Fullyanimated - Everything Is Kind Of Difficult Tbh?? - Tumblr Blog

So I ended up with free time at the end of my first class today, so I was like "do yall wanna see a vintage meme?" and turned on "what does the fox say". Expected like. A laugh from the kids, or even just a "wtf is this mx?" which is. A reasonable reaction to What Does The Fox Say.

But instead of a reasonable reaction. all of my students watched the first 60 seconds with jaws agape. And then this one kids turns to me like the fucking eye of Sauron and literally goes:

So we've been having a bit of a debate in the office because we wanted to do the headline "Local man gives up sugar for 12 minutes" but then overdoing the "local man" trope is a bit male-centric, so we considered "Local woman" but then that sounds like we're typecasting women so that wasn't great either, but I think we've finally found a worthy compromise:

HOW AREN'T THERE MORE TUMBLR POSTS ABOUT THE GIANT AIRSHIP THE AIRLANDER 10 WHY DID I ONLY JUST FIND OUT ABOUT IT

IT LOOKS WORSE AT EVERY ANGLE

NO

i love the french, i love the way they pronounce Rs like they're disgusted with them

unmasking.

assorted ornamental birds! (2021)

Last week I accidentally took an edible at 10x my usual dose. I say “accidentally” but it was really more of a “my friend held it out to my face and I impulsively swallowed it like a python”, which was technically on purpose but still an accident in that my squamate instincts acted faster than my ability to assess the situation and ask myself if I really wanted to get Atreides high or not.

Anyway. I was painting the wall when it hit. My friend heard me make a noise and asked what was wrong—I explained that I had just fallen through several portals. I realized that painting the wall fulfilled my entire hierarchy of needs, and was absolutely sure that I was on track to escaping the cycle of samsara if I just kept at it a little longer. I was thwarted on my journey towards nirvana only by the fact that I ran out of paint.

Seeking a surrogate act of humble service through which I might be redeemed and made human, I turned to unwashed dishes in the sink and took up the holy weapon of the sponge. I was partway through cleaning the blender when it REALLY hit.

You ever clean a blender? It’s a shockingly intimate act. They are complex tools. One of the most complicated denizens of the kitchen. Glass and steel and rubber and plastic. Fuck! They’ve got gaskets. You can’t just scrub ‘em and rinse them down like any other piece of shit dish. You’ve got to dissemble them piece by piece, groove by sensitive groove, taking care to lavish the spinning blades with cautious attention. There’s something sensual about it. Something strangely vulnerable.

As I stood there, turning the pieces over in my hands, I thought about all the things we ask of blenders. They don’t have an easy job. They are hard laborers taking on a thankless task. I have used them so roughly in my haste for high-density smoothies, pushing them to their limits and occasionally breaking them. I remembered the smell of acrid smoke and decaying rubber that filled the kitchen in the break room the last time I tried to make a smoothie at work—the motor overtaxed and melted, the gasket cracked and brittle. Strawberry slurry leaked out of it like the blood of a slain animal.

Was this blender built to last? Or was it doomed to an early grave in some distant landfill by the genetic disorder of planned obsolescence? I didn’t know, and was far too high to make an educated guess. But I knew that whatever care and tenderness and empathy I put into it, the more respect for the partnership of man and machine, the better it would perform for me.

This thought filled me with a surge of affection. However long its lifespan, I wanted it to be filled with dignity and love and understanding. I thought: I bet no one has hugged this blender before. And so I lifted it from its base.

A blender is roughly the size and shape of a human baby. Cradling one in your arms satisfies a primal need. A month ago I was permitted to hold an infant for the first time in my life, an experience which was physically and psychologically healing. I felt an echo of that satisfaction holding my friend the blender, and the thought of parting with it felt even more ridiculous than bringing it with me to hang out on my friend’s bed.

Hey me and my girlfriend spotted you from across the bar. We think your vibe is absolutely rancid. We are going to kill you.

Twitter users: Heh, if you block me that means I win 😏😏

Tumblr users:

i’m like if a guy was whelmed, overly so

able bodied allies of disabled people when your disability genuinely has no secret upside and makes you useless to a late stage capitalist society

(I bring a sort of “Everyone has inherent worth regardless of their productivity” Vibe to every conversation that ableists don’t really seem to like)

someday this picture will be on the tumblr radar with millions of notes. and then it will be so big to where it will destroy all of tumblr thats what i believe

tumblr isn’t only about you :/

why

How did this medieval serf get Internet connection

rule

doctor prescribed me with 50mg of falling asleep on the couch with my arms crossed and tv on