Doge-speed you, pale emperor. The internet loves drawing him.
Cosmic Rob Ford is having a bad day.

A soggy scandal all around.

wouldbedeletedifitcould.tumblr.com
Knuckles the Hedgehog has stern words for him.


Philip.paulssonSo weird. (The people who makes these, I mean) But well deserved, I'd say.
Doge-speed you, pale emperor. The internet loves drawing him.


wouldbedeletedifitcould.tumblr.com


Philip.paulssonThis is CRAZY.
Earlier this week we heard the incredible tale of two teams of skydivers whose planes collided. Somehow all nine jumpers and the two pilots survived. Watch this incredible video to find out how.
A timeless affair between an obese Canadian crack enthusiast and the American national pastime.


When Rob dreamed of becoming a pro football player, his father sent him to a summer football camp—but not just any football camp. He was dispatched to the youth camp of the Washington Redskins, who had just won the 1983 Super Bowl with two of his heroes, star running back John Riggins and former Toronto Argonaut Joe Theismann. From there, it was on to South Bend, Indiana, and workouts at the legendary University of Notre Dame campus—an extravagant tour of gridiron nirvana beyond the wildest fantasies of your average North American teen.
Via torontolife.com
Philip.paulssonHaha! Awesome.
Philip.paulssonAmerican food/snacks are so booooooring.
Strange in conception, but tastes just like your childhood.

Why You Should Try It: The Chinese hawthorn fruit is kind of a strange enigma, but a roll of these tangy bad boys will get you quickly addicted.

Why You Should Try It: Before you make that face, reimagine these as basically stringy jerky with a tinge of seafood taste. It's a fun savory snack alternative that you won't feel guilty about consuming.

Why You Should Try It: These melt-in-your-mouth snackables are comparable to famous shrimp chips.

Why You Should Try It: If you like lychee, these tiny cups of jelly are dangerously addictive. They're packed with sweet juiciness and some even surprise you with pieces of real lychee inside.
Philip.paulssonThe coconut one is great.
Have you always been curious about 4Chan, but too afraid to go? Let me be your guide. (Safe for work, believe it or not.)

Via reddit.com / Flickr: 14723335@N05

Via reddit.com / Flickr: aperture_lag

Via reddit.com / Flickr: 23848027@N06

Via reddit.com / Flickr: 60532802@N07
Philip.paulssonYay!
Philip.paulsson#11 and #16 are the only legit complaints on that list.
With the Sochi games a mere 99 days away , it’s time to jump-start your crippling case of SOCHI FEVER by directing all of your hate towards our neighbors to the north.
It's almost that time again when our typically polite, courteous and unnecessarily apologetic neighbors to the north stop being nice and start getting cocky. We are now officially within 100 days of the Sochi Winter Olympics, which means those damn Canucks are getting ready to dominate the medal stand.

Jeff Vinnick / Getty
During the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver the Canadians finished third in the overall medal count, but took home the most golds. So let's look past their generally agreeable nature and find — or invent — some reasons to hate them, because competition is more fun when you're rooting for someone to fail.

Philip.paulssonPhilly teams are all just full of thugs.
The NHL rulebook doesn’t even account for fights like these.
A fight broke out during Friday night's Capitals-Flyers game between Philadelphia's Wayne Simmonds and Washington's Tom Wilson, after a third period goal put the Capitals ahead 7-0.

As those two were going at it, Flyers goaltender Ray Emery raced down the ice and attacked Capitals goalie Braden Holtby, even though Holtby indicated that he did not want to fight.

And the fight quickly turned aggressive, as Emery hit Holtby with punches and picked him off his knees to hit him again and again.

And even though it was clear that Holtby was not fighting back, the assault didn't end until both players were on the ground.

Philip.paulssonNot nearly as striking a difference as I thought it'd be.
Less than you’d expect, but enough to notice.

The woman on the left is the non-smoker.

The brother on the right smoked 14 years longer than the brother on the left.

The twin on right is the smoker.

The twin on the left has smoked 17 years longer than the twin on the right.
Philip.paulssonNote in Reader: So the buzzfeed list here didn't update properly, but I wanted to share this link:
http://www.buzzfeed.com/mackenziekruvant/the-snl-the-fox-parody-is-the-best
It's the SNL parody of What Does the Fox Say, and it's pretty fantastic.
Philip.paulssonVery cool.
I want to go to there.


theproductsofprocrastination.tumblr.com


theproductsofprocrastination.tumblr.com
Philip.paulssonI feel like these must mostly be photoshops.
Step one: Post the picture on Instagram. Step two: Call an ambulance.

Via reddit.com

Via reddit.com

Via reddit.com

Via reddit.com
Philip.paulsson#14 didn't really work for me. And #15 is the chocolate thing.
Don’t believe what your eyes tell you.

Thank you, Troxler effect.

But focus on the central red or yellow dots and the outer ones reverse to show their true direction – counter-clockwise.

That'll be the Troxler effect again. Explanation here.

Via moillusions.com
Philip.paulssonI love Tom.
“Sometimes you gotta work a little… So you can ball a lot.”

NBC

NBC

NBC / Via lolbrary.com
Philip.paulssonThey all have the same oddly shaped birthmark! Crazy!
They’ve all gone ‘Bearfaced’ for Children In Need.




Netflix for books = a library .

la-petite-squelette.tumblr.com

la-petite-squelette.tumblr.com

la-petite-squelette.tumblr.com

la-petite-squelette.tumblr.com
Philip.paulssonOOooooh!
And he’s teaming up with the brains behind King Of The Hill for it.

Not content with starring in the next two Hobbit movies and writing the soundtrack to the Muppets sequel, he's just inked a deal for a script and pilot presentation for a new grown-up cartoon for Fox.

But this is a "deteriorating, demoralised" NASA. The workplace comed centres on a group of friends working at an obsolete space centre in Boulder, Colorado.

McKenzie is co-writing the project with that show's veterans Tony Gama-Lobo and Rebecca May.

Philip.paulssonGreat show.
Because we’re all worthy of the Shiva award — except, of course, Andre.

Loving yourself means loving all of yourself.
FXX

FXX / Via rafibomb.tumblr.com

So you're horrible at telling jokes. Don't you dare give up - show them who's got the last laugh.
FXX

Put on your favorite outfit and strut your stuff, you fashionable person, you.
FXX / Via reaper008.tumblr.com
Philip.paulssonHahah nice.
This is an ingenious prank.



TL;DR version: It's to make sure the conductor is paying attention and that the train is stopped at the right place.

Philip.paulssonCoffee one is crazy. And I guess you'd have to like your coffee lukewarm?
Feel the inspiration.
Philip.paulssonWow.
There’s no comparison. It’s beautiful thing.




Philip.paulssonHe's a funny one, that Steven Jones!
Naval officers have been going to extreme lengths.

Ships in the region are in regular danger from pirates boarding and kidnapping crews for multi-million-pound ransoms. A novel defence system has come about, blasting out "...Baby One More Time" and "Oops... I Did It Again" at extreme volumes. Second officer Rachel Owens told Metro: “Her songs were chosen by the security team because they thought the pirates would hate them most. These guys can’t stand Western culture or music, making Britney’s hits perfect.”
Getty / Jason Merritt

According to the Atlantic Wire, it is the volume and frequency the music is played at that is scaring the pirates off. Long Range Acoustic Device defence systems have been in use for some time, blasting walls of sound that can bring people to their knees.
Getty / Jason Merritt
Steven Jones, of the Security Association for the Maritime Industry joked: "I'd imagine using Justin Bieber would be against the Geneva Convention."

They were probably just looking for duck tape. (Sorry, not sorry).
youtube.com / Via reddit.com



Philip.paulssonThat's great.
H/t to this Redditor who came up with the genius idea.

*They're both "ceiling fans."



Philip.paulssonWhat the...?
The app has been downloaded over 11 million times. Here are some examples that make zero sense.




Philip.paulssonHehe nice.
Thanks to mrandlittlemissgot.tumblr.com the residents of Westeros get the Roger Hargreaves treatment. .




Philip.paulssonWell except for, you know, this entire article. And probably the next one, and every single one after that. Oh wait, yeah, so actually nevermind about not writing about myself on the internet.
We all write online these days, whether it’s a dashed-off Facebook status or a lengthy blog post. But I wasn’t prepared for how I’d feel after I used my platform to discuss something — and someone — personal in pixels that would last forever.

Chris Ritter / BuzzFeed
In 2011, I wrote an article about my ex-boyfriend for The Hairpin.
A former grad student in Connecticut, I was both new to New York and new to media, and those two things fueled me with a drive to get ahead that, as an older, more jaded New Yorker, I already deeply envy. I worked for pennies at a D-list internet company, but in addition to running a blog for them full-time, I wrote freelance articles on nights and weekends from my cramped Williamsburg bedroom.
I'd been trying to rationalize writing up a certain eyebrow-raising story about my ex-boyfriend, in the name of boosting my portfolio. The Hairpin had a regular series called "The Best Time I," in which writers completed that prompt with different personal anecdotes. I'd written somewhat confessional articles before, but in this case, I was sitting on a real juicy slice of headline orange: "The Best Time My Ex-Boyfriend Dumped Me To Be On Reality TV."
It was a goofy but raw story, one more personal than I'd ever had the heart to put in print. But I hadn't spoken to my ex in over five years, I rationalized. And anyway, the jabs I would take at him in the piece were what he deserved for being so dickish to me years ago. And to be even more honest about my motives, I could almost taste the Twitter buzz and the flurry of Facebook likes that would no doubt ensue. Visions of "Wow, so awesome you're on The Hairpin!!" emails floated like sirens before my eyes. Finally spurning my hesitations, I untied myself from the mast.
I wrote up my story on spec, hunched over my cheap Ikea desk and with a glass of wine one Saturday night, and emailed it. The Hairpin took it right away. Before long, it was live on the site.
I sat and stared at my published confessional that day, under the hot fluorescent lights of my midtown Manhattan office building. It had gone up at the prime bored-at-work hour of 2 p.m. on a Thursday. My byline glittered quietly on the screen.
For the next few hours, I pretended to myself that I wasn't watching for the little "(1)" notifications that popped up on my social media tabs, indicating a new reaction to my piece. I pretended I wasn't simultaneously refreshing the article every 30 seconds to read every ego-massaging comment. I'm not going to lie: The praise and the sympathy for poor, heartbroken me felt good. It felt really, really good.
Soon, though, I started to feel nauseated. I'd been careful not to mention his name or any identifying details in the piece, but savvy readers were already deducing who he was. And if he ever googled me, he'd see that smug headline nestled in my search results — and he'd undoubtedly click. It was really only a matter of time before the story got back to him, something I'd obviously acknowledged to myself but that only now hit me like a stepped-on rake.
Later that night, I panicked. I cried. I called friends. Maybe I overreacted. And eventually, I got over it. I was within my right to write that piece, I told myself, which is something I believe to this day. And in the grand scope of things, maybe he wouldn't have even cared that I'd written about him.
But still, two and a half years later, the aporia of violating someone else's privacy to get ahead still subtly haunts me. Occasionally when I'm trying to get to sleep in my slightly larger Park Slope apartment, the thought of him reading my article tosses fresh in my mind. To see him squinting at the screen. Reading my raw thoughts about him. Feeling the heat of my almost palpable bitterness.
In Sartre's Nausea, Roquentin is so horrified by his own existence that he lets inanimate objects and their perceived meaning propel him into near insanity. My dyspepsia over writing that blog post, of course, was a crisis of action, one that I had caused, not one of being. But on another level, Roquentin's fear was the same as my own. I was haunted by something static that gave off more meaning every time I thought about it. This piece of writing, typed out and whisked off by my own hands, would lurk in pixels forever. I didn't get my ex's permission. I didn't contact him to hear his side of the story, which was undoubtedly different than mine. Should I have done that? Could I have? Had I used him as navel-gazing capital? There it sat, like the leaves of Sartre's chestnut tree. Having it on my résumé, which was all I'd ever wanted, made me feel significantly cheap.
This brings me to my larger question, something I still wrestle with now: the ethical boundaries inherent in writing about one's life experiences. Memoir has a long and rich history, of course, but putting one on the internet means it will be both instantly and permanently cataloged, and almost stupidly easily accessed. Unlike the days when you could intentionally leave a regretful published poem off your portfolio, the magic of Google means your writing — in many cases, not editable! — will be forever attached to your name and thus searchable by future dates, prospective employers, and any person you dare to write about.
In the digital era, how do the rules change when others, either loved ones or enemies, are involved in an author's personal writing? If I date someone and he writes a blog post or a Tumblr rambling or, hell, a subtweet about me, maybe that's a risk I assumed in dating. But for myself, I'm still uncomfortable deciding to what extent shared experiences are a commodity.
Now I work for BuzzFeed for a living, where I mostly write lists about a variety of goofy topics. I'm no longer trying to drum up freelance essays to lob around to editors like desperate softballs, and I don't feel pressure to strip-mine my life for sexy click-bait stories. Did that ex-boyfriend post catapult my career? Not single-handedly, no, and I can't quantify whether it was, for lack of a better phrase, "worth it."
I don't think writing about yourself is always something you'll rue in the sharpness of hindsight. Many people rightly find solace and community in both reading and writing personal reflections. But when I see other young writers spill secrets online, I hope they're not pimping out others or themselves in personal stories they'll regret telling. Because someday, we could all be that ex-boyfriend, anti-memorialized in characters on a screen.
As someone like Sartre might say, freedom is the most important thing about being human, and also the most terrifying. Writing anything on the internet — whether it's a "Modern Love" column or a Tumblr post — is one area where we all exercise that freedom, writ large on a blank page onto which we can drag people with or without their permission. I've been in media full-time for only three years, but I've learned my lessons quickly, mostly by making mistakes; some of them about how to exercise this strange power of freedom to write whatever I want.
The Hairpin piece is still up, and I never had the nerve to apologize to my ex. He never contacted me or indicated otherwise that he'd read it, either. I sometimes wonder, way deep down, if all that worry can be attributed to my projecting of my own guilt.
I suppose I'm still writing about myself; I'm writing this right now and reviving an article that I'd much rather leave buried in the past. But I bring it up now because I've learned from it, and I've decided that while I'm free to paint myself as an idiot online, I'm not going to bring other people into my words either against their will or agnostic of it.
Philip.paulssonMmmmm durian!
Breast Milk fruit, anyone?



Although they vary in flavor, one thing is for certain, and that is that this firm, fleshy melon is one of the best varieties in the world.
Source: Quora