bird0fhermes:

I’m crying oh my fucking god

bird0fhermes:

I’m crying oh my fucking god

(Source: omg-humor, via celebrities-fart-too)

bookshop:

solongasitswords:

nullbula:

thesylverlining:

what happened in roughly 1870 though
why was there temporary internet
with a few people searching for pokemon?

It’s a search of Google books, but the question still stands, what the Fuck happened in 1870

I CAN ANSWER THIS!!
In the Cornish dialect of English, Pokemon meant ‘clumsy’ (pure coincidence).
In the mid 1800s there was a surge of writing about the Cornish language and dialect in an attempt to preserve them with glossaries and dictionaries being written. I wrote about it HERE.


I just love that this post happened to find the ONE HUMAN ON THE INTERNET who had the answer to this question

bookshop:

solongasitswords:

nullbula:

thesylverlining:

what happened in roughly 1870 though

why was there temporary internet

with a few people searching for pokemon?

It’s a search of Google books, but the question still stands, what the Fuck happened in 1870

I CAN ANSWER THIS!!

In the Cornish dialect of English, Pokemon meant ‘clumsy’ (pure coincidence).

In the mid 1800s there was a surge of writing about the Cornish language and dialect in an attempt to preserve them with glossaries and dictionaries being written. I wrote about it HERE.

I just love that this post happened to find the ONE HUMAN ON THE INTERNET who had the answer to this question

(Source: neilcicierega, via celebrities-fart-too)

gazzymouse:

too-cool-for-facebook:

crankystalfos:

jackiemakescomics:

captaintsundere:

authormichals:

Manueluv and I are convinced Agent K is Coulson’s father. Hell, MIB is even owned by Marvel. 

Welp. Never gonna unsee this.

Shiiiiiiiiiiiit

HEADCANON ACCEPTED SO FAST I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING

Guys - who do you think told Phil all those stories about Cap?

THIS POST IS OVER 2 YEARS OLD AND IT JUST. GOT. BETTER.

(Source: bisexualethanhunt, via celebrities-fart-too)

screaming-towards-apotheosis:

sebadasstian-stan:

agentsofthenterprise:

so how about a movie starring Chris Evans, Chris Pine, Chris Hemsworth, and Chris Pratt directed by Christopher Nolan naturally titled The Crisis 

THE CHRISIS

Coming out this Christmas

(via celebrities-fart-too)

celebrities-fart-too:

Ice Bucket Challenge Fail Compilation

They dead

(Source: lolgifs.net)

candysphynxprincess:

cellardoornevermore:

argyleapple:


New still of Chris Pratt in Jurassic World (2015)

i’m a heterosexual man and i’m screaming

Oh my christ


PLEASE make him Indiana Jones’s sonnnnnn;;;

candysphynxprincess:

cellardoornevermore:

argyleapple:

New still of Chris Pratt in Jurassic World (2015)

i’m a heterosexual man and i’m screaming

Oh my christ

PLEASE make him Indiana Jones’s sonnnnnn;;;

(Source: welcometojurassicworld, via celebrities-fart-too)

allen-francis:

maggins:

faeries-everywhere:

when is it going to be the other way round

does this count?

Oh, I think that one counts. 

(Source: snowwhties, via celebrities-fart-too)

loltias:

Seeing people the same age as you doing awesome things with their lifeimage

(via celebrities-fart-too)

cyberfry:

sometimes im leslie sometimes im april

(Source: parks-and-recreation-department, via celebrities-fart-too)

fursonakin:

fun fact about me: when i was a freshman in high school, for the whole year i planned an april fools joke on my homophobic dad and i was gonna tell him that i was a lesbian and i had a girlfriend. by the time april fools day rolled around, i was really a lesbian and i had a girlfriend

(via cophinescockerspaniels)

livebloggingmydescentintomadness:

Even John would have hated John.

(Source: true-pain, via fairyfoolishness)

nintendo-forever:

(x)

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be.  (via oliviacirce)

When I lose hope in the world, I remember this poem.

(via bookoisseur)

I’m really glad I read that.

(via selfesteampunk)

This made me tear up.

(via foreveralovelywallflower)

This is absolutely beautiful. This is why we are alive. It’s the little things.

(via fairyfoolishness)