Children are wild

heythisisbecky:

Today one of my students threw a stuffed animal across the room and it landed directly in a plate filled with paint

And I had it narrowed down to a few kids but no one would confess so I made them all put their toys away and have five minutes of quiet time to Reflect on Their Behavior

During that five minutes of relative silence, this group of three year olds INVENTED A NEW CLASSMATE, named him, and unanimously blamed him for throwing the toy across the room

There was not a single weak link, they were all ride or die

Unreal

(via lupinatic)

erinnightwalker:
“ acaffeinejunkie:
“ erinnightwalker:
“ erinnightwalker:
“ geostatonary:
“ sixpenceee:
“ “A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.”
(Source)
”
“HELLO NEIGHBOR STEVE, I WOULD LIKE TO...

erinnightwalker:

acaffeinejunkie:

erinnightwalker:

erinnightwalker:

geostatonary:

sixpenceee:

“A house I pass on the way to work has this sculpture in its yard. Its about 8 feet tall.”

(Source)

“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.

“You….you alright there buddy?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “


“Uh, yeah, I guess not. Did you, uh, know you’re kinda fuzzing at the edges, there?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “


“Right. Um. Well.”

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.

“Nice night for it, huh?”


“…..Y̮̮͍͔͇͙͙̟̐͌͛̓̏͞͡Eͩͭͮ̓̍ͯ̀ͧ͏̵̴̛̺̠̱͕̕ͅS͈̹̮̟̳̪̩̘͍̤̲̻͈̱̳̽̋́ͩ̃͋̎ͩ̈͆̀͘͢͢͟ͅ.̧̢͈̭̝̥̦͚͍̇ͫ̃̓͆̿̇ͪ͊ͧ̃͛͌͜͢ “


“Guy won’t scare anymore litttle girls, will he?”



“Ň̵̴̫̫̙͙̻̞͈̫̥̪̱͈͈̯̍̀̀͆ͫ̒̿̄͗͘͡͝ͅO̊͑̑͒̎͑̃ͬͭͮ̅̔̆̃̉ͯ̇͗̀҉̵̻̜̞͉̟͙͚̻̪̼̖̀͟ͅ.̵͈̣͈̙̣̜̻̭̩̝̠̞͗ͤͥ̓͗ͬ̓̄͊̓̅̐ͩͮͧͤ̽̐ “


“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.”



“ I̴̛̟̭͉̮̜̩̬̮̣̘̰͚̩͙̟̳͔̜̙͑̂̆̆͗͒̀ ͖̖̰͉̥͖͔̙̤̺͍̳͈̹͙̣̞̇̇ͤ͒̅̈́͆̽ͧ́̚̚̕͘W̶̶̱͈̞͖̼̟̣̮̌͂͒̈́͑͌͒͋̍ͮ͗̈ͣ̓ͤ͘͟I̴̶̞̥̩͇̔ͩͦ̇̉̾ͣͬ̀̀̒͒ͧ͛͌͛͆̚͘͢ͅͅL̠̟͕̠̟̪̰̻ͯ͂͊ͥ̍̏͋̐ͬ̉̆̈̀͠L̸̞̭͔̮ͦ͑̉ͮͩ́ͬͨͣ͘͜.̴͈͎̮͇͓͖̱̻̣͊͊ͤͩ͊̑͗͞ ̸̡̩̖̞̩̻̩̪̭͙̳͚͇̟̺͖̑͊ͫ̀͆ͨ̉̔̓̂̓̋T̷̷̟͉̟̻̻̪̞̰̯̻͈̣̰̬̻̾͐́ͭ̓̅́͡H͇̬̪̩̬̝̣͍͈͇ͯ͛̏͌ͮͧͭͦ͟͜A̴̴̤͕͈̤̮̞̱̯͔͕̙͔͖̰̬̰͈̠ͥ̏ͥ̍̽ͧ̀͝N͗̓͋̃̈̑̀̅ͣ̽̒̂̄ͯͩͤ͏̢͢͏͈̯͎̪͇̟̠͔̯͓͓̰̠̱̠̳͕̳͝K̢̓ͧ͛͛ͣ̄̓̓ͯ̍̈̈́̌͂̔͟҉̛̘̥̖̤̦̻̳͙͟ ̢̢̻̥̹̣̞͉̘͇͚͍̖̯̘͚͔̗̩͓͐ͮ͂͂̀̚͘͠Y̜̞͇̳̗̬͎̰̙̜̩̪͎̞̙̠̔͂̌̃́̀O͇̺̲͙͍̬̳̘͈̱̜̝͔̖̊ͥ̿ͫͤͫͫͩ͋̓̃ͦ̈̄͢͟Ū̢͖̲̦̠̤͎̙͉̦͖̖͓͍̺̺ͪͯ͐͆͆ͭͯ͗ͦ̄̅̌̈̃̾ͭ̋ͧ͢͢͠͡.̶̸̞͓̞̹̗̻̣͈͕̠̬̦ͫ̆ͤͬͨͦ͒͂ͨ̿ͩͪ͘͞.ͧ͛̒̂̂͗ͨ̌͆ͥͭ͒̉͘͜͏̙͖̰̝̙̲͓̙͕͍̥̳̩́͠.̶̷̮͎̱̼̬͖̰͎͚͙̥̓͋͋ͦ̓̓ͯ͆͛̏ͫ̅ͯ.̨̧̙̤̳̮̺̙͖̞͔̗͎͍̑̆ͮ͐ͩͦ̌̽̾̏͘͠.̹̖͕̮͕̞̰͍͚͖̌ͪ̃̐̐̌̌̅̉͑ͧͪͪͬ̓͐́͛̿͘͞ ….NEIGHBOR STEVE.”


“Anytime.”

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).

(via dadnetos)

egocentrifuge:

in happier news I had a student answer the question “what is in the room” with “a pretty professor” and spent the next twenty seconds incapable of speech as I tried not to inhale coffee and die, so there’s a good language professor/student au for yall

(via windbladess)

resignedtotheivories:
“ environmental storytelling
”

resignedtotheivories:

environmental storytelling

(Source: idiod, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

yournewfriendshouse:

katastrophic-kitten:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

im-an-octopus:

So i’m moving out on my own soon and my dad wants to make sure i know how to cook and he just called me downstairs and threw an apron at me and was like “WELCOME TO CHOPPED”

Ok my mystery ingredients are: canned potatoes, frozen spinach, frozen green beans, and tilapia

And he shoved them all under a cake platter so he could do a dramatic reveal

He keeps referring to himself as Tim Allen and idk if he’s trying to be funny or if he is just confused as to what Ted Allen’s name is

HE JUST YELLED “SUDDEN DEATH” AND PULLED A BAG OF WALNUTS OUT JFC DAD TED ALLEN WOULD NEVER DO THIS TO ME

Alright so we’re doing Walnut Crusted Tilapia on a Bed of Spinach with a side of Microwaved Green Beans and Canned Potatoes. Gourmet cooking at its finest.

He has been narrating everything I’ve done and whenever I’m about to fuck up he runs to the kitchen table and pretends to be a judge like “Interesting choice preheating the oven to 300°…I’d do it to 350°”

My dad told me I only have three minutes left but I think he said that three minutes ago so idk if he’s serious? IDKIDKIDK EVERYTHING IS A BLUR RN AND I HAVENT EVEN PLATED WHAT AM I DOING ON TUMBLR

Ok so apparently “throwing things on the plate in a panic” isn’t plating, but it tasted really good. Also, I didn’t get chopped, but my dog did because she wouldn’t stop barking at the neighbor.

I feel so accomplished and idk I think I’m ready for the actual show keep an eye out for me, guys

@sewer-druid

This is actually such great dadding

(via thepainofthesass)

elfpen:

clarabeau:

theyankeecandle:

madame-vashtranerada:

blackberrycreek:

stepone:

clarabeau:

Ladies, I am holding out my hand. Do you trust me?

I need you to open Google Maps. Locate your nearest mall. Get in your car. Drive to Yankee Candle.

Past the seasonal pumpkin display, near the back of the store, you will find a trash pile Man Candle section. You will see candles called MMM, Bacon!. Riding Mower. Man Town. (I’m not kidding. Man Town.) Stay strong. Not in this section, but likely very near this section, you will find a candle called Mountain Lodge.

Hold this jar in your hands like a talisman. Close your eyes and picture a man.

I want to be clear: I’m not talking about a Hugh Dancy. Or an Andrew Garfield, a Ben Whishaw, even a Tom Hiddleston. This exercise requires someone in the Chris Evans weight class. The Richard Armitage department. Someone with smile lines around his eyes who could chop the cedar for your bower with his own hands, strangle an alpha wolf, carry you home when you sprain your ankle in the woods, bench press your entire body. Picture this man in your mountain home with a full beard, a slightly grimy white henley, a fond half smile he reserves only for you. Now open the lid and smell Mountain Lodge.

Steady yourself on the man candle display. Give yourself a second. No, you’re not wrong. Yes, the Yankee Candle Company has just eliminated the need for men. This medium tumbler Mountain Lodge candle jar is now your boyfriend. The Yankee Candle Company has effectively replaced the need for contact with the male half of our species with a compact and clean-burning candle in a jar.

“Do you like this one?” the cashier asked, ringing me up. “Every man should be required by law to smell like what this candle smells like,” I replied intensely. “That’ll be $12.01,” she said.

MOUNTAIN LODGE

it literally smells like waking up on a cold night to find a bearded richard armitage adding another quilt to the bed before he gets back in and pulls you snugly against his chest

I’m not fucking around I feel like I should be watching chris hemsworth in flannel and suspenders whittling a delicate masterpiece in front of a fireplace rn

All right, Tumblr, I saw this post a few months ago and immediately realized I had to smell this candle.  I have never in my life experienced such a burning need (pun intended) to smell what the Yankee Candle website described as a warm aroma of cedarwood and sage, but what Tumblr described as my new boyfriend.

The trouble is that nearest Yankee Candle Company store was a bit of a trek, and my schedule tended to prohibit this olfactory adventure.

So for the last few weeks, as I’d scroll my Tumblr dash and look at images of attractive manly men, I’d sigh and wistfully think, if only I could engage another sense with this image. If only I could I could truly fathom the ideal fragrance of this man.

And then this happened.

And I knew.

I knew whatever was happening, I needed to get to a Yankee Candle Company. The scent of Mountain Lodge would transport me instantly to this scene. The aroma of this infamous candle could make me live out a self-insertion Avengers fanfic.

So I got in my car, made the drive, and located the Yankee Candle Company.  The store was crowded with holiday shoppers. My nose was immediately assaulted by hundreds of warring scents.  

I battled through the sea of humanity and the Angel Wings-Merry Marshmallow-Magical Frosted Forest assault, buoyed on by my need to understand what Steve Rogers ripping a log in half with his bare hands smelled like.

I waded toward the back of the store, only to discover the man candle section seems to have been discontinued. What was I going to steady myself on, once I found my scented gateway to hanging out with the Avengers on Hawkeye’s farm? I felt lost, adrift, unable to find my bearings amid Soft Blanket-Fluffy Towels-Home Sweet Home.

And then… rising from the “Fresh” display, there it was.

Mountain Lodge.

It was the moment of truth. What would it be like to smell this infamous candle?

I opened the lid. I took a deep breath.

And I giggled.

Ah yes.  This was it.  This gentle, pleasantly masculine fragrance, in fact, reduced me to what I’d probably do in the actual presence of Chris Evans: giggle like an idiot.

The smell makes me smile, makes me laugh, makes me gently swoon: all reactions that, indeed, can be elicited by an ideal man. I can barely handle the true power of Mountain Lodge.

Several months have passed since this discovery. I have regaled friends with the saga, and after hearing of it, they, too, felt the burning need to smell the candle.  One by one, we have all become Mountain Lodge converts. In times of need, this candle is our refuge. Our group has developed escapist superpowers, infused by the Yankee Candle Company. 

THE CANDLE, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND.  

MOUNTAIN LODGE.

This is how you do advertisement

we love everything about all of this. We will always be there for you, just light your Mountain Lodge candle and know that our love burns bright for you.

The official Yankee Candle™ tumblr account has recognized the Mountain Lodge mythos. My work on the material plane is finally complete. A being of pure light, I slowly ascend to the aether.

I still have the mini Mountain Lodge candle that @pandolfo-malatesta sent me, and omg it’s divine

(via slyrider)

fuckingrecipes:

thecoffeecoyote:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

Okay, so here’s the story about the pumpkins:

My friend got married yesterday and we missed the wedding because of work but we made it to the reception. Because its mid-September and the reception was in a nature center (awesome!) there was a little bit of a fall theme. Not overbearingly, but the tables all had these tiny pumpkins. 

So they’re cleaning up at the end of it and we’re still hanging out because we haven’t seen these people in forever and we can talk until three in the morning when we get together. All of a sudden, the Maid of Honor hands us a tiny pumpkin. 

“Take one.”

“Um… okay?”

“Take another.”

“….?”

“It is my duty as Maid of Honor to make sure that the guests leave with an uncomfortable number of tiny pumpkins.”

So it turns out that she’d gotten a bunch of them for a Halloween party last year and after the party was over her mom threw them into the compost heap thinking that would be the end of it. But what she didn’t seem to realize was that if you put pumpkins in a compost heap- it grows more pumpkins. It grows pumpkins exponentially. Serious mathematical anomaly pumpkins. 

So this year she has even more tiny pumpkins and she figured it would be a good idea to have them as decor for the reception. BUT- she would still have to throw them out at the end of the day and no matter where you throw them you are doomed to have a ridiculous amount of tiny pumpkins growing SOMEWHERE at your fault. 

So everyone left with at least two tiny pumpkins and that’s how we made friends with the Maid of Honor. 

So I forgot about it and then the next morning I woke up and found these two tiny pumpkins in my purse and had a puzzling moment of ‘what?’

We were invited to the Maid of Honor’s house the other day so we could:

  • take some of the flowers off her hands
  • help with some post-wedding stuff
  • watch the presidential debate
  • play Clue for like three hours
  • drink a lot of booze. 

And there are just… tiny pumpkins EVERYWHERE.


They were in the bathroom.


At the end of the night, I counted 26 tiny pumpkins, and that was just what I could see. 

It happened again.

Three pumpkins ended up in my purse this time. 

One of them has a face. 


I need to stop drinking with this woman. 

THIS POST HAS ME DYIN

All Pumpkins

Are Edible

And Should Not

Go To Waste

“Decorative” pumpkins are just pumpkins. They’re all gourds, like Summer Squash. They can be cooked really similarly…. 
Yes, there is a difference in the texture of different pumpkins - specifically bred ‘Pie’ pumpkins (sugar pumpkins) are sweeter and have denser, smoother flesh. Jack-O-Lantern pumpkins have stringier flesh and thinner shells, but…. My grocery store sells pumpkin at $1.70 per pound, but I can get 10lb pumpkin at the local patch for like, $8…. Just like Spaghetti Squash and Acorn Squash have wildly different textures and tastes, the varieties of pumpkins shouldn’t be abandoned to rot… 
Plus they’re way cheaper… and you can roast the seeds. 
;A; 
I just get so sad at all the rotting edibles laying around in autumn… baby pumpkins deserve to be eaten, too! 

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

inheritress:

so my chemistry teacher has a playful rivalry with the other teachers on her hall and yesterday a teacher anonymously left a note on my teacher’s board that said “my students are better than your students” so instead of guessing who it was my teacher went around the entire hall and stole pens out of every classroom and, as “an experiment in chromatography”, got us to drop water and rubbing alcohol on the note and sample marks made by the stolen pens to see what color the ink turned and when we figured out whose pen was used to write the note she went to the teacher in the middle of class and confronted her about it

(via windbladess)

moxperidot:

aftertheend-gamedev:

moxperidot:

player: what if (exact prediction of gm’s plan)

gm: 

Let me tell you a tale…

Once upon a time, I was running a DnD game for some friends. The player characters were checking out reports that a local town had been having trouble with monsters. They’re informed that it was true, a few years ago, but a copper dragon set up a lair in the mountains and chased all the awful creatures out. A dragon slayer showed up shortly thereafter and neither dragon nor slayer were heard from again. Players are disappointed at first, but then quickly perk up when some other plot threads become apparent.

A few sessions later, the place they were staying burned down (their fault), forcing them to check out the more expensive tavern in town. There, they meet Allie Cohol, a half-elf woman with red hair that owned and ran the tavern. She was cheerfully greedy, but still helpful and always ready with a cheesey joke… And after only the third joke, one of the players, Bill, froze and locked eyes with me. “You fucker. She’s the copper dragon,” Bill says.

That reveal was supposed to be a big thing later, so I’m kinda on the spot. Fortunately, another player, Fran, pipes up and says, “nah, that’s stupid. The dragon in the mountain is a red herring. We’re here for the cultists.” The cultists were in the sewer and the PCs were actually working for the cleric Big Bad without them knowing.

“No, listen,” Bill continued. “Red hair. Greedy. Bad jokes… Her name is Allie Cohol.”

Everyone around the table gives him a fairly blank look, but I’m sweating bullets. Threads that I had spun oh so carefully were half a heartbeat away from unraveling. Bill is getting this real wild look in his eyes and pounds a fist against the table. “Allie Cohol. HER NAME IS ALCOHOL.”

Fran then slowly pans over and looks me dead in the eyes. “The deadly joke ability. She’s a goddamn dragon.”

this is beautiful

(via patroclvss)

fueled-by-nightcore:
“ swagakuya-brogami:
“ orioniszeta:
“ runawayalters:
“ rapunzelilo:
“ mage-of-time:
“ arcticsirius:
“ transhumanisticpanspermia:
“ vondell-swain:
“ futurespooky:
“ josukekun:
“ shavingryansprivates:
“ holy...

fueled-by-nightcore:

swagakuya-brogami:

orioniszeta:

runawayalters:

rapunzelilo:

mage-of-time:

arcticsirius:

transhumanisticpanspermia:

vondell-swain:

futurespooky:

josukekun:

shavingryansprivates:

holy shit

JESUS

omg

wh

it’s back

wat

I have yet to witness something as fucked up as this

WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST READ

wow

Holy shit

This is an ace attorney trial

fuckin full circle, man

(Source: sighdumbb, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)