Out of Touch
Out of Touch Thursday
OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY
but im out of my head when youâre not aroundâŚ
happy birthday.
this is the only out of touch thursday you can reblog this
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
One Nice Bug Per Day
Keni
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
NASA
wallacepolsom
Today's Document
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
noise dept.

romaâ

JBB: An Artblog!
will byers stan first human second
art blog(derogatory)
DEAR READER

JVL
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĂźrkiye
seen from TĂźrkiye

seen from Argentina

seen from Indonesia
seen from Brazil

seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil

seen from Australia

seen from United States
@s00sul
Out of Touch
Out of Touch Thursday
OUT OF TOUCH THURSDAY
but im out of my head when youâre not aroundâŚ
happy birthday.
this is the only out of touch thursday you can reblog this

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Crazy experience to watch season 2 of OPLA and slowly realize where I know the actress for Captain Alvida as she was on Eat the Menu: Cheesecake Factory with Keith Habersberger of the Try Guys
I passed a flower shop next to a tattoo shop and at first I laughed because I thought it was ironic and then i freaked because IMAGINE YOUR OTP IN A FLORIST/TATTOO ARTIST AU
OMG I COULD TOTALLY IMAGINE THEM LIKE THAT IT WOULD BE SO PERFECT
@hellsite-hall-of-fame
I'm so sad in such a strange way to hear about the Corporation for Public Broadcasting officially shutting down. It's a weird feeling. Most of it is the intellectual level of "oh this is SO fucking bad and terrifying that we'll no longer have federally supported public information channels anymore, it will ALL be through the private market, not to mention the stark reminder of the US government's continued descent into anti-intellectualism and fascism," all of which makes my stomach sink.
But on a smaller level it is the disappearance of something that was so ubiquitous to American childhood. I'm pretty sure the vast majority of Americans can hear the exact intonation of this phrase in their head: "This program made possible by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and by viewers like you. Thank you."
There is a lot more that could be said about the likely repercussions of this. In addition to being sad, I am also exceedingly furious. I wish despair upon all the Republicans who helped kill the CBP just because it took its mission seriously and refused to broadcast overt right-wing propaganda as news.
PBS is not dead, btw. Some local stations may end up shutting down because they can't make up the funding elsewhere, and staff is already being cut, but PBS gets most of their funding from donors. PBS and NPR will still exist and you can still support them.
A donation of $5/month gets you access to PBS Passport which has a lot of dramas, news, documentaries, and the ability to stream your local PBS station live.
NPR: Corporation for Public Broadcasting says it's shutting down
PBS Member Stations
Thank you for adding this. This was part of the "lot more that could be said" that I'm kinda wishing I'd included in the original post.
I don't claim to really know about the intricacies of how the US public broadcasting system works, but I do understand that a big part of the tragedy is who this is going to affect.
Major population centers with a strong tax base will likely be able to hold on to their public radio and television. But rural community access and local programming are very much at risk. It'll be things like Indigenous language programs from Reservation radio stations that'll be lost, or isolated kids in rural areas who'll be left with only mindless commercial tv shows (slop like Cocomelon is precisely what the CPB was created to counteract in the first place).
And while I highly doubt PBS and NPR are going to suddenly change priorities, part of why they are considered even-handed and reliable in their reporting is because they were legally obligated to be when receiving federal funding.
The whole point of independently owned but publicly funded media was to provide a relatively objective source of news and media that wasn't beholden to the whims of a CEO and also wasn't directly controlled by the government and therefore wasn't as susceptible to political influence. And conservatives have always hated it for exactly those reasons. Because since its inception, public media had a mission to reach out to and represent the demographics of the entire nation, not just the demographics that conservatives like.
So yes, PLEASE continue to fund your local public media stations. Please help keep them afloat. Supporting public media is like supporting local libraries. They can be an important lifeline for local community building. And honestly, try giving your local public radio station a listen if you don't already do so. You never know what you might learn.
I know it's a little late with how this post is spreading, but please reblog this version. Or if this is too long at least the version with the first addition and the PBS link. People are reblogging just the original post thinking that PBS is done; it's not gone yet and now is when we most need people to become Viewers Like You. Thank You.
Filled with Paint and Plastic fumes

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âBut if you forget to reblog Madame Zeroni, you and your family will be cursed for always and eternity.â
not even risking that shit
scrolled past this, re-evaluated my life, then SCROOOLLLED back up and hit the damn reblog button.Â
Last comment same thing. Sorry to the next person who sees this. I just canât risk it. I have things I need to do before my life becomes hell. Lol
i just think itd be funny if kittypets were a little more familiar to twoleg things such as: cars and bad words
Happy pride month to the tiny cowboy and tiny Trojan man from Night at the Museum
THIS IS THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN
IâVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS FOR SEVEN YEARS
DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW HARD IT IS TOÂ ?????
That last fatal scream tho
THE TERROR IN HIS SCREAM OH GOSH
iâm crying
I will always reblog this on the off chance some other poor soul has been searching for it
ITâS BACK
HOYL SHIT ITS B A CK
ITâS BACK?? ON MY DASH?
re-blogging again xD
what was that we were just saying about still having posts circulating from ridiculous numbers of years ago? đ
I feel like itâs a duty to reblog such a natural treasure
All those accounts thoughâŚ.
You know those anime meta posts along the lines of âI was born with pink hair. The doctors told my parents I was a Main Character and ever since my life has not known peace from demons/spirits/sports competitions/harems who find meâ
Well I see that, and I raise you this:
An anime boy whose appearance is, by absolutely anyoneâs account, completely and utterly average. Mundane hair. Mundane eyes. Not even glasses to set him the tiniest bit apart. A simple, unmemorable, unrecognizable civilian among a backdrop of millions.
And he has a lot of passions, and a lot of ambitions, which he hones every chance he gets. Heâs dabbled in sports and archery and cooking and just about anything you could wrap a competition around. And heâs competed in many of these. Every chance he gets. With all of his passion and all of his might.
Heâs crushed by the competition every single time.
Until one dayâone day something clicks for him. Something that should have seemed obvious from the start and yet never wasâas though everyone, including himself, was unwittingly blind to it. It clicks, when he realizes every kid whoâs beaten him in competition, every kid whoâs gone on to fame and glory and acclaim, has been some candy-haired gel-spiked ridiculously-dressed fucker.Â
Thereâs some trend there that this Main Character boy canât explain and canât understand but he decides, this one time, fuck it. Heâll play along too. Heâs got a model train competition in four days, and heâs got nothing more to lose. He hits up the department store, buys the pinkest, noxious-est, fruitiest hair dye he can find, the spikiest hair gel available, and the gaudiest clothes on the thrift rack. He enters the model train competition looking like a bubble gum gijinka.
And he wins.
Suddenly, the other candy-haired contestants notice him. They talk to him. They pledge rivalries. Girls notice him. Judges applaud him. Acclaimed model train aficionados offer him internships across the world. Heâs hit on something.Â
The main cast expands to cover just about every candy-hair cliche in the book: from the mostly-normal-looking demure school girl with the blue hair to the Naruto-est, yelling-est boy with the red-and-green spiked hair. The cool megane senpais, the purple haired tsunderes, suddenly everyone is interested in him. Theyâre prodigies and upstarts and underdogs and they truly believe that this main character boy is one of them.
So the main character boy maintains his ruse. He touches up his roots at dawn every morning and carefully attends to his gelled spikes and tells absolutely no one about this great, uncanny, unfathomable secret heâs stumbled upon. He wins his competitions left and right. He racks up the acclaim. Heâs hailed as a prodigy of all trades, just now bursting onto the scene, and boils to the top of all his candy-haired peers.
Heâs rising up, his every dream within his grasp. Until one day he gets a note under his door, taped to an old picture of his Normal Boring self from middle school, that says âYou donât belongâ
Thereâs an international competition, and Main Character-kun and all his candy-haired rivals/peers/nakama/friends are being housed in the same hotel.
The night before the competition, some ungodly scream sounds from the Naruto-kidâs room. The rest of the cast rush in, flick on the lights, and find Naruto-kid sitting up in bed, his hair completely flat and utterly black, a pair of DIY salon gloves discarded next to his bed. He races to the mirror across the room, hands hovering in shock around his straightened hair, as though unable to recognize the boy staring back at him.
Itâs⌠an unsettling act of personal vandalism, but Naruto-kid seems unhurt. After verifying heâs okay and reporting it to hotel security, most of the kids are content to go back to their own rooms and just double-check their own locks.
Most seem contentâŚ. Not allâŚ
The next day, Naruto-kid is eliminated from the competition nigh-instantly. Heâs given no chance to monologue about his ambitions, his friends, his hometown. Not even a second spared for a flashback to the bullying that became the formative motivator of his childhood. Â
No. Heâs summarily eliminated by another candy-haired contestant. Naruto-kid, with his suddenly unassuming black hair, is dismissed from the arena. And Main Character-kun is distressed.Â
Thereâs a murderer on the loose. Just in no traditional sense. Another kid is shaved bald in the middle of the night, and eliminated from the competition the next day. Colored contact lenses go missing, and suddenly the red-eyed yandere girl doesnât have a leg to stand on. Sheâs sent home without the slightest bit of fanfare. Someone funnels bleach into the sprinkler line, and a triggering of the fire alarm leaves a whole arena of contestants doused in the ruinous fluid. Their candy colors melt into brittle, tacky, bleachy off-orange. Not a single one survives that nightâs round of eliminations.
Main Character-kun is still pink. Heâs still gelled. Heâs still dressed in fiery robes and platform sandals with a bandana cinched around his forehead. He hoards hair dye in his room and sleeps with one eye open. He can only watch in silence as this gruesome assassination plot unravels, without a doubt in his mind that he is the real target.
One night, thereâs a knock on his door. And the twisting of a key. And the squeak of hinges swinging open. Main Character-boyâs breathing halts. His time has come.
He looks. Itâs the blue-haired girl, the quiet one with self-confidence issues. Her hair is tied into twin pigtails. Sheâs carrying something in her right hand. Main Character boy braces for impact.
She flicks on the lights. He looks. Theyâre wigs, in her hand. Three of them. Purple Green and Orange, each primmed and poofed and curled to extravagant degrees.
âHere,â she offers, hand extended. âTake whichever you like. Theyâre extra.â
âWait. WhyâŚ? Whatâs thisâwhatâs happening?â
She takes a step forward, and she shuts the door behind her. With her free hand, she grips the blue hairline at her scalp, and she pulls back gently, revealing netting. She drops the blue hair to the ground, and pulls the netting free from her forehead, and a loose, unassuming bob of perfectly black, perfectly normal hair falls around her shoulders.
Sheâs unassuming in every possible regard, mundane in every sense, a girl to blend into the backdrop of millions.
âWeâre not going home yet,â she says. âNot you, and not me.â
chrissy i want you to know im in love with this
The Comb and the Dye are in fact the real anime weapons of this series im so glad theyâre wielding them as such
The Main Character girl wraps her hair back up in the netting and fixes her blue wig back in place. She takes a seat in the nearby desk chair and explains why sheâs here. Sheâs suspected for a while that she and MC-kun are the same, both normal-looking people masquerading in this candy haired world. MC-kun had seemed just a bit too distraught during the Naruto-kid incident. That was when Main Character-chan first noticed him, and when she recognized his shade of candy pink hair by its bottle brand.
MC-chan explains that she had lived a very normal and unassuming life. She did Stage Crew in middle school for the drama club, always the unnoticed extra in the background, sweeping in silently, covertly, under darkness to handle the scene changes and wardrobe transformations. Â She honed her skills making props and costumes for the drama kids, til she was a master of needle and thread, dyes and combs, and props built from paper and plastic.
She thinks it was that attention-to-detail she cultivated in prop-design that let her finally See what MC-kun had seenâthe Candy Haired world around her that constantly overshadowed whatever she did.
One day, she put on the wig. And she never looked back.
But she doesnât know who the hair assassin is either, any more than MC-kun. Thereâs still strength in numbers. And she figures if they work together, their odds of survival are greater.
MC-kun agrees.
âŚ
The next day is a free day for the kids competing in this International Competition. The morning passes with most of the contestants montaging through a romp in the city, tasting local cuisine and window-shopping around the market area and getting into Kodak-moment worthy shenanigans.
MC-kun and MC-chan steal away to a quiet park, sitting at a picnic table, putting pink- and blue-heads together to talk through all the info they have, and what options are open to them. They donât get very far. A glasses-wearing girl appears from behind the bushes and stops them cold.
Glasses Girl is small and wiry, mousy in her frame. She has orange hair that poofs around her head, cropped at chin level, in a way that reminds MC-kun vaguely of a roosting chicken. Her glasses are enormous on her freckled face, and they capture the light, obscuring her eyes behind their glare.
âYou two⌠youâre fakes, arenât you? Both of you.â
MC-kun stops cold. MC-chan spins around in her seat, wide-eyed. âI donât⌠I donât even know what that means! Go away before weââ
Glasses Girl pulls an immaculate, highly stylized laptop from her bag. She flips it open with one hand, propping it on the table and typing furiously, too fast to even see her fingers. Audio begins to play from the laptop speakers.
âWeâre not going home yet. Not you, and not me.â
âI hacked into your phone last night,â GG-chan states simply, head tilted toward MC-kun. âIâve heard the whole conversation.â
âHow?!â MC-kun asks. He holds his phone at a distance, like itâs suddenly venomous.
GG-chan shifts. Suddenly the glare of her glasses is no longer obstructing her eyes. Behind the coke-bottle look is an expression of pure brow-knitted confusion. âI donâtâŚ. I donât actually know. I just could.â
GG-chan was an art student. A not-very-good-at-all art student. And a very-much-below-average competitor in sculpting competitions. She was plain, and unassuming, and inconspicuous, and jealous of the better-established art students around her with their own flashy styles. Her peers wore giant non-prescription glasses; they dyed their hair bright colors and cropped it short to perfect hipster chique.
GG-chan tried to imitate that. But as a truly-not-fantastic artist, she couldnât even pull that off. She dyed her hair, picked out glasses, overshot âhipsterâ, and landed firmly in âgeekâ.
She landed so firmly in âgeekâ that internationally-acclaimed hacker abilities spawned with her makeover. Suddenly she could break into anything, override anything, hack or fix or erase anything over a permanent wifi connection that followed her as its hotspot.
Her laptop never loses charge. Her bash scripts never fail. Her glasses always glint in the slightest bit of light and slide down her nose so that she has to keep her middle finger pressed firmly to the bridge at all times.
Sheâs afraid of being sent home in ruin, sent back to her life as a mediocre art student.
GG-chan wants to join the effort to not be eliminated.
âŚ
A day passes. GG-chan has hacked all the email accounts of the registered contestants and has found nothing suspicious. MC-chan has spent her time crafting shorter-cut wigs to give to MC-kun and GG-chan as backups. MC-kun has been trying his best to understand what heâs gotten into. He bought a few extra obnoxious bandanas to bolster his obnoxious outfit, as if that might help.
Theyâre sitting quietly at lunch, eating in silence, with no new information to share and no desire to attract unwanted attention from the contestants around them.
âOhhhhh my what is this? Has this pathetic posse of plebeians formed a little club oh how quaint!â
MC-chan chokes on her noodles. GG-chan startles. MC-kun groans.
The voice belongs to a platinum-blond boy, dressed to the nines, whoâs sidled up to the table unannounced. He reeks of ambition and money and arrogance and a very particular high-end cologne, and he laughs heartily at his own joke. He flicks a lock of blond hair from his face, which all but sparkles.
MC-kun recognizes this kid. He was one of the first Candy Haired kids to declare an eternal rivalry with him.
âWhatâs it to you?â MC-kun challenges, already ticked off.
And the Rich Blond Rival Boy deflates. Comically. Pale and hollow-cheeked and exhausted, suddenly leaning against their lunch table, speaking in a rasp. âPlease let me join you. Iâve been wearing this Gucci suit for two weeks straight I donât have any others.â
No one answers immediately. No one has anything resembling an answer.
âThen buy another suit!â MC-kun says.
âDo I look like Iâm made of m o n e y to you?!â
âYES.â
âAh ha! Yes that is the point, well you seeââ and RBR-kun pulls out a soggy PB&J from his bag, slumps into an open seat at the table, his eyes dull and matte, solemnly chewing his lunch. âCan one of you spot me like $1.50 for the bus ride to the competition arena tomorrow? I spent the last of my money on this bread.â
MC-kun: âWhat?â
RBR-kun: âI donât have money!â
MC-kun: âWhy are you ACTING like a rich boy if you DONT HAVE MONEYâ
RBR-kun: âLOOK IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED OKAY.â
MC-kun: âWHAT DO YOU MEAN IT JUST KIND OF HAPPENED.â
And well, it just kind of happened. Rich Blond Rival Boy is as fake as they come. He grew up in a modest household, making money over the summer by doing yard work for neighbors. He was fairly frugal and quiet and unassuming, until his grandma bought him a nice tux for the school dance, and he dyed his hair platinum blond on a dare, and suddenly the world was in his pocket.
Suddenly he had connections in high places. Suddenly he could have wait staff doting on him at a momentâs notice. Suddenly he could summon helicopters at the snap of his fingers, and have any product imaginable, legal or not, air-lifted to him on a whim. Everyone was his pawn. Everything bent to his will. Ever since then heâs been unstoppable in his ambitions.
He just doesnât have any of the actual money to maintain this. All his cards are overdrafted. His credit is in the toilet. Several different loan sharks technically own the rights to his immortal soul.
Rich Blond Rival Boy wants in on the League Of Background Characters, because he is utterly afraid of the ruin he faces if he is exposed. If the others get assassinated, they get sent home. If RBR-kun gets assassinated, the debtors will drag him out by his toes.
A scuffle erupts over by the lunch line before anyone can give RBR-kun an answer. Itâs over in an instant. A shriek, a clatter, a tray and knife hitting the ground. The biker ruffian boy with the blue mohawk lies on the floor. His shorn-off mohawk spikes lie on the platter, as if being served to the cafeteria at large.
Worried murmurs break out in the crowd.
No one had seen the knife-yielder.Â
No one had seen anything.
As if the act were committed by someone impossible to even notice.
[chanting]
MORE KIDS MORE KIDS MORE KIDS
LAST PART, CONCLUSION AND ALL, AND ITâS LONG.Â
And the one thing worth noting: MC-chan is now MG-chan, as in Main Girl-chan, to avoid mixing up her name with MC-kun.Â
Enjoy.
Thereâs a sustained hush, like a breath held too long. Itâs a blooming, crawling, clawing wave of realization that takes the cafeteria captive. Heads turn. Voices falls silent. Clueless candy-hair after clueless candy-hair takes in the murder scene, mohawk spikes presented so curiously, so esoterically plattered, as if part of the lunch selection.
The dish itself is a warning; MG-chan understands that much. She feels the bloodlust in the air. And itâs closer now. She edges her chair away from the table. Her nerves are alight.
âRun,â MG-chan says.
âSorry?â MC-kun replies.
MG-chan kicks her chair back, lighting to her feet.
âRun!â
And at that moment, a sound like a cannon ball fires, the silence breaking. People startle at the noise, but itâs the boy sitting one table over â directly across from MC-kun â who jolts entirely sideways in his seat. Heâs the contestant whose hair has been quaffed perfectly into a cartoon whale, pallid blue and deep ocean undertones brimming through his hairline. He stares forward, as if stunned. The girl next to him asks if heâs okay.
He turns to her slowly, and reveals the entire right half of his face has been consumed in a wad of bubblegum. He raises one shaking hand to his whale-tail, now webbed in gum, and he collapses.
And all hell breaks loose.
MG-chan has MC-kun by the shoulder before he can process it. Theyâre running. Them and GG-chan and RBR-kun. Them and almost everyone else, a breathing screaming mass of panic as people shove and knee and elbow their way through the crowd.
âWhere are we going?â MC-kun asks. Heâs stumbling to keep pace with MG-chan, one hand pressed protectively to the bandana on his forehead in danger of slipping off.
âAway from here. Outside.â Â MG-chan throws her weight against the cafeteria door. It slams open. âWherever weâre not sitting targets.â
Their feet beat against the linoleum below, into the hotel foyer, but itâs no good. The bloodlust presence doesnât fade. It does not grow weaker. Instead it gains on them, like heat, like a house fire that lashes out at their heels and trips them with each step. Another two kids go down with the sound of razor blades and a puff of shorn hair, like dandelion fluff blown in the wind.
MG-chan, MC-kun, GG-chan, and RBR-kun all burst out the hotel front doors â RBR-kun with a shriek and a graceful leap over a half-shaved unconscious student on the floor.
âHow did he go down?! I didnât even see him go down?!â RBR-kun shouts, pointing to the kid he vaulted. âInvisibility? Is the murderer invisible?!â
âMaybe super-speed. Really any superpower is possible among these people. We canât rule anything out.â GG-chan has her laptop out, balanced precariously on the crook of her arm. She types one-handed while she runs. âIf I can hack into the security cameras maybe I can activate the infra-red sensors and get a reading onââ
Thereâs a crack. A gasp. MG, MC, and RBR all look back to find GG-chan frozen in place. Her glasses are shattered, pinned to the wall beside her by a single needle-thin arrow.
âMy glassesâŚâ GG-chan blinks, and stares at her laptop like itâs something entirely foreign to her. âWhat is this? What was Iâ?â
MG-chan grabs her arm too. âNever mind. Run. Just run.â
Keep reading
https://youtu.be/DcjtrBTFqKo
Thought Iâd wait to post all the videos that make up the last part in this reblog! The epic self-aware Tumblr anime is now concluded!
Also I couldnât believe it, but we got the OP themself, @phantomrose96, in the comments section of thr finale video, giving us a secret scene that wasnât included in the story, and responding to other commenters!
Iâm so glad you approved of how I narrated your hilarious and epic candy-haired saga! đ
Thatâs me!!!! And that âsecret sceneâ was actually always there since day 1!! I wonder if maybe it got excluded from screenshots of the post going around.
Iâve loved following along with the narration! Thank you so much for doing it!
And in the spirit of things, hereâs a REAL secret scene, because Carlie and I have been digging up our old conversations about these kids. Notice the 2019 time stamps

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Everyone say thank you Shara Kirby
Sheâs DeVoidâs VA in the pilot so this counts as a sneak peek đ¤
old man collab!! @lisamoony â¤
Inspired by this post - Jason and Duke having glowy eyes and freaking Bruce out
Bruce: Have kids, they said. Itâll be fun, they said. I thought I was gonna shit my pants.
Dick: But theyâre so adorable, arenât they?
Bruce: Unfortunately yes.
Jussy.

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Michael doesnât even know who FNAF Edwin is
He loves his big beautiful bug wife