Titles are Titley

what they DONT tell you about clarinets is that you have to fucking build the damn thing every single time. "what instrument do you play" fucking legos man idk

about build clarinets damn do DONT every fucking fucking have idk instrument is legos man play" single tell that the they thing time. to what "what you you you

I really need to start reading the blog name because I thought I was having some sort of moment right there.

gender essentialism is soooo funny bc it's like "this is what women are like" and you're like "I've met women and many of them, if not the majority, have not been like that" and it's like "well women SHOULD be like that" and you're like "why should women be like that" and its like "because that's what women are like"

Everytime this gets a note when its nowhere near christmas I question my sanity just a little bit more

No, it is July, stop that, stop giving this notes, you guys have lost reblogging privileges

Consider: An anthro opossum, koala, capuchin monkey, or anteater, who is wearing a t-shirt with a text on the back that says "if you can read this, I have no idea where that little fucker is".

What could this possible be referencing

a quirk of sexting while british is switching from arse to ass. i would never fuck someone in the arse. its impolite.

I mean, if someone wrote that to me, I’d probably believe they were sick.

“Slutantions” has me crying laughing

THE SUBJECT LINE IS THE BEST PART JSJFJSJDJS JUST IMAGINE GETTING AN EMAIL WITH NO CONTEXT OTHER THAN “OW”

As someone who has taught college, please send those emails because 1) We WILL believe that; no one would write that on purpose and 2) we need a laugh sometimes.

On the other side of this, once after getting taken to the ER by ambulance, I got an email from the professor whose class I’d passed out in, and the message had no text, just the subject line “you good?”

Reblogging for the last addition

I laugh myself hoarse every time this post comes around, so here it is again.

Once emailed a professor from my hospital bed high on painkillers after a really bad car crash which my heart actually stopped the email “Dead cant class sory”

If Ratatouille mechanics were real, there would be a whole market of businesses offering the services of operating rats to people who want them, and it'd be like how bees produce honey. People in the rat business would be so exhausted of having to explain over and over again that no, the rats aren't being exploited. If the rats didn't like how they're being treated, they would simply not return. There's no goddamn way to force a rat to be so passionate about playing the saxophone that they'll figure out how to puppeteer a human to do it for them. All that the business does is finding a way to put that specific rat in the hair of someone who's about to go on stage.

The rats 100% think the businesses are being run for their benefit and worry about the humans being exploited.

A rat manager who is a rat and deals on their end of the deal is exhausted of having to explain over and over again that look, an average fully grown adult human being is like 200 times your weight, their hands are very fast and they can throw things better than you want to imagine. If one of them things didn't want you in their hair, you're not going to stay there for long. You'd be yote out the window in two seconds flat.

And roll

u know what i fucking love. is that it's so clear that many of us have important full time jobs. yet you can see us here on tumblr throughout the work day posting about the most unhinged shit possible. like we're really out here going to a meeting then coming back to tumblr like "shane drippy big dick bouncing on that thang" before running back to another meeting like Hi Linda yes I talked to the team earlier and we're ready to send the documents over. How was your weekend