puppygirl-hornyposting:

(via cassandrarc8)

luxflora:

chillyfeetsteak:

chillyfeetsteak:

chillyfeetsteak:

LET ME JUST SEE THE RECIPE LET ME JUST SEE THE RECUPE LEMTE JUST AEE THE RECIPEM LET ME JSUT AEE THE RECIPE KET ME SER THE SAMON I WANNA MAKE SALMON RECIPE

SURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i have had an iphone for approximately 50 years……….

there’s also justtherecipe

(via travail-en-cours)

palebluespark:

saywhat-politics:

(via travail-en-cours)

bulkhummus:

all work is cancelled. everyone stay home and do nothing and lay in bed sooooooo cutely and watch tv shows and have no obligations and kiss together

(via faggot-friday)

(via pikamans)

andhumanslovedstories:

andhumanslovedstories:

Just watched an episode of Columbo (Last Salute to the Commodore) with pacing so floppy and nonsensical that it looped back around towards the avant garde. Fascinating.

There’s so many unnecessary scenes that go on forever that’s it’s a genuine competition to pick out the most useless one. I think it’s a tie between Columbo teaching another cop how to drive his car and Columbo trying and failing for five minutes to sit crisscross applesauce. He’s at full max lumbo the entire episode. He disregards personal space so much he both sits in another man’s lap and also has another man sit in his. He gets an inexperienced scuba diver to swim a mile in the dark at night on a channel that they just finished discussing is dangerous to swim in, and when the scrubs diver pops up on the other side, Columbo’s like “hey what’s your name.” Columbo!! You made scuba dive for a mile in the dark! He just told you this is his fourth day scubaing!

The final parlor scene takes about two hours and fourteen props to reveal the killer as that guy I remembered from that scene where the best suspect of the episode—a perpetually drunk rich disaster woman whose job is to be sloppy and say “daddy”—has an emotional breakdown in a public yacht club, and then this guy goes back to?? playing piano?? As the entire crowd watches a woman have a mental breakdown while being questioned for murder. At the end of the episode, and this is true!!!, Columbo just gets in a boat and starts paddling across the water while his baffled colleagues watch him go. He boards so slowly and precariously and he paddles for so long before someone is like “dude where the fuck are you going” and then pops up “directed by the guy who made the cult classic, The Prisoner, a piece of media you might now as being good,” and now the ten hour experimental collage of scenes where Peter Falk giving it 11/10 is finally over. It’s probably the worst episode of Columbo I’ve seen, but almost to the point where I might genuinely recommend it.

Oh and the ending clue is nothing. This is not a prosecutable case. It feels like at some point in filming, someone was like “can we just do mercy kill” and everyone else was like “yeah god okay let’s call it, Peter we need you to milk absolutely nothing for another ten minutes and then it’s time to get in the rowboat”

we-are-rogue:

[by Geoff Manaugh]

a drywall knife

In one of the most interesting moments in his memoir, [jewelry thief Bill Mason] sees that architecture can be made to do what he wants it to do; it’s like watching a character in Star Wars learn to use the Force.

In a lengthy scene at a hotel in Cleveland that Mason would ultimately hit more than once in his career, he explains that his intended prize was locked inside a room whose door was too closely guarded for him to slip through. Then he realizes the obvious: he has been thinking the way the hotel wanted him to think—the way the architects had hoped he would behave—looking for doors and hallways when he could  simply carve a new route where he wanted it. The ensuing realization delights him. “Elated at the idea that I could cut my own door right where I needed one,” he writes, Mason simply breaks into the hotel suite adjacent to the main office. There, he flings open the closet, pushes aside the hangers, and cuts his way from one room into the other using a drywall knife. In no time at all, he has cut his “own door” through to the manager’s office, where he takes whatever he wants—departing right back through the very “door” he himself made. It is architectural surgery, pure and simple.

Later, Mason actually mocks the idea that a person would remain reliant on doors, making fun of anyone who thinks burglars, in particular, would respect the limitations of architecture. “Surely if someone were to rob the place,” he writes in all italics, barbed with sarcasm, “they’d come in as respectable people would, through the door provided for the purpose. Maybe that explains why people will have four heavy-duty locks on a solid oak door that’s right next to a glass window.” People seem to think they should lock-pick or kick their way through solid doors rather than just take a ten-dollar drywall knife and carve whole new hallways into the world. Those people are mere slaves to  architecture, spatial captives in a world someone else has designed for them.

Something about this is almost unsettlingly brilliant, as if it is nonburglars who have been misusing the built environment this whole time; as if it is nonburglars who have been unwilling to question the world’s most basic spatial assumptions, too scared to think past the tyranny of architecture’s long-held behavioral expectations.

To use architect Rem Koolhaas’s phrase, we have been voluntary prisoners of architecture all along, willingly coerced and browbeaten by its code of spatial conduct, accepting walls as walls and going only where the corridors lead us. Because doors are often the sturdiest and most fortified parts of the wall in front of you, they are a distraction and a trap. By comparison, the wall itself is often more like tissue paper, just drywall and some two-by-fours, without a lock or a chain in sight. Like clouds, apartment walls are mostly air; seen through a burglar’s eyes, they aren’t even there. Cut a hole through one and you’re in the next room in seconds.

~ Geoff Manaugh, A Burglar’s Guide to the City

(via gayfrogacceptance)

headspace-hotel:

assuming-dinosaur:

bogleech:

revretch:

iamthekaijuking:

revretch:

calloutnevvegas:

prokopetz:

You wouldn’t think that flamingoes are extremophiles just from looking at them. It’s like somebody tried to build the vertebrate equivalent of that fungus that lives inside nuclear reactors, and ended up with a gangly pink dinosaur with a spoon for a face.

For everyone in the comments asking how flamingos are extremophiles:

Flamingos can survive in low oxygen, high altitude, high temperatures, low temperatures, high alkaline, they can and will drink boiling water and they can be completely frozen at night and still get up the next morning

Don’t fuck with flamingos

….. Didn’t know most of that

Huh… so that’s why zoos don’t put them somewhere warm during winter.

Oh yeah, this leaves out what I *did* know about them–they can also survive hypersalinity. That is, water so salty it kills practically everything else–water so salty it burns your skin.

American flamingos just drink that shit

(animal death) this is a real undoctored photograph (*though the body was stood up for the shot) of a dead flamingo on the surface of lake natron, a lake so salty and so alkaline that it’s naturally carbonated like soda and would eat through your stomach lining if you drank from it.

When this photo went viral years ago, most people assumed this poor flamingo must have been killed by the lake.

It is actually the lake where 75% of its global population are hatched. This is a photo from the same lake:

Some species of flamingo actually subsist almost entirely on a diet of bacteria! In other words, there is a species of dinosaur that eats only bacteria and lives in lakes so toxic they would kill almost anything else—and it is best known to the average person as a kitschy lawn decoration.

Earth is an amazing place.

(via glassphinix)

maurypovichofficial2:

maurypovichofficial2:

that ‘i have to get ready for work’ edge of the bed sit. you know the one.

(via kaptainandy)

weaver-z:

weaver-z:

If I got ahold of Joe Biden’s phone I would put he/they in his Twitter bio then turn it off

Stop replying to this with “I would link Homestuck discourse! I would make a carrd! I would post Onceler stuff!” like guys. Guys. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this won’t work. Everyone will know it was a hack. But adding a they pronoun to the bio? Oh, baby, that’s a toss-up. We would bear witness to three gorgeous hours of the biggest Twitter storm you have ever seen. It would be better than superhell night.

(via sergle)

aquitainequeen:

SOLIDARITY WORKS!!!

(via travail-en-cours)

transbi:

pensive emoji

(via coolyourjetsbennie)

brightlotusmoon:

(via spaceshipsandpurpledrank)

yourlocaladhder:

(via coolyourjetsbennie)

warduke:

(via kaptainandy)

peachy-boo:

mamikink:

Flirting with a flustered sub feels like toying with my food and I love that tbh

I call easy subs “prey” for a reason

(via puppygirl-hornyposting)