pipistrellus:

feynites:

minesottafatspoollegend:

i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”

When my sister and I were kids we had this one action figure, who was actually a brutalized batman doll without his cape (the dog chewed half his head, too), who we dubbed ‘Evil Chancellor Traytor’. The idea was that in the fictional society of our toys, ‘chancellor’ just came with the word ‘evil’ in front of it, as a matter of ancient tradition. Like ‘grand’ or ‘high’ or something along those lines.

Anyway, the running gag was that the king (an old Power Rangers knock-off doll) had absolute and unwavering faith in Evil Chancellor Traytor, who basically comported himself like a mix between Grima Wormtongue and Jafar from the Aladdin movies. Everyone was always sure that Evil Chancellor Traytor had something to do with the nefarious scheme of the day. The dude even carried around a poisoned knife called ‘the kingslayer’.

The additional twist on the joke, though, was that he never was behind anything. The king was actually right. Evil Chancellor Traytor was the most devoted civil servant in the entire Action Figure Dystopia. He spent his nights working on writing up new legislature to ensure that broken toys had access to mobility devices, was always on the lookout to acquire new shoeboxes for expanding city infrastructure, and drafted a proposal that once got half the ‘settlement’ in my sister and I’s closet moved to the upper shelf so that vulnerable toys were less likely to be snatched up by the dog.

The knife, as it turned out, was as symbolic as the ‘evil’ in his name. See, Action Figure Dystopia had a long history of corrupted monarchs getting too big for their thrones and exploiting the underclasses. The job of the Evil Chancellor was to always remain vigilant, and loyally serve a good ruler - or, if the regent should became a despot, to slay them on behalf of the people.

But since killing the king would be a terrible crime, the Evil Chancellor had to be the kind of person who would willingly die to spare the people from the plight of a wicked leader; because the murder would be pinned on them, in order to keep the ‘machinery of politics’ working as smoothly as ever.

Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor had a diary, in which my sister I would take turns writing out the most over-the-top good shit he’d done behind the scenes. Usually after everyone else had finished talking shit about him. I don’t know why but we got the biggest kick out of being like:

Barbie With the Unfortunate Haircut: Oh that Evil Chancellor Traytor! Why can’t the king see how wicked he is?!

Charmander From the Vending Machine: Char!

Jurassic Park Toy of Jeff Goldblum With Disturbingly Realistic Face: At least if someone puts a knife in the king’s back, we’ll know where to look!

Evil Chancellor Traytor’s Diary: Today I was feeding ducks at the park when I noticed another legless action figure sitting by the benches. I put a hundred dollars into his bag while he wasn’t looking. I really need to increase budgeting to the medical treatment centers. If only we had enough glue, I think we would see far fewer toys trying to get by without limbs… *insert iconic evil laugh*

Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor eventually fell victim to one of my mom’s cleaning sprees, and she decided he was too busted up to keep and tossed him out. My littler brother, who tended to follow my sister and I’s games like he was watching a daily soap opera, cried so hard that we had to do a special ‘episode’ where one of the toys found the Evil Chancellor’s diary, and so he got a big huge memorial and the king threw himself into the empty grave and then ordered the toys driving the toy bulldozer to bury him so that ‘Traytor’s grave would have a body’ (this seemed very important for some reason).

And then we had the Quest For a New King. Somehow or another that ended up being a giant rubber snake called ‘Tyrant King Cobra’.

#i love this discworld novel

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

gladtoseayou:

Jeff Jackson, a young Democratic NC State senator is the only senator in the general assembly today due to the snow.

(via slyrider)

angryjerkandstrawboy:

ethereumwinds:

fun fact about the next avengers film being filmed in edinburgh: they’ve blocked off certain areas which is disrupting one specific postal van’s delivery route which is in turn leading to an awkward stand-off at the police station because Marvel Studios might be a billion dollar company but this man really wants to do his job and apparently interfering with the course of the Royal Mail technically counts as treason so they’re at a stalemate

this is the best thing i’ve heard all day

(via hollandlolland)

Geology field shenanigans

akamine-chan:

theneuroknight:

suchprettypride:

camwyn:

elodieunderglass:

naamahdarling:

rj-abacura:

pasiphile:

wiwaxia:

wiwaxia:

All true. All witnessed. No regrets.

  • Respected professor shakes fist at mountain and dares it to erupt
  • 17 inappropriate ways to wear a hi-vis vest
  • Everything is 20% muscovite
  • The double-backwards hammer flip
  • Putting a fawn in a backpack and carrying it round all day
  • Food tastes of dirt because too much actual dirt in mouth
  • Spontaneous outdoors group nudity with sheep skulls to protect modesty
  • Reversing sheep out of canyons
  • Doing makeup in the mirror on your compass
  • Bandaging an arterial bleed with a handkerchief
  • If I can take it up a 4wd track, then it must be a 4wd!
  • Puppies ate my rockhammer and the house-cow ate my bra
  • Where’s [phd student]? *everyone just silently points up*
  • Killing a stoat with a rockhammer in front of fifteen second years and scarring them for life
  • Transit van mosh pits
  • “Why are you yelling? I burned my pubes, isn’t that punishment enough?”
  • The underwater naked strike and dip
  • Tent flooding ending in six people sharing one double bed
  • Dessert sandwiches
  • Unexpected bulls in unexpected places
  • Spontaneous a capella outbreak of “Wonderwall” followed by “… *tiny voice* but I hate that song?”
  • Butt-shuffling down hills that are too steep
  • Being the *second* person across the wasp-infested log
  • Back-rub circles
  • Handlens unscrewing and falling apart in the middle of a river
  • Field selfies #geology4lyfe
  • Fault gouge smeared over face
  • “That’s not yoga, THIS is yoga!” *falls on face*
  • Accidentally mapping river gravels for two hours and getting lost
  • *rock falls out of cliff* *twenty people silently take one step left in unison*
  • I AM THE GOD OF STRATIGRAPHY!
  • Duct-taping your boots back together every morning
  • Not enough coloured pencils
  • Sharing water bottles
  • If I throw my rockhammer at this, will it stick?
  • “I swear, I can SEE Milankovitch cycles!” “Okay I’m cutting you off.”
  • Cross-sections: kink or busk?
  • “You know when you’ve got to The Knob because you don’t see any action for three hours.“ 

katie this is importantwhen you say fawn … like a deer? really? COOL

Yes, a deer. A three-day-old baby deer. It was a terrible idea. When the students rocked back up to the field station with it, we told them off for stock rustling, took it to the farmer who was like, what the fuck am I going with that, I’ll have to cut its throat and use it for dog meat, and we were like, uh, no, so we took it to the SPCA, who were DELIGHTED. 

I THOUGHT A “FAWN” WAS SOME KIND OF OBSCURE GEOLOGICAL TERM I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND

YOU PUT A BABY DEER IN A BACKPACK

More geology field shenanigans!

  • Respected professor claims our hydrochloric acid solution is less acidic than coca cola. We dare him to drink it. HE DOES.
  • Hiking up a mountain on crutches. “YOLO!”
  • Painting Cambrian-age trilobite fossils with nail polish.
  • Creepy abandoned fishing villages. So many creepy abandoned fishing villages.
  • Student finds brachiopod fossils in an outcrop behind said creepy abandoned fishing village. Respected professor gasps and squeaks “Brachiopods??!?” and goes tearing off up a hill to find them.
  • Students collect so many rock samples that we can no longer see the floor of the 15 passenger van. The van floor begins to develop its own stratigraphy.
  • Racing the roadside moose in the 15 passenger van.
  • Respected professor takes both hands off of the wheel of the moving van to get a picture of the moose. Panic ensues.
  • Mapping an island with nothing but a Brunton compass, a field notebook, and the largest bottle of fireball whiskey money can buy.
  • Respected Professor singing along to “Man-Eating Trilobite”
  • Entire class goes to local bar and won’t stop singing local drinking song for about a week.
  • That one vegan student that survives off of french fries for a month.
  • Stealing rock samples from National Parks
  • Straddling the moho
  • Licking the moho
  • Peeing on mantle peridotite just to see if it fizzes
  • Using the same pocket knife for everything. Eating. Scratching rocks. Removing splinters. Seriously, it’s gross.
  • Hiking down a river only to discover the water level is MUCH HIGHER than anticipated
  • Nearly drowning in said river but damn it you kept your electronics DRY
  • “It’s not safe to drink the water. So everyone gets 2 beers per meal”.
  • Fitting the entire class into a single hot tub
  • Every lobster is named Jack Daniels. It is known.
  • That one “Chinese Canadian Fusion” restaurant

*DID* IT FIZZ?

my husband was once Responsible Adult on a geology field course and the highlight was when I was calling him and it was like

Dr Glass: Oh, an undergrad’s just thrown his compass into the sea.

Me: is that… part of the exercise?

Dr Glass: *nonjudgmentally* well…

(an unearthly, animal roar is heard over the phone)

Dr Glass: Ah, now he’s going into the sea.

Me: …To get the compass?

Dr Glass: I think he just wants the sea to take him.

(a peaceable, nonjudgmental silence follows, with distant splashing)

Dr Glass: Well, I think I’ll go get him now.

I wanna know the lyrics to “Man-Eating Trilobite”.

@theneuroknight

Oh god, geo field camp…

-Leaping away from rattlesnakes you can only hear, not see.

-Playing “hide the rock”

-Loosing your compass because it flipped out of your holster while you were peeing on the outcrop, which was actually a win, because it’s so hot out that usually you don’t pee all day.

-Flinging your rock hammer (i.e. lightning rod) and running like mad because a thunderstorm suddenly hits.

-redrawing cross-sections at night while the tent bows inward from the force of all the insects trying to get in.

-finding dead things and getting unreasonably excited because it’s something other than a rock.

-Listening to a professor sing WWII german army songs…

-Trying to keep up when drinking with a European and regretting it one hour later.

-Climbing up an outcrop and then realizing there is no reasonable way to get down.

-Eating at the last restaurant open in town because it’s 9 pm and camp is still not set up.

-Losing half your caravan when there was only one time the road split. 

-Inspirational night pees out under the milky way.

Oh, god, this post keeps bringing back all my repressed college memories.

-Running away from angry cows

-Running away from suspicious, armed ranchers who think you’re from the govt

-Squatting to pee and falling over into a cactus

-Losing parts of your tent as you raft down the Green River; by the end of the trip, your tent no longer stands

-Having to ground your raft repeatedly in stands of seriously thorny salt cedars

-Trying to buy alcohol in UTAH.

(via johanirae)

Service Offered: Professional Third Wheel

glumshoe:

sissyhiyah:

glumshoe:

Unwanted suitors? Not sure if you’re on a date? To nice to turn him down? I can help! With nearly four years of experience sabotaging romantic encounters, I’m the uncomfortable silence you deserve… and now, I’m offering my services professionally. 

Bring me along as a platonic bufferzone on unwanted or ambiguous dates with suitors you’re not interested in but don’t know how to turn down. Guaranteed to kill the mood or your money back!

Basic services include: Terrible puns, poorly-timed jokes, casual physical displays of affection, bringing up unappealing facts about you (to be established or fabricated ahead of time), including myself in attempts at cuddling, domineering the conversation, irritating laughter, talking about I may have finally found an apartment for rent that’s big enough to house all of your cats, subtly making remarks about how nice it is that you’ve made a new friend. 

More advanced services: Creating diversions (available at tiers 1, 2, and 3; examples include pouring water over my head, impromptu hula dancing, and  triggering alarms), intimate displays of physical affection, accidentally spilling drinks on your suitor’s clothing, laughing at everything your suitor says while drinking until I manage to time it so that water comes out of my nose and sprays onto them. 

 Package deals: 

  • The Gay Best Friend: What it sounds like. Because this persona runs the risk of stereotype and exploitation, I prefer to keep this subtle. Willing to engage in mild flirtation with your suitor. Please use discretion when requesting this service; the intention is to make him realize that your feelings towards him are platonic. Do not even consider this package if he is aggressively homophobic. 
  • The Imposing Older Brother: I scowl, smirk, and huff judgmentally. Comes in two flavors: the Violent Ex-Con and the Insufferable Elitist. Can flex my physical or intellectual muscles as needed. 
  • The Irritating Younger Brother: I bring a gaming device along, snicker rudely and roll my eyes whenever he speaks, complain about the time, chew with my mouth open, shrug indifferently, prop my sneakers on his chair, wipe my nose on my hand, and bluntly interrupt the conversation whenever it strays out of your comfort zone. 
  • The Priest: Why the heck would you bring your priest on a date?! I don’t know, and neither will your suitor! Obfuscate them into backing off. If that doesn’t work, I will recite dry Biblical passages until they are driven away by crushing boredom or fear of Hell. 
  • The Son from The Future: Depending on the age difference, I can also pose as your Son from the Current Era. Will dress in conspicuously unusual clothing (ex. holographic baseball cap, life preserver, roller skates, VISOR-like sunglasses), continuously ask for the date and time, and anxiously mutter about how it’s almost time for you to ditch this place and meet my father for the first time.
  • The Enslaved Zombie Ex-Boyfriend: I don milky, semi-opaque contact lenses and follow you around mindlessly, with jerky, unnatural movements. I am at your beck and call, controlled from beyond the grave by your occult powers - the fate of all the boyfriends who displease you.  
  • The Demon Prince: I wear a stylish fawn suit, soft kidskin gloves, and silver cuff-links etched with strange symbols. I have a ring or a cane decorated with the head of a ram. I say little, but smile often. Now and then, I pull out a little silver hourglass from a chain around my neck and examine it, tapping my foot, my fingers, or my cane impatiently. I adopt a curious and subtle accent and ask him to appraise his immortal soul. I carry a sleek briefcase rigged to emit a bright light if I crack it open a hair. Optional: I carry a cube of sulfur in my pocket for the smell.
  • The Mulder: A proven classic. I periodically derail the conversation with crackpot conspiracy theories, the nature of reality, extraterrestrial intelligence, and ESP. May accuse your suitor of being a Reptilian, or demand that they feel the scar where I had an alien implant removed. Insist that we change tables because this one is bugged and we are under surveillance by the secret shadow government.    
  • The Fiance You Thought Was Lost at Sea: I burst through the door, dripping wet, with barnacle-encrusted clothing and a crab dangling from my ear lobe. I’ll smell of brine and have a haunted look in my eye. This will require some acting skills from you; you’ll need to throw yourself sobbing into my arms and cry, “I thought I’d lost you!” and I’ll hold you and mutter something about Davy Jones getting ahead of himself.  
  • Other: I am happy to work with you to develop a persona specific to your unique needs and preferences. 

Rates: Sliding scale, determined by me on a case-by-case basis. I want to make my services available to all who need them. Factors such as the relative heinousness of suitor is considered; affluent clients can generally expect to pay more as likelihood of physical or spiritual harm increases. For swanky dates in nice locations with minimal levels of danger, I typically ask only that you cover the cost of my meal, entrance fees, transportation, and other expenses.

IMPORTANT:
Although I am prepared to deal with any number of eventualities, I am not a professional: bodyguard, assassin, exorcist, crocodile hunter, or escort. If you expect that any of these services will become necessary, I am happy to put you in touch with a specialist. ADDITIONALLY: If your suitor is non-human, please be upfront with this so that we can plan accordingly. We do not want a repeat of the events of Halloween 2012.

ADDENDUM 2014: I reserve the right to terminate our deal at any time. This is a exclusively a professional relationship, and any physical or romantic affection we may share may be considered performance and unrelated to my personal feelings.
ADDENDUM 2015: If you are trying to orchestrate a set-up because you get off on watching your significant other jealously beat the crap out of perceived rivals, fuck you. Vengeance will be swift.

Forget the fake suitor.

Marry me now.

It is against my policy to enter into legally-binding arrangements with clients, although by popular demand, I will attend weddings and family reunions as a plus-one to discourage nosey relatives.

Closeted lesbian or asexual, but your aunt won’t stop asking when you will get a boyfriend? I can be your mind-numbingly boring new beau for the day to put her off the scent. She’ll be so uninterested in my dull life that she’ll never inquire further.

Mom won’t stop trying to set you up with a nice Jewish or Hindi boy? I’m neither! Let her down gradually with your new white boyfriend before you eventually drop the ‘polyamorous bisexual witch’ bomb.

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

makeoutstation:

makeoutstation:

oh my GOD so i was talking to a buddy in psychology and then this kid came in who looked exactly like him and gave him a book he’d forgotten at home

and i went “holy shit you have a twin?!?” and he was like “yeah! his name is jason!” and i was like “????? i thought YOUR name was jason”

long story short i have one of them in my math class and another in my psychology class and i’ve developed a friendship with both of them but i thought they were the same person this entire time

remember this post? not-jason is refusing to tell me his name and everyone’s keeping it from me so i’m just calling him not-jason

(Source: coolmomsvevo, via clockwork-mockingbird)

starburstdragon:

krazykitsune:

just-shower-thoughts:

The first guy who heard a parrot talk was probably not ok for several days.

Actually, weird history fact about that. The island of Bermuda’s first name was Isle of Devils, being thought to be filled with demons and angry spirits when it was actually just filled with some loud ass birds.

@lotsandlotsofbirds

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

soldatbuckybarnes:
“guys this email was just sent to my entire class (including my professor I think) please enjoy
”

soldatbuckybarnes:

guys this email was just sent to my entire class (including my professor I think) please enjoy

(via charminglyantiquated)

cannibalcoalition:
“ thefuckingbounusduck:
“ breelandwalker:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ cannibalcoalition:
“ “ dire-sloth
you should have offered them four 12x12 squares...

cannibalcoalition:

thefuckingbounusduck:

breelandwalker:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

cannibalcoalition:

dire-sloth

you should have offered them four 12x12 squares and a bottle of glue

As hilarious as that is…

… we’re out of glue. 

Completely out of glue. The glue slime trend that has swept the middle schools in our area has maxed out all outlets of glue from December 18th to today’s date- February 6th. We keep getting shipments of glue, but they only come in 20-bottle boxes and they are completely gone by the time the weekend is out. Children are buying them by the armful. 

And I would find this cute and honestly amazing that these kiddos are getting their first taste of entrepreneurship (mine was in high school, where I made novelty school ID’s) if it weren’t for the involvement of the parents. 

Because the kids are like ‘aw, you don’t have any? Ok. We’ll try somewhere else- thank you! Where’s your glitter?’

The parents… oh gods the parents. 

Calling us up at 9am- “What do you MEAN you don’t have any glue!? ITS A BASIC CRAFT ITEM! YOU HAVE TO HAVE GLUE!”

“You’re telling me that you DON’T CARRY GLUE?”

“I’m calling your corporate office to tell them just how wholly unprepared you all are because this is the fourth store I’ve called and NONE of you have any glue.”

“Can I pre-order? What do you MEAN I have to order from the website?”

“When will you be getting more? You don’t KNOW! HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW!? Two weeks at the EARLIEST!?”

“Can you call me when you get some? YOU CAN’T EVEN CALL ME WHEN YOU GET IT IN?”

I once caught one of our framers taking a call like these and I saw her re-inact Winona Ryder’s entire range of facial expressions a la SAG awards, eventually ending in her left eye going slightly wall when the angry parent finally hung up. 

And there are some that call every single day, asking the same questions and hoping that they’ll get a different answer. But no. I’m sorry. The Glue Fairy didn’t make a surprise visit last night. We did not plant the glue seeds in time for the harvest and now there is a glue famine. The small child that we sent to fetch more glue has been captured by witches- who are now intent on raising her as their own and we wish them luck. 

One day, my brother will have children and they will ask me about the Glue Famine of 2017 and I will recall a very specific instance wherein I could feel flecks of spittle coming through the end of the phone. 

One day I shall die and a team of necromancers will raise me from my crumbling sarcophagus and the very first words from my revived, husk of a maw will be ‘WE ARE STILL OUT OF GLUE, CRETINOUS FILTH!’

And this is how I knew that 2017 was going to be a bad year. Retail-mancy: I divine the fall of our nation by the fact that we are perpetually out of basic adhesives. And its not the children that buy them that make it a problem, but the parents who imagine that we somehow have control over the entire damn glue industry. 

Here. Buy that shit online and teach your children the benefits of buying bulk, because apparently it’s too late for the fucking adults, if my previous encounters with adult entrepreneurs is any indication. 

Why you want to yell at me for telling you the truth is beyond me when you could be putting all that energy towards not sucking. GIT GUD. 

I just learned today that tomorrow our store will be hopping on the glue slime trend and making an end cap to make easy access to our stock of glues, glitters, and I suppose we might be adding borax to our inventory. 

Need I remind you that this is what our glue stock has looked like for the past two months:

We just got some in two days ago and its already gone. 

So you have to imagine the position we’re in here- where we’re advertising glue that does not exist for more than three days every two to four weeks because of these tots are hell-bent on selling slime to their sandbox buddies.

 We’re not selling glue. We’re selling the concept of glue. We are selling the desire for glue. We are inspiring others to covet the glue we do not have. The glue is unknowable. It is invisible, intangible, ineffable. One day the glue uprising shall be upon us, and none shall speak its name. 

So like just in case you didn’t get the message-

We are out of glue.

Glue we are out of. 

Out of glue we are.

We glue of are out.

Because the dozen or so rows where we used to stock our glue is now a gaping cavity of woe, our heathen customers have decided that this is the perfect space to lazily put things that they just suddenly decide they don’t want anymore. And for some ridiculous reason, the most popular thing to leave where an associate can find it is fake flowers. 

Not even the first time this has happened, people. People are attempting to build a memorial to the glue that was, and will never be again. The time of glue has passed, we shall remember it fondly. Ashes to ashes, goop to goop. 

Rest in Particulate, Glue Aisle. 

Its about to get…

…significantly worse. 

I’ve had several people contact me about an email that went out from our company, advertising Glue Slime and giving out a recipe (instead of borax, using baking soda and contact lens solution… I weep for our local optometrists). Luckily, we were sent a large ration of glue on Thursday in preparation for the endcap that we just put up.

And for a moment, the balance was restored. We could rebuild! There was enough glue to fill the dozen or so places in its home and have a good amount for the display. Sadly, we were only given a few bottles of clear glue- which is the one that people really want because…. clear slime. But things were looking better!

But little did we know… 

… President’s Day was coming. 

And the children… needed something to do… 

Here is a photo of the display on Saturday morning. 

And here it is on Monday morning:

They have ravaged our glue surplus to 1/10th. The glue that filled its home space is completely gone. I am honestly surprised that the meager 40 bottles we have left are still there, and by the time I finish writing this- they may not be. 

Why would you do this to us, Mr President?

So while we have those 40 bottles, we can at least fend off the screaming parents, but I anticipate that a considerable amount of screaming will have already started by the time I start my shift this afternoon. 

I shall scream as well. 

I scream, they scream- we all scream into the yawning void of the glue section in hopes that the Elmer, God of Cheap Adhesives, will hear our cries and grant us the glue we so desperately yearn for. We shall be united in our despair. 

We have reached a place in our glue stock where we are consistently keeping up with demand, more or less. We get it in on Wednesday, they all come in on the weekend and we’re out by Monday- giving people one day to bitch and moan because what would these people do if they weren’t allowed to scream at us for a whole thirty seconds?

Well, I came in to work on Wednesday and I found this at our customer service desk:

Look out world- we have the gallons!

People asked for the gallons of glue, they got the gallons of glue. 

There were 20 of them on that endcap. I saw a woman buy three of them at once (and of course she wanted to use a coupon on each and every one of them because ‘gosh- who knew that glue would be so expensive!’ Like… lady- you’re getting this at 20 cents an ounce if you get it without a coupon. It’s not expensive, you’re just a cheapskate.)

By the end of Wednesday, they were all gone. We sold 20 gallons of glue in four hours. People were laying down $60 for glue. I could feel my Great Depression-raised grandpa shaking his head from…. I dunno, probably Purgatory.

Now the entire area knows that we have the glue gallons- the word has spread. But we don’t have them in stock and guess what emotions they have over it! If you guessed ‘anger’ then you’re right! So they do what they’ve always done when they need a literal gallon of glue and there are no gallons of glue to be had: they buy a ton of individual bottles. 

But now knowing that there is an easier way to do this that is yet inaccessible to them fills them with ennui, and as they walk through the store their excitement over their hoard wanes and they put some of it back. 

Now, any person of the retail-worker persuasion will tell you that a customer never puts an item back where they’re supposed to. That would be, frankly, preposterous. So instead, as they lose their grip on their desire for glue, they leave a single bottle where it is most convenient to them- a symbol of their defeat. 

This is a fancy way of saying that I found a bottle of glue in every aisle one night because someone got pissy about not being able to buy it by the gallon and forgot to get a basket. 

THE EPIC SAGA CONTINUES

how the fuck did we get from 12x12 squares of paper the the glue famine

Embrace the absurdity or be doomed by it. 

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

Just Rural Mountain Things

gallusrostromegalus:

gallusrostromegalus:

  • The First Rattlesnake Of Spring
  • Part of your big spring break plans involve going to the costo where you can get all that shit they don’t carry anywhere up here.
  • Being able to ethically source your food AND reduce your grocery bill because FARM CO-OPS ARE AMAZING.
  • Rez Dog is a Real Breed and your Eurocentrism can eat my ass Linda.
  • Wind Chill Factor?   You mean people live in places without constant wind???? that sounds fake but ok?
  • Meeting your flatlander friends at the airport and driving straight into the mountains to the highest point you can to see what altitude they pass out at.
  • Blaming literally EVERYTHING on the Altitude.  “This weather is weird” “It’s the altitude”/”This steak tastes great!” “It’s the altitude”/ “My husband is a lyin’ cheatin’ son of a bitch” “It’s the altitude.”
  • In a similar vein, all precipitation from a light drizzle to six feet of snow is greeted with “we need the Moisture”  
  • The four seasons are Winter, Still Winter, Those Two Nice Weeks In May, Tourist and Fire.
  • Being able to identify animal tracks not because you were in scouts but because you want to know what knocked over the dumpster and spread trash all over the parking lot this week.
  • The Ravens are practically citizens of your town and better customers than most humans.

MORE RURAL MOUNTAIN THINGS:

  • Knowing *exactly* what percentage above or below annual snowpack you’re at and worrying about it either way.
  • Sleeping with the Door Open so you can hear if a bear tries to break into your house again.  
  • they’re a lot quieter than you’d think
  • Three-Dog-Nights are REAL and you’d better have enough canine to go around.
  • Three hour drives for supplies you can’t get in your town are now “adventures”, and you plan to see a movie while you’re out there because the local place can only Pick Two to show and they picked Fifty Shades and one of the outdated Star Treks for some reason.
  • There is  ONE neuropharmacologist within five hours of you, but her schedule is depressingly open because the culture out here prefers shotguns to medication.
  • Watching Flatlanders lose their shit when you tell them the cute lil prairie dogs have Black Plague.
  • Is It Spring Yet? *20 inches of snow* I’m gonna take that as a Maybe.
  • Having your dog eat something off the ground, jamming your hand into his mouth before he swallows it, pulling it out and finding out you’re holding a Live Tarantula.
  • Your housing development backs up on to ranching land, and therefore there are sometimes Cows.  This is fine, but the East Cost Transplants complain about it,  While the West Coast ones try to feed them Quinoa.
  • yelling at the neighbors kids to quit playing in the gully while it’s flooding, dipshits.
  • That one neighbor with the prominently displayed Gun Collection that is meant to be seen from the front yard.
  • The tactile silence, cool and heavy like watermelon, late at night when you get to the edge of the neighborhood and there’s nothing but you, the stars and the dog and for a few minutes, you can see eternity in either direction and you know that one way or another, it’s going to be OK.

(via clockwork-mockingbird)