Jan. 3rd, 2017

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Nothing like a drive through these.
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via seasentinel
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reblogging because this will never stop being funny

“Go make your own” “STOP PANDERING TO THE GAYS” “But sir… I am a gays.”

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“Motherhood often triggers assumptions that women are less committed to their careers. In one study, three additional words on a résumé - “member of PTA” - made a woman 79% less likely to be hired.”

Lean In Facebook page
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either 2017 is a good year on its own or im going to drag it into “good” territory by relentlessly kicking it’s fucking ass with my bare hands until it does what i want it to do that’s it. those are the only options. good or good by force thanks
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omg unmute this

You cannot predict how this video ends

I’m sobbing

I don’t understand why I’m laughing so much
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The Ao3 Tag of the Day is: Plotless plot
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confession: in the Russian alphabet, the letter х is pronounced like a hard h so whenever I see a phrase like “Sorry for your loss xoxo”, instead of hugs and kisses my brain always briefly interprets it as  "Sorry for your loss HOHOHO" like some jolly Santa Schadenfreude laughter there
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American adventure photographer Mike Mezeul II has captured what is arguably one of the most stunning images of Mother Nature at work.

Keep reading

“mike what the fuck oh my go–”“just wait this is gonna look cool lmao”
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If anyone tells you that you can’t be badass, and also girly, don’t forget to tell them that one of the most beloved Norse goddesses, Freyja, was the goddess of beauty, sexuality, and fertility, but she was also the goddess of sorcery, war and death.

Also she did all this while riding a chariot pulled by cats.
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why does pizza hut close so god damn early

the pizzas are sleeping
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listen if Snorlax can suddenly awaken and transform into something powerful and useful after 20 years of lying around doing fuck-all then maybe there’s hope for me yet
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Juan Garza (Nova Wolf Productions) - NYX
Full Credit List — http://ift.tt/2i66jQz


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this sign was at the local bakery and i’m giving everyone permission to use this pic as a reaction

thank you
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As seen at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture
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as a general rule. if what we’re calling ‘cultural appropriation’ sounds like nazi ideology (i.e. ‘white people should only do white people things and black people should only do black people things’) with progressive language, we are performing a very very poor application of what ‘cultural appropriation’ means. this is troublingly popular in the blogosphere right now and i think we all need to be more critical of what it is we may be saying or implying, even unintentionally.

There is nothing wrong with everyone enjoying each other’s cultures so long as those cultures have been shared. 

Eating Chinese food, watching Bollywood movies, going to see Cambodian dancers, or learning to speak Korean so you can watch every K drama in existence is totally fine. The invitation to participate in those things came from within those cultures. The Mexican family that owns the place where I get fajitas wants me to eat fajitas. Their whole business model kind of depends on it, actually. 

If you see something from another culture you think you might want to participate in, but you don’t know if that would be disrespectful or appropriative, you can just…ask. Like. A Jewish friend explained what a mezuzah was to me, recently. (It’s the little scroll-thing near their front doors that they touch when they come into their house. It basically means “this is a Jewish household.”)

“Oh, cool,” I said. “Can I touch it? Or is it only for Jewish people?”

“You can touch it or you can not touch it,” she said. “I don’t care.”

“Cool, I’m gonna touch it, then.”


It’s not hard.

You want to twerk, twerk. I’ve never heard a black person say they didn’t think anybody else should be allowed to twerk. Just that they want us to acknowledge that they invented that shit, not Miley fucking Cyrus.

this is a good post.

Thank you, I was trying to sort this out in my head but you explained it very well.

#free exchange of culture is great - taking that culture without invite and pretending yours is an original take#(worse still profiting off it)#is cultural appropriation (by @gnimaerd)
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39th Annual Kennedy Center Honors | 29.12.2016
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It may only seem like one person, but they send a lot of messages and overwhelm you with clearly wrong but seemingly well supported info.

The trick they’re trying to pull has two steps:

1. Overwhelm

2. Colonize

Overwhelm: By sending you lots of messages all at once they intend to trigger anxiety and cause you to give less than waterproof answers. From here they can deconstruct your answers with a combination of technicalities and fallacies.

Colonize: By making you answer publicly they spread their ideas through your blog. Further by making you look bad they make an example of you and by ganging up through your asks they isolate you from support.

The response?

Block them all.

And after that optionally you can publicly debunk their argument without their input.

People who use these dogpiling methods don’t deserve your blog as a platform.
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Hi all! In order to get into the Christmas spirit, and as a way to say a massive THANK YOU to everyone for making my first year of bookblogging so wonderful, I am doing a GIVE-AWAY!

The prize will be $20/£15 worth of books from Book Depository and the winner will be chosen at 8pm GMT on the 25th January 2017!


-You must be following me! I will check!

-Likes and reblogs count and there is no limit to how many times you can enter but please please please be nice to your own followers and don’t spam them- the closing date is far enough away that you should be able to space out your entries.

-No give-away blogs, I will also check this!

-Book Depository MUST ship to your address, I can’t pay for postage :(

-If you win you MUST be comfortable giving me your address so I can send you the book/s, any under 18s please ask your parents to make sure they’re cool with it.

-Winners will have 24 hours to respond before I choose another winner so please make sure I am able to message you!

Good luck and Merry Christmas!!
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I wanna be a villain so I can just saunter everywhere. the heroes are always sprinting, always running. you ever seen darth vader run? hell no. and I ain’t about to either.

this has gained over 18,000 notes in the last 24 hours and I feel the need to tell y’all that I’ve never seen a star wars movie all the way through. when I wrote this I was 100% relying on the hope that he didn’t run in the films or some nerd was gonna drag my ass
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oh my god okay @all tourists coming to new york for the first time:

street hot dogs should be one dollar, maybe a dollar fifty. anything more than that and theyre swindling you. walk another block and get urself a decently priced hot dog

you dont have to yell “TAXI” when ur tryin to hail a cab, we all know u want a cab, thats why ur sticking ur arm up like a square

seriously. walk faster and in a tighter clump. people have things to do and the sidewalk is not yours to command

thats all please come visit nyc but do it smartly

addendum: nobody here calls it the big apple casually its like the number one way to spot a tourist and could lead to aforementioned overpriced hot dogs

As a tourist who learned things: WALK TO THE RIGHT.

Walk across the street if it’s safe, even if you don’t have the light.

Carry cash, a lot of places don’t take cards.

Carry a phone charger, a lot of places are old and don’t have public outlets.

If you’re used to driving everywhere, the subway takes 2 - 3 times longer than you’re gonna be expecting to get anywhere; plan for it.

There is no cell signal on most of the subway. You’re underground. Have something on your phone to read or play that you can do offline.
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today I will eat at Wendy
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someone in my target language: hi :)! how are you?
me and Duolingo in haunting unison: the boys have the pears
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Fashion Dresses & Vintage Dresses .

Black  &  White

Floral  &  Black

Gray   &  Gray

Black  &   Green

Green  &   Black

Which type is your favorite?
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“All Black But Gold”

By Andre Larcev
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I took my father to see Rogue One today. I’ve wanted to take him for a while. I wanted my Mexican father, with his thick Mexican accent, to experience what it was like to see a hero in a blockbuster film, speak the way he does. And although I wasn’t sure if it was going to resonate with him, I took him anyway. When Diego Luna’s character came on screen and started speaking, my dad nudged me and said, “he has a heavy accent.” I was like, “Yup.” When the film was over and we were walking to the car, he turns to me and says, “did you notice that he had an accent?” And I said, “Yeah dad, just like yours.” Then my dad asked me if the film had made a lot of money. I told him it was the second highest grossing film of 2016 despite it only being out for 18 days in 2016 (since new year just came around). He then asked me if people liked the film, I told him that it had a huge following online and great reviews. He then asked me why Diego Luna hadn’t changed his accent and I told him that Diego has openly talked about keeping his accent and how proud he is of it. And my dad was silent for a while and then he said, “And he was a main character.” And I said, “He was.” And my dad was so happy. As we drove home he started telling me about other Mexican actors that he thinks should be in movies in America. Representation matters.
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I grew up surrounded by words, quite literally. By the time I was six months old my parents had taped words to every surface in the house, so the walls said “wall” the window said “window” and so on so forth. I still don’t know how they managed to get the cat involved but some things are meant to be wondered at.

But for the next six years the world was covered in words, as first I learned to read, and then my brother. I dare say if you move some furniture in my parents house to this day you will find a faded piece of paper that says “shelf” or “bookcase” on it. It was a sad day when they were taken down, they were like old friends. But by then the magic had already worked. I was able to look at the world and see words, whether they were printed there or not.

I was four when I sat down to consciously write my first story. I remember it vividly because I had my bright yellow Cadburys Caramel mug, that had the purple flowing font on the side with the bunny rabbit lady on it. It was filled with “baby tea”— mostly hot milk with a splash of tea from the pot to give it color— and I was holding it in both hands, sitting at the little “art” table dad had built for me in the corner so I had a place to sit and scribble that wasn’t the walls. Contemplating my next masterpiece I looked around the room for inspiration. Would it be an exploration of color through pinky finger painting only? Or would it be the greatest macaroni interpenetration of a dog we’d ever seen? Sadly we’ll never know how this might have worked out, as at that very moment, mum came in holding a crystal mobile and hung it up on the window sill. This in turn had the effect of creating a living, dancing rainbow in the living room, and something in my brain short fused.

That was the day I learned the word “iridescent”. It was like learning the language of angels.

After that I was always scribbling something. My school books were a mess of words, crammed into margins and on back pages. I was always in trouble for letting my mind “wander into whimsy.” Once I got a report card that said “fantastical leanings towards flights of fancy.” It was meant as criticism, but dad still has it framed in the office.

Then there came the time a few years later when I was reading the Hobbit with dad, and I turned to him quite seriously and asked “where are all the girl hobbits?” and dad hemmed and hawed before eventually telling me “they’re in another book, darling…having their own adventure…” and I accepted this and settled back down to let him finish the chapter. He probably thought I forgot about it until that weekend I marched up to the Librarian and asked for “the girl hobbit book please”, which was met with much confusion and my dad rushing over to tell me they probably wouldn’t have it yet because it was very rare. A few weeks later, dad handed me something. It was sheaves of paper bound together by string. It was, he told me, a very exclusive copy of the girl hobbit book.

I still have it somewhere, back home. Probably on a shelf somewhere that still says “shelf”.

And sweet, naive thing that I was, I believed him. It wasn’t until later on and someone else popped my bubble, that I realized dad, not Tolkien, had written it. And oh I was furious, furious because the story had been so good and because dad had lied about not writing it himself. But that small bubbling anger was nothing compared to the heat inside my brain when my dad confessed he’d tried without much success to find books I might like with girls in them. All the heroes were boys, you see. It made me quite tearful actually, that no one had ever thought that someone like me could go off on an adventure and save the world, when I knew it to be a blatant lie. Old Mrs McDougall across the street had been a land girl and saved a man shot down from his spitfire. Mrs Mitchell had been the emergency coordinator and saved people from burning buildings when the Nazis bombed the shipyards, and her skin was all bubbled and tightly pulled across the left side of her face because of it and her hands didn’t quite work because she’d gripped burning metal to try and free the men inside. Those, were heroes. But we never learned about them at school. We only learned about kings and tyrants and the kind of heavily filtered history that lead you to believe that women were in there somewhere, but only in the same sense that a wall has paint on it.

And now my books, my lovely wonderful books, where you could travel through space and time or climb up volcanoes to throw rings inside and save the world…those wonderful colorful worlds that spoke the language of angels, were just the same.

I was ready to cry and be defeated about it until dad, raising his eyebrows at me and offering me a notebook, said, “well, maybe someone ought to write one.”

And you likely know the rest by now. But in short I write because there are stories to be told. I write because it’s the closest I’ll ever be to how the word iridescent feels. I look at the world and I see words, dancing like rainbows, singing like angels.

There’s words everywhere. I’m just scribbling them down.
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he fukn did that

without a trace of irony that would have gone the fuck off

it might actually be a good year

holy shit and all those goddamn fireworks timed with the notes in the back half of the song. this track is 15 years old and has been a meme at least three times how did it go off this hard


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