Tumblr Archeology

The hardcore way to eat ramen: 1. Boil water 2. Eat block of ramen 3. Drink boiled water 4. Snort flavored powder 5. Fuck bitches

why is there a gif for this

assuming shes average height. her boobs appear to be about 1/3 her torso and average torso of a female being 22.6” her boobs are about 7.5” long. a foot is 12 inches. theyre moving at 5,600ft aka 67200 inches a second. her boobs are flopping 8960 times a second.

I didn’t think this could get better, but it did.

8960 flops per second would result in the shockwaves from her breasts emitting an 8960 Hz tone, which is actually a very shrill noise within the range of human hearing. You can enter 8960 into this website to hear an audio sample of what her breast-tone would approximately sound like

YES IT DID GET BETTER

Did all of you major in boob math

how do you make someone holy

you beat the hell out of them

my 96 year old catholic grandma told me this

Holy shit, what the fuck happened.

My name’s Cole. I’m a white, straight, cis, upper-middle-class underage male with short hair and a 3.5+ GPA. I like canoeing and outsider music and downhill skiing and musique-concrete and Harmony Korine’s films and cross-country skiing and discussing memes and Heems’ solo work and most plants and Lunice’s DJ sets at the Boiler Room and travelling and Jeremy Scott and going to cafés and not buying anything and the music video for Grimes’ song Oblivion (and the song itself (and the album it was on)) and Ramune and girls with short hair and Mark Rothko and fireplaces and really small, modern-looking houses and Avey Tare’s scream and muted shades of pink and wearing women’s shirts and road trips and photography and Sex and the City and YYU and poutine and making abstract text posts and

My friend, you have stepped into some deep shit. You do NOT want this blog feud, I promise you. I will not reveal the amount of my followers, but they are numerous, and many popular bloggers rank among them. Do not fuck with me, good sir.

Volunteering at a soup kitchen is one of the least productive things you can do to change the world. Art can inspire people and motivate them. Food is important, yes, but you aren’t changing that person’s life. 

whoever wrote this post has definitely never been hungry

I remember one christmas we were short on money so my brother just drew us some pictures of mashed potato it was poppin!!! We ate the pencils too!!!

what happens to nitrogen when the sun rises

it becomes daytrogen

I’m going to bed.

good nitrogen

sleep tightrogen

don’t let the bed bugs bitrogen

DO YOU LIKE TO PLAY CASTELVANIA BRO

i see this post every day. every fucking day i see this really buff guy in his stupid fucking gas mask with his shirt off saying DO YOU LIKE TO PLAY CASTLEVANIA BRO and i dont fucking understand. why is he saying that. why am i strangely attracted to him. why ado i see him every day. is this going to last the rest of my life. am i going to be trapped in buff guy castlevania hell for the rest of my disgusting life. im so tired of seeing this muscular man asking me if i like to play castlevania. when will this nightmare end.

I’m at the doctor office and this baby keeps yelling “I want donow” (mcdonalds) and the big brother (I assume) said “all the mcdonalds burnt down, there’s no more mcdonalds”

you play soccer with them in space????????? what

yeah

“No homo” cries the team at the dig site. The head archaeologist sinks to his knees, sobbing. He has dedicated his entire career to the pursuit of homo habilis, an important part of the hominid evolutionary line. All his work led up to this archaeological dig site. But now, his whole life has been for nothing. There is no homo….there is only Australopithecus.

I read this to a group of archaeologists and they completely lost their shit

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

lets have phone sex over walkie talkies

“I’ll make you moan, over”

“bend over” “bend what? over”

the poptart fucking killed her dude