter how prettily they glow. They’re somewhat similar to fireflies, and don’t always check to see if their partner glows as well. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if they didn’t dive mid-coitus and drop just above the ground.)
While the neighborhood in general is accepting of the Abominations, when things get to be a bit much they tend to come to Steve. Since meeting Beatrice and Millie (and the formation of the Terrifying Triad known as Millie, Son, and Timmy) Steve is the adult human male most comfortable dealing with Antler Guy on the whole street. (Sharon as U.M.B. is widely held to have, well, steel-whatever-the-hell-she-wants, and Timmy is known to run over to Antler Guy and ask for rides through “that wobbly grey place, you know, the one with the REALLY BIG alligators?”. Still, the courtesies must be observed.)
So when a writhing sparking ball of snarling terror and teeth takes up residence in the Manzo’s tool-shed, and when Animal Control refuses to come (the street is banned due to a run-in with the deathshade vines), Steve is called. Having heard the description, Steve brings Antler Guy.
When they get there, Mr. Manzo is forcibly holding the door shut. Unholy yowling is coming from inside. At a gesture from Antler Guy, Mr. Manzo leaps away, and the doors blast open.
A 150 pound ball of whimpering, flaming something hits Steve and knocks him on his ass. The whimpering, flaming something proceeds to slobber all over Steve, his shirt, his pants, and a decent portion of grass in between distressed yelps.
“GACK!”
“NEIGHBOR STEVE, ARE YOU IN DISTRESS?”
“GAAACKLEARGHSPLUH- DOWN boy, HEEL, that’s a good- Antler Guy, what is this?!”
“I BELIEVE IT IS A HELLHOUND, NEIGHBOR STEVE.”
“Good grief, I didn’t know they came this big and…..and….. Guy?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Is he supposed to be…..skinless?”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE. THIS VARIETY WAS BRED TO BE LAP DOGS. THEIR FLAME IS MOSTLY WITHOUT HEAT, AND THEY HAVE NO SKIN FOR THOSE WHO ARE ALLERGIC.”
“…….laPDOG?!”
“YES NEIGHBOR STEVE.” Antler Guy lays a hand on the hellhound, who tries to burrow further into Steve with little success. “HE APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN RECENTLY WEANED. IT WILL TAKE TIME FOR HIM TO GROW TO HIS FULL SIZE.”
“……”
“THE SMALL BREEDS GROW MORE SLOWLY.”
A vile hissing emanates from the shed. (Mr. Manzo has long since fled for the safety of his kitchen.) As Steve attempts to calm the frantic hell-puppy, Antler Guy investigates. He reaches one long hand in behind the riding lawnmower and….. winces.
“NEIGHBOR STEVE?”
“Yeah- I’m right here, uh, doggie, not going anywhere- Guy?”
“I APPEAR TO HAVE AN…. ATTACHMENT.”
Steve is awed at the tiny ball of white fluff attached to one long, thin finger. He didn’t know that Antler Guy’s fingers COULD be bitten, much less by a tiny kitten.
Which is how Steve and Sharon got Clifford (”Aww c’mon Sharon, how could I pass that one up?”), and Antler Guy and Hellwife get Fluffy (”NEIGHBOR STEVE ASSURES ME IT IS A TRADITIONAL TITLE.”)
This might be the most amazing thing that ever crossed my tumblr dash
OMIGOSH I’m in love.
I LOVE EVERY BIT OF THIS
This is like the stoplight post. It is Tumblr legend, and I feel I must reblog it for those fortunate few who get to experience it for the first time.
hahahah Don't count me in the culture, I take my breaks at my computer.
Company culture influences what your work life is like in many ways, which is why it’s important to find out what the company culture is like when you’re interviewing for a new job. Here’s why asking about lunch is an easy way to do so.
people who complain about subtitles/captions are assholes
Are we talking about people complaining that they have to read or just inaccurate subtitles because I’ve seen subs that were so bad that it was literally a different story than what the movie was actually about and I’m 300% sure that the subber was a fucking troll.
I’m talking about how I’m getting annoyed about being shamed for needing captions due to being hard of hearing and how I’m still buying blu rays in 2016 that doesn’t have subtitles options.
I actually avoid movies that don’t have subtitles these days. Though it’s been nice that digital ways such as Vudu for example, do caption when the movie didn’t originally.
Donald Trump is officially the president-elect after winning more than 270 Electoral College votes. Although there was a great deal of noise about “faithless electors” potentially casting their votes for other people, in the end, Trump only lost two electors. Hillary Clinton lost four.
being mentally ill is just being fed up with your own shit 24/7 like oh my god are we really going to do this again can I have like one hour of peace just one fucking hour oh my god p l e a s e
I feel like neurotypical ppl tend to underestimate MI ppls level of self-awareness abt our disorders. Like, believe you me, I am well aware that my brain is a rampant shitshow. That doesn’t mean I can make it stop doing shit though.
We know what our brains are doing. We have called our brains many mean names because they are being total assweasels.
