Currently Trying To Visualise The Gnashor Fight Like

Currently trying to visualise the Gnashor fight like

Woo! Yeah! Ride ‘em, Cowboy!

What I love about hellsite proteins is that every now and then they'll bring back an absolute banger post accompanied with a detailed explanation how it makes a dysfunctional aminoacid spaghetti.

so i took out the trash today like the good house husband i am not, leaving behind the rank smell of long forgotten noodles and the regrets of two people with memory issues

i, like any good tumblr citizen, remember the tales of the person who put two cups of vanilla extract in their oven so i did the sensible thing to get out two Caps of extract

just then, inspiration struck. a bolt of lightning straight from the muses themselves, if i could use vanilla extract.... who's to say i couldn't use other extracts?

i scoured the cabinets, i knew my partner had secreted away some illicit non-vanilla type extracts for baking, and i found it.

hidden in the back of the cabinet was a lone bottle of mint extract

i emptied my two caps with abandon into an (oven safe) glass dish and gleefully set the oven for 300 for an hour

all that was left now was to wait for the sins of the mind to be purged by the mighty mint leaf

ten minutes in... starting to smell kinda like a thin mint

fifteen minutes in, i take a nice deep breath of lovely scented air and i am greeted by searing burning minty pain

i launch myself towards the kitchen, every step closer to mint hell, every orifice on my face burning with the freezing righteous flame of menthol

im fumbling for the oven mitt to rid my home of this foul demon, i pry the oven open and am hit with a blast unlike anything else

i feel what that vine kid taking shots of mouthwash feels, i was seared raw, my tits were blown clean off, and it was just me and that devilish beguiling minty fresh taste

quickly dumping the rest into the sink i ran towards the door, begging for the sweet sweet smell of un-minted air

learning nothing from this encounter, i dare to try once more, with the tumblr-approved extract this time

wish me luck

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

MY BLOOD SACRIFICE FUCKING WORKED HOLY SHIT

Little fish eats his foods 

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