That is not funny

That is not cute

It is animal abuse



Why the fuck do you think birds who get coated in oil die? It’s for the same goddamn reason.

You idiots can have all the chuckles you want over the fact that that poor animal is “living the dream” but I hope you also know that it probably died from that.

And if you still find it funny then I genuinely do not want to associate you and can only wish upon you the most painful and awful death imaginable. 

I just want to point out that no one is forcing the bird into the chocolate

No one pulled the damn thing in

In fact it fully appears to be waddling into the fountain by its damn self

Calm the hell down chocolate is not the damn same as chocolate

Its just a bird making a mistake and it’s fucking funny

It’s not animal cruelty unless someone was holding that bird at gunpoint fucking christ

Oh good. I was waiting for some moron to try and defend this.

Listen here cum-slut, I bet you 5 million dollars that you don’t own a bird. But guess what? I own 7. And I can tell you right now that a bird would never just walk into something like a chocolate fountain. They’ll rarely walk directly into water.

But say that your idiotic theory is correct.

Say it did actually walk into it.

That animal still probably died.

Is that still funny to you? Do you still get your kicks out of knowing that that bird was probably terrified and opening its mouth to scream in that last panel?

And if you say yes then you seriously disgust me as a human being.

I’m sorry to point this out to you and your “I AM the pig on the pedestal!” attitude, thewinterschnauzer, but that clip was from a fucking movie, (with Adam Sandler playing two lead roles no fucking less), which was a comedy, you fartnugget. That shit was staged, it never even happened. The bird in the video fucking talked, it was a cooking show in a movie, and guess what? Both of those are fake, cum-slut.

I suggest you get off your pedestal before you break it with the sheer weight of all the bullshit in you.

But overall, yes, sir and/or madam, it is still funny to me.

Posted 1 day ago | Reblog | Via | Source
3345 Notes

# ooc- # irrelevant 

AU && We’ll Pretend It Never Happened 


"We heard Carolyn scream as she discovered you—naturally, we all came rushing for her side." [Ulysses’ voice was hardly a rasp above the others’ frantic, erratic tones, yet he made himself known as he revealed himself from his hiding post behind Kynborow’s and Charlotte’s skirts—both figurative and literal.] "We all came upon you as you…apparently burst into flames. They weren’t flames as I’ve seen, but perhaps fire decides to change appearance over time. Perhaps my fire was orange and yours was yellow, and Sandre’s was white or something of that sort." [He wrung his hands together, pondering the faces of the others.] "It was hardly something pleasant to watch, even more unpleasant to watch it while listening to us sobbing and screaming for the Lord’s mercy in your regard. It was as though an apocalypse from the Lord’s good book was released upon us, and staked you as the first victim. I don’t think we’ll forget this anytime soon, I suppose."

[Billy paced after his friend, tiredly scratching at the stubble budding at his chin.] “That all would’a been nice ta know before this shit happened. Made me have a goddamn heart attack, thinkin’ you was dying or somethin’ like that. God damn, don’t scare me like that again. Don’t think my heart can take it.” [There was a slight weakness in the creak of his voice, and his eyes were quick, still stained red from tears, but he pushed away the vulnerable tenderness with a clear of his throat.] “Make shit like this clear next time, ‘fore it happens, if I can request somethin’ a’ you. Sure as hell looked like an apocalypse if I ever did see one, and I seen some doomsday’s in my day. My heart’s gonna stop beatin’ with that awful fright I felt, lemme tell ya.”

[Carolyn’s hands were quick, desperate—they grabbed frantically at Em but recoiled, as though they were afraid of damaging her new skin, like it was something delicate, frail, crystal. She stared helplessly at the woman above her, her breath snagged in her throat, before her eyes flooded with new tears and she rubbed at them with her trembling fingers, her hot rage forgotten.] “God, good god—I was scared, I found ye like that, found ye on the floor just like that, and I just—” [Her voice cracked and she groped for Em’s hold.]

"—shrieked to Heaven, thou didst." [Kynborow released Charlotte from her tight hold and inched closer, angling her head curiously at Em; such a sight could not have been spared from her scrutiny. It was unlike any play she’d seen, far more complex than the use of wine as fake blood, gushing from imaginary wounds on actor’s chests. A new body, a new skin…even a new face. The fire of the desire of knowledge sparked within her and roared fiercely.] "Now my ears weep blood, young mistress."

[Charlotte followed at her ladylove’s heels, her own eyes puffy from the tears that had been squeezed from them. She clasped her hands above her breasts and allowed her fingers to violently knead each other to ease away the worry that still trickled down her cheeks.] “You…how often will this happen, if this is the fifth time? Is there a limit to this, if…I may ask?”

"Yeah. How often can we expect ta see this ‘gain?" [Billy produced a face of discomfort.] "I don’t wanna bawl my goddamn eyes out all for nothin’ again."

[Ulysses, meanwhile, was producing a pinched look of pain—another fire, it seemed, had been set in his belly. He massaged briefly at his stomach in an attempt to soothe away the churning heat within him.] “Even after he’s disposed of, Salvi still haunts us. That’s…unsettling. At least you don’t have his face, else you’d have us all in a mob, belaboring you til you regenerated a sixth time.”

[Sandre only gaped, his eyes doing a panicked dance in their socket as he watched the scene unfold before him. Nonplussed, he reached for Carolyn again, grabbing her hand and mindlessly wrapping his fingers around her own.]

See, Ulysses has it right! [Somewhat.] I only do this — regenerating, that is — if my body is threatened by death. Such as a remarkably well-placed stab wound… [She lifted her shirt and saw naught but bare, taught skin, as if this body didn’t match her age (which it didn’t), and as if she hadn’t been stabbed twice.] High blood loss… [She felt a twinge of pain on her back and she made a face as she brushed her fingers over her neck.] Or, anything else that would normally kill a human.

See, I don’t get any warning, either. It’s not like I was planning to be stabbed again, planning to drag my open wound over the dirt on my way back to the TARDIS rather than be butchered by men and women even less educated and advanced than Salvi, planning to just…regenerate on the floor. [She turned and craned her neck, frowning at her own now-drying blood.]

And I suggest you do cry if this ever happen again, because when this happen, there’s always the chance that I will just up and die somewhere through it. Not to mention I could just…repress it. I repressed the regeneration the whole way back, I repressed it when my daughter found me half-dead, I repressed it when a man had an axe in my back. If I did this again, I could just die, through the hands of too-quick blood loss, or my own. [She spread her hands, her fingers far longer than her palms. Spider fingers. Neato.]

Well, there is a sort of limit, Char. But I think that’s kept in place by the Council, and I haven’t heard from them…ever. That limit is twelve, or, thirteen lives, twelve deaths. And, this is my sixth life so far, and I’ve barely made it 160 years.

But there is no way I can give you any forewarning, unless I prepare the threat on my life in advance, which did happen once, but it was different, and that was my own choice, completely unrelated to much else in the universe. Had to close a paradox loop, stuff like that, else face…some really bad shit, putting it lightly. [She absentmindedly traced where her ragged scar would have been had she not regenerated, thinking.]

But, I mean, either way, what happened to me was no act of God, or His Lordship, or — [She let out a garbled alien noise, and grinned.] It was sheer biology, my biology, and I would suggest it be something you all get used to very quick. I mean, I basically do not sleep, nor eat. Have any of you noticed? That’s…my biology. [And partially choice, but it doesn’t hurt her.] Of course, occasionally, those can and will happen, probably more…probably very soon, that last one took a lot out of me, but they don’t need to.

On that note, does anyone want any food, ‘cause, I’m dyin’. [She stopped and laughed the word off.] That took a lot more out of me than I had thought it would. Guess this…changing of the body thing definitely adds more energy consumption than my normal “fix-shit-up” regeneration.

i only have to use crutches for a week but i can bet you that my leg is going to be grotesquely out of proportion by then (both legs)

a very bad thought has struck my mind:
how the fuck am i supposed to shower without dying

AU && We’ll Pretend It Never Happened 


"You look like a Negro…!"

[It was Charlotte who broke the stunned silence that had squeezed the courage of the gathered group. Wiping hastily at the tears that had streamed down both of her pink cheeks, she advanced slightly but was stopped when an awestruck Kynborow reached for her shoulder and pulled her back. Looping her arms around Charlotte’s waist to restrain her, the Englishwoman watched on with a colorless face.]

[Billy was the next to act in her place—being the most familiar of them all with the Time Lord, he was volunteered when the older adults -comprised of Kynborow and Sandre- each snapped their eyes to him, and their aged stared imposed an authority on him he couldn’t bring himself to refuse in his stunned state. His close friendship with the woman before them was no secret, and, as even a steeled man is made malleable by affection, he was wordlessly singled out as their scapegoat.]

[He shuffled forward, sideways, cautiously, with thick doubt slowing each step, and his eyes, previously welled with startled grief, were red saucers by now.] “—Christ, sweetheart, that you? That you?” [he asked, his voice left raspy by the sorrow that had driven him to tears only moments before. He halted a small distance away from her and his eyes zipped over her new features, scrutinizing them, his own face twisting with bewilderment. A worm of nausea weakened his stomach and formed a stone in his throat.]

"The hell—?" [He leaned closer, peering at her through squinted eyes as though she was veiling some unseen weapon. Unnerved, he threw a glance back at the remaining group, then swallowed tightly and looked back at Em, releasing a jagged breath. If he had been stupidly guzzling alcohol only minutes before, he had certainly been shocked into sobriety by the absurdity of what he’d just witnessed.]

"The fuck happened ta you? This some sick trick or somethin’?" [He allowed his shoulders loosen in their stiffened state, and he edged closer, reaching out with a hesitant, trembling hand before recoiling back into himself, as though touching her would condemn him to the same explosive fate.] "You…set your goddamned self on fire or somethin’?” [His eyes scaled her again and he whistled brokenly at length, cocking an eyebrow.] “Shit, sweetheart, you goddamned darker than me now.”

[Behind him, Carolyn gave a sound at last; a choked shout. Sandre restrained her with one of his huge paws though she struggled sluggishly against his grip. Her cheeks were darkened with the tails of hot tears and she uttered another terrible yell before slumping at last, her legs crumbling beneath her and a sob rising from her as she stared on with frantic disbelief. The sudden…violence of the regeneration had rendered her helpless with sheepish fear.] “Oh—Oh my God—Oh, God—

[Sandre, however, was entirely more animated. His sides jumped with frantic prayers and his eyes, not as reddened as Billy’s or Carolyn’s, darted about the room like trapped frogs. Though he held Carolyn with one fist clamped fiercely around the girth of her arm, he was able to hold his free hand horizontally against his sweating forehead. He broke his strangled mantra only to hastily cross himself, his teeth set against each other and his jowls trembling with the effort to keep his feet in their place.]

"She—She ain’t stupid ’nough ter set herself on fire, Billy!” [Carolyn gasped, her chest heaving with the breaths she had denied herself in her sobbing. A new, cold wave of passion revived the vividness of her voice and set a spark within her that drove her to shout again.] “Em—who did that ter ye?” [She shot a look of sudden fury to the door of the blue box that had served as their haven, and when she forced herself to her feet, she clenched her fists with such force that her knuckles paled. Her eyes burned with a fire that had only burned once before—when Salvi had dared to force his sick impulses upon Sandre in her presence. She, momentarily, groped for a baseball bat that was absent.] “What happened? What…” [her voice trailed as Sandre forced her back to the floor.]

[Sandre crossed himself again and grasped Carolyn’s throat, gently, with his hand, whispering something soothing into her ear. She breathed wrathfully through clenched teeth, new tears seeping from her eyes.]

[Billy swallowed the lump in his throat and, at last, extended another hand to his friend, one that did not shake, and he stared up at her with eyes that still were unable to wholly comprehend what they had just beheld.] “You, uh, gonna explain? Cause I sure as hell ain’t that only one here who don’t know what tha fuck I just saw.”

[Humans. She’d have to admit sometimes she forgot they were just humans, normal humans. Running alone, or with your own species, or with whoever you happened to pick up at the planet you landed on, was different from humans. Humans who couldn’t grasp the meaning of ‘binary vascular system’ and ‘respiratoy bypass’ without a biology lesson alongside it. Oh.

She really hadn’t expected this at all.]

Heh, well… [The voice in her throat felt different. Of course, this body was used to it, but her mind wasn’t. It was a lot more brassy, and the first thing she did — of course, after being sobered by everyone’s reactions — was grasp her neck and make a face she hadn’t made in a while: pure anger, and resentment. How dare her previous self think this into existence? How dare she?]

Sorry, new voice, it just crossed my mind that I might not be able to sing properly anymore and blast it, my range will have to be different! [She looked away, realizing this was a stalling tactic, and a way she dealt with tense situations, and hummed once.] Okay! Alright. That’s going to be…extremely obnoxious in the future, but I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it.

[She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, then released it, popping her knuckles and wincing at the new pain. A new body, new pain. She’d have to get used to it again.] Yes, alright. I-uh, died, if I were to put it in idiot terms, but I’m not going to do that, I mean, other than this moment, because I figure Sandre will have stopped listening approximately 24 words ago, and I won’t have to bother with pretending the rest of you are so stupid you won’t understand my biology.

I didn’t die, that was the whole point. I can understand the fire thought even if I’m fairly sure regeneration looks nothing like that, but I’ve actually never seen my own regeneration, so maybe it looks like fire! I don’t know. I—hm.

I’m an alien, you know that. My biology is different from yours. [Not that it started that way.] I have…two hearts, and have had them for over 100 years, and a respiratory bypass, which means I cannot be strangled, and I can survive without air for approximately 20-40 minutes, as well as a double vascular system, but that doesn’t make a difference.

Thing is, my species, though I’m hazy on the details of why, does this thing…this thing I just did, in which they don’t die. They…regenerate. Kinda, reform, into a new body, same person deal. And as you may or may not know, I have murdered one of my best friends recently, and it’s pretty understandable that those thoughts have been taking up my mind! And some of my species — Time Lords — can pick and choose what they want to look like. I usually pick my normal: 5’ 11”, slightly chubby, muscular. Red hair. [She couldn’t see her hair; it was shaven. Maybe it was still red?] And, because Salvi has been on my mind since…the incident, it’s not like he’s suddenly gonna leave it cause I’m dying. So, I must’ve accidentally picked something a lot like him, but the rest of it seems to have gone a little haywire.

[She found a mirror and looked in it.] Definitely. Blue eyes, still, and I think my hair is still red as well! And my nose…too Arabic for this skin color. [She pursed her new lips.]

But yes, for the questions: it’s me.

I just happened to have regenerated. Again. It’s a small thing our species does in order to circumvent death, and live…indefinitely. I’m 160, and this was my fifth fucking time. And it’s not the first time I’ve been stabbed, and not the first time I’ve lost so much blood I regenerated.

But I am definitely still me, still Em, still Amelia. [She cocked her hips to the side and grinned.] Definitely only the second time I’ve regenerated inside my own TARDIS, though!

[She took some steps forward and carefully pried Sandre off of Carolyn, pulling her from him.] I can assure you that I am not Lucifer, either. Just a cat compared to a human dog. Snake to a lizard. Blue Jay to a Cardinal. [She sat on the floor at the feeling of dizziness in her head.]

I mean, if I knew you were all going to react like this, I would have accepted my presumed fate at the hands of Grug’s clan, but nooooooo. I figured none of you would be in here, but nooooooo. Wonderful. Was I screaming or something? I wouldn’t be surprised if my death-y mind blocked it.

I mean, it’s good to know I look like a negro, I suppose.

fuck people who think all of the white cultures are different
and fuck people who think white people cant be proud or spout what cultures they came from
fuck you
if you think this
unfollow me
fuck you

[hisses loudly] i forgot my fucking tablet pen at home i hate everything fucking hell


AU && We’ll Pretend It Never Happened 

She knows, as much as she likes to pretend that nothing ever will go wrong, that everything will go her way — she is a Time Lord, you know! A Lord of Time! — she always knows that something has to go wrong. It just doesn’t work the other way. It could be something minuscule, or something very large, and if she’s lucky, it’s the former.

Today, it was the latter.

The neanderthal, the caveman, whom she had affectionately began referring to Grug in an effort to make him seem less like a problem, had become just what she was trying to hide. A Problem. It wasn’t terrible when it came to feeding him and caring for him, but he just made it so hard. He had higher brain functions, but not enough to understand that what he did was unacceptable. He also didn’t take to the whacking with a stick, though she took to that, both in an effort to keep herself safe, and the people she cared for.

Speaking of them, she had caught herself calling them her residents on more than one occasion. And she froze, forcing breath out of her lungs and restarting her sentence. She loved them dearly, but they were no more than wards. She wasn’t a house, though her TARDIS — much to its discontent — had become one, and she had become caretaker; her TARDIS and her…wards needed her, and luckily, she wasn’t a woman to sleep. Though she was a woman for her free time.

She didn’t have much of that anymore.

She had had even less because she had to constantly prowl and skulk around her own TARDIS! on the lookout for that caveman, that neanderthal, that Grug. She would fall into chairs any time she could with a groan, resting her old bones and young body.

And when not doing that, well, she would clean, and she would have music on in the TARDIS. Just about all of the TARDIS was flooded with music from all periods when she did this, and with her singing, though the TARDIS wouldn’t play music in the guest rooms, at least not terribly loudly.

And when it all came down to it, she could not take care of the caveman anymore, not like this, not doing this stuff and planning outings for herself and others, and keeping up with her reside— Wards! Keeping up with her wards!

So, she set off on the journey that was finding his group — that is, his clan — before he had been brought to the future and she had the misfortune (and the fortune, lest another, less skilled individual had found him) of picking him up and dealing with him for weeks.

And to be honest, especially since she had all the knowledge of the Time Lords at her fingertips and in her brain, it wasn’t hard at all finding his clan. It was easy.

The less-easy part…that was the part in which something went wrong. It’s not as if there wasn’t a bigger chance for something to go wrong, so it didn’t surprise her in the slightest, but then again, it’s also not like she hadn’t been through it before.

Oddly enough, getting him to his clan was easy. She could speak his language and kept his fears calm, but a misstep could easily take her life. And a misstep…was exactly what happened.

Turns out, though they tolerated him, they did not tolerate her. And as well as she could speak a language, she also ran slower (weird, considering her past) than the cavemen, and did not have any shielding on her, of any type.

A spear to the soft flesh of the stomach is always a quick way to death. She had died of it before, though the last time it happened it was more of a shock. She had expected something to go wrong, despite her best efforts to dismiss any way of it happening, just not something like this.

It seemed she had enough foresight and thought to do her best to roll down a hill and away from the group before they could butcher her. And she laid on the ground and stared up at the trees, clutching the fresh incision in her abdomen, many incoherent but few coherent thoughts flashed through her mind — one of those she grabbed on to, talking to herself in her death throes as she always ended up doing, “If I come back…if they see my regeneration, I’ll be held as a god. That would be neat.” And though there was a smile on her face, it was soon washed off by the realization that gods tend to last. At least a while. And while she may not last to written history, it wouldn’t be far fetched to say she could and would alter a lot of unwritten history. She definitely did not want to do that.

And though she was dying, she knew the TARDIS wasn’t far. She could easily regenerate in the safety of her blue box surrounded by…family. Yeah. She could see it, in fact, and she began the arduous task of crawling to it through a haze, both from the loss of blood and the pain — now receding, thanks to the magic that is endorphins and her pushing back her regeneration.

If someone had been standing in the console room (someone was), they would have just seen the door open. She didn’t even make any noise.

Once she was safely inside, she let out at least an audible groan. The tear in her shirt had grown — obviously she had not thought ahead when she crawled to the TARDIS — and her cut, her laceration, had been covered in dirt, and even if she lived through it (which she wasn’t, considering she could feel her regeneration beginning, pressing against her mind and every nerve ending, both setting them aflame and freezing them), she would have a wonderful infection on her stomach. Then she realized she had been talking. Obviously, it was to herself, but it’s not as if no one was listening.

"Yeah, so dragging me to the Zero room…I would greatly appreciate that."

"Where’s Vera when you need her?" At least Time Lords couldn’t be harmed by stray regenerative energy.

Her eyes snapped open. When did they close?

"On second thought! Do not come near me, under any circumstances!

She thought she could hear gasping and crying, but maybe that was her? No, she wasn’t crying…

And before she knew it, she was coughing up gold energy (if you ignore the blood, it’s very pretty) which dissipated into the air, as well as rising from her skin.

The best word to explain everything would be ‘floof’, because as she regenerated, the energy became less like steam and more like a firehose, off of every inch of exposed skin.

She lay, breathless, then took a deep breath in. Any pain she had was gone, including the pain from her angry joints.

There were tears in her eyes and she let out another groan, though this time, of a lack of pain (pleasure, to be honest) rather than an excess of it.

She swallowed, and rolled around, clutching the console to help her stand, and as she stood, she took inventory of her body — two hearts, binary vascular system, organs that she’d need, and a brain, of course. She was okay. She craned her neck to look at her stomach, then reeled back, limbs longer than they had ever been flailing and carrying the grace of an dancer as she realized what she looked like.

She gazed at the group that had appeared as she died, and gave a chuckle. “Well, uh. This is definitely surprising. Must’ve been thinking of Salvi as I bled out.” She looked from person to person, taking inventory of them as well. “Sandre! I’m as tall as you…” She trailed off in disbelief.

Her clothes did not fit anymore. She had grown nearly half a foot in size, and lost…a lot of weight. Her skin had darkened to a neat olive-brown, though her hair stayed the same. She hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, but she could guess her face was off. Her nose…a little big feeling, and her eyes were alright. Her ears were oddly small. “How do I look?”


This is not an April Fool’s Day joke. Homestar Runner updated for the first time in three years.

On a personal note, I really needed this today. Thanks, Brothers Chaps.

(Paging tramampoline, themagneticfeels, et al.)

Posted 2 weeks ago | Reblog | Via | Source
4082 Notes

im extremely tempted to mkae a lutece blog :(


burial at sea: pt 2


Three tries his new face out.

Spearhead from Space - season 7 - 1970

i got to 10