I ALMOST GOT INTO A CAR CRASH JUST NOW MY LAST WORDS WOULD’VE BEEN “THAT CLOUD LOOKS LIKE A DICK.”
STOP REBLOGGING THIS YOU ASSHOLES I COULD’VE DIED
one time this guy in my class drew a penis on the blackboard with a permanent marker and continued the drawing with an erasable marker and made it to be a cat and my english teacher wanted to write on the blackboard so she tried to erase the drawing and the cat went away and all that was left was a penis and we all cried laughing and she just sighed and said “its so small”
sweet fuckin christ luke
This is Coy Mathis, a transgender 6 year old living in Colorado. It just so happens that my brother is in her class at Eagleside Elementary School in Fountain, Colorado. When I asked my brother how he felt about Coy he said, “She’s got really cool hair and we play on the slides at recess.” I asked what he thought about Coy’s decision to be a girl and he said, “She is a girl. She just got the wrong body on accident.” How is a 6 year old more understanding and accepting of her than many of the adults at Eagleside Elementary?
I need my glasses to find my glasses do you see my problem
No but my nickname in middle school was Velma do you understand the situation now
You fuckers think this is a joke?
So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit retard, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.
OMG ITS BACK
This shit needs to be published.
my mom just came in and handed me this and said “its a gay cake pop. a gayke pop. just for you.” and walked away
Attempting to teach my baby sister the word “die” so when people say to her “Aww aren’t you a cute little baby” she replies “die”. I take my responsibilities as an older sister very seriously.
So she can now say “die”
So my parents’ terrace has a little hole in it, for drainage.
My dog thinks it’s a window, though.
She stays like this for hours.
Bikers Against Child Abuse make abuse victims feel safe
These tough bikers have a soft spot: aiding child-abuse victims. Anytime, anywhere, for as long as it takes the child to feel safe, these leather-clad guardians will stand tall and strong against the dark, and the fear, and those who seek to harm.
The 11-year-old girl hears the rumble of their motorcycles, rich and deep, long before she sees them. She chews her bottom lip, nervous.
They are coming for her.
The bikers roar into sight, a pack of them, long-haired and tattooed, with heavy boots and leather vests, and some riding double. They circle the usually quiet Gilbert cul-de-sac, and the noise pulls neighbors from behind slatted wood blinds and glossy front doors.
One biker stops at the mouth of the street, parks in the middle of the road and stands guard next to his motorcycle, arms crossed.
The rest back up to the curb in front of the girl’s house, almost in formation, parking side by side. There are 14 motorcycles in all, mostly black and shiny chrome. The bikers rev their engines again before shutting them down.
The sudden silence is deafening. The girl’s mother takes her hand.
The leader of this motorcycle club is a 55-year-old man who has a salt-and-pepper Fu Manchu and wears his hair down past his shoulders. He eases off his 2000 Harley Road King and approaches the little girl.
He is formidable, and intimidating, and he knows it. So he bends low in front of the little girl and puts out his hand, tanned and weathered from the sun and wind: “Hi, I’m Pipes.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says softly, her small hand disappearing in his.
The unruly-looking mob in her driveway is there to help her feel safe again. They are members of the Arizona chapter of Bikers Against Child Abuse International, and they wear their motto on their black leather vests and T-shirts: “No child deserves to live in fear.”
I’ll admit - this made me tear up. I’d never heard of BACA before. Now I want to find the WA and OR chapters, and give them some money. I can’t give them a lot - I live hand-to-mouth - but they deserve my support. Surviving abuse is not - *not* - easy. These bikers have taken on a nearly-impossible task, struggling to make it a little easier. Amazing. Absolutely wonderful.
The bikers aren’t looking for trouble. They are there so the kids don’t feel so alone, or so powerless. Pipes recalls going to court with an 8-year-old boy, and how tiny he looked on the witness stand, his feet dangling a foot off the floor.
“It’s scary enough for an adult to go to court,” he says. “We’re not going to let one of our little wounded kids go alone.”
In court that day, the judge asked the boy, “Are you afraid?” No, the boy said.
Pipes says the judge seemed surprised, and asked, “Why not?”
The boy glanced at Pipes and the other bikers sitting in the front row, two more standing on each side of the courtroom door, and told the judge, “Because my friends are scarier than he is.”
This is the most beautiful, awe-inspiring thing I’ve read in a long time. I wanna write a book about these guys, Jesus Christ. Where’s the blockbuster movie about these badasses?
I’m, honestly, sobbing.
What wonderful, kindhearted people. Once again just proves that you can’t judge a book by its cover.
((I come from a family of bikers. And I just have to say that BACA is an amazing organization. They often participate in rides and fundraisers to benefit local children’s charities, as well as the things mentioned above. This is their website if anyone wants to visit their faq to learn more about their cause :) ))