My Friends Call Me Moon Unit

i hate viruses so fucking much. literally getting attacked by a fucking shape. a concept. consumes no energy. responds to no stimuli. its only existence is to fuck with you. like fuck offf

teamwork makes the dream work. and dreamwork. makes shrek

Goddamit i hate this fucking post. I hate it because obviously if “twelve” followed the same pattern as the other teen numbers it wouldn’t be “twoteen” it would be “seconteen”. Think about it. It’s not “threeteen” it’s “thirteen” as in “third”. It’s not “fiveteen” it’s “fifteen” as in fifth. So with that in mind, you count “first, second, third, fourth, fifth,” and so on, so eleven would be “firsteen” and twelve would be “secondteen” or “seconteen”. “Firsteen, seconteen, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen….” It just drives me absolutely mad everytime i see this post that this obvious pattern was overlooked and i cant hold in my rage anymore.

i dont know what love island is but from what ive heard its like danganronpa for people that use snapchat

the absolute devastating intimacy of a forehead rest. when you are both just so tired from existing in a world that demands you to be a rigid, functional individual, and you finally collapse into each other and just lean your forehead against theirs, or against their shoulder. it’s the physical equivalent of dropping your shields. it’s saying i am entirely heavy right now, and i am trusting you to bear a piece of that weight. and the most beautiful part is that the other person doesn’t even flinch. they just adjust their stance, tuck you a little closer, and absorb the impact. we were designed to divide the burden of being alive.

On the American broadcast, about five seconds after the music started the announcer said about the woman, “she lists her hobbies as ‘forgetting things’ and ‘existential crises’”, and I can’t imagine a more delightful one-two punch