"Hah, this blog sucks."

I did it again, this one isn’t as good as the last edit I did tbh. aaaaaaaaaa.

Again, not by me. It’s just an edit.

Voice Over: @amtrax

Comic Artist: @izzyitadream

Woman: He’s fine. He misses you.

Man: Give him my love.

Woman: Will do. 

[woman looks at ridiculous oversized bird]

Woman: SQUAWK

Bird: SQUAWK

When you’ve dedicated your life to words, it’s important to go out eloquently.

Ernest Hemingway: “Goodnight my kitten.” Spoken to his wife before he killed himself.

Jane Austen: “I want nothing but death.” In response to her sister, Cassandra, who was asking her if she wanted anything.

J.M Barrie: “I can’t sleep.”

L. Frank Baum: “Now I can cross the shifting sands.”

Edgar Allan Poe: “Lord help my poor soul.”

Thomas Hobbes: “I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap into the dark,”

Alfred Jarry: “I am dying…please, bring me a toothpick.”

Hunter S. Thompson: “Relax — this won’t hurt.”

Henrik Ibsen: “On the contrary!”

Anton Chekhov: “I haven’t had champagne for a long time.”

Mark Twain: “Good bye. If we meet—” Spoken to his daughter Clara.

Louisa May Alcott: “Is it not meningitis?” Alcott did not have meningitis, though she believed it to be so. She died from mercury poison.

Jean Cocteau: “Since the day of my birth, my death began its walk. It is walking towards me, without hurrying.”

Washington Irving: “I have to set my pillows one more night, when will this end already?”

Leo Tolstoy: “But the peasants…how do the peasants die?”

Hans Christian Andersen: “Don’t ask me how I am! I understand nothing more.”

Charles Dickens: “On the ground!” He suffered a stroke outside his home and was asking to be laid on the ground.

H.G. Wells: “Go away! I’m all right.” He didn’t know he was dying.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: “More light.”

W.C. Fields: “Goddamn the whole fucking world and everyone in it except you, Carlotta!” “Carlotta” was Carlotta Monti, actress and his mistress.

Voltaire: “Now, now, my good man, this is no time for making enemies.” When asked by a priest to renounce Satan.

Dylan Thomas: “I’ve had 18 straight whiskies…I think that’s the record.”

George Bernard Shaw: “Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”

Henry David Thoreau: “Moose…Indian.”

James Joyce: “Does nobody understand?”

Oscar Wilde: “Either the wallpaper goes, or I do.” 

Bob Hope: “Surprise me.” He was responding to his wife asking where he wanted to be buried.

Roald Dahl’s last words are commonly believed to be “you know, I’m not frightened. It’s just that I will miss you all so much!” which are the perfect last words. But, after he appeared to fall unconscious, a nurse injected him with morphine to ease his passing. His actual last words were a whispered “ow, fuck”

Salvador Dali hoped his last words would be “I do not believe in my death,” but instead, they were actually, “Where is my clock?”

He had been really fucking sick for days, and woke up from a feverish night. His nurse? Wife? Asked him if he was feeling better. He smiled, said “On the contrary!” And died.

Because it came down to a showdown fight between Scar and Simba. And here’s something great about them: they are the weakest little shits.

Scar was this skinny twig of a lion who probably only got the 11th+ portion of any kill because nobody liked him, and the only way he could one-up anyone was through trickery, and/or by softening them up with a wildebeest herd.

Simba grew up without ever having to chase his prey or work particularly hard because he lived on a diet of insects and nothing else. Nala could kick his ass because she was a goddamn proper hunter.

So the final battle was the equivalent to a pasty-faced metrosexual teen slap-fighting a starving 60-year old

SNL - Cut for Time: My Little Step Children

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