mglouise97

Nope. No. You’re wrong. Color photos have been around since the late 1800s there are a bunch of full color photos of MLK. The us govt and educational system just doesn’t show us because they want us to push back the civil rights movement and distance institutionalized racism from today’s society.

Here are just a few of many photos of MLK in FULL color. This wasn’t that long ago. This is RECENT history. Segregation, the terrorizing of black communities, the brutality isn’t old - it is still present.

but i think some people dont realize that they predicted the existence of shitpostgenerator 12 years ahead of its time

look

yea true shit larry said that

ITS THE SAME STYLE OF BULLSHIT HUMOR

fucking praise veggietales its the fucking nostradamus of its age

The dashing white lines felt good rolling down his spine. He spoke of dust swirling through open windows, of the slick black of oil spills. His smirk was like sunlight at dusk, ricocheting through the car and fragmenting beautifully against the freckles of his nose, the creases at his eyes. “Just me and Baby and the road, Sammy,” he said once, in the dull between switching his cassettes. “Me and Baby and the road.”

Sometimes, miles stretching his tires thin, when night fell, Dean would ramble off a bit from the highway in the middle of nowhere, nothing but silence stretching an eternity on either side of him. He’d climb gingerly onto his hood, his boots toed off to prevent even the slightest scuff in the black paint, and he’d stretch out towards the stars. The colors were phenomenal most in the places people weren’t, in the open road that only whispered of population, a forgotten asphalt ribbon tossed by the giants of the world. Dean would trace constellations for hours in the gingered dark, his air visible in puffs like exhaust around his smile. 

It was his secret space, his favorite place to retreat to, when the road wore him down a bit too much, when he was less dusk and more headlight-frenzy, too much rush hour, not enough time. The stars always listened to the way he didn’t speak, shone bright and warm and waiting. They spilled so openly, akin to some poetry he’d never quite grown tired of, like melodic lines in Vonnegut, syllables strung together much in the way his stars were.

Dean wore the road well, but he was used to constellations.

Killer Mike On The Importance of Voting

Imagine young witches and warlocks going through a final wizardry test where they have to square off against every magical creature they’ve ever learned about, and everyone is really confused as to how that one team just strolled past the sirens/incubi/succubi, and also as to why afterwards they high-fived, said “Aced it!” and then laughed for ten minutes straight.

Imagine a villain dousing a hero with a love potion and then unshackling her, expecting mindless devotion, only to have her then stab him and say “I’m aromantic, actually.”

Imagine an incubus carefully choosing a target and ending up on her couch with a tub of ice cream as she assures him that he is really good at his job and he can’t help it that he happened to pick an ace target.

Imagine an ace sailor who has to tie up his companions in the hold and sail the ship by himself whenever they encounter mermaids, and since it’s just him it’s really slow going, and he spends the entire time griping about allosexuals to the mermaids, who in turn gripe about how sick they are of having to target sailors before the sailors target them.

Imagine a love god trying to set up a pair of aro ace soulmates and putting them in increasingly romantic and/or risque situations, only to pull his hair out in frustration as they ignore or fix every situation and just become better and better friends.

Favorite cute stormpilot moments Part 2

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