Alisa U Zemlji Chuda

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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@somecleverreference

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RIP Quentin Makepeace you would have loved this film
i always convince myself i dont sound that weird and then i go out in the world and get involved in anything longer than transactional small talk and its like ohhh thats right ive only been hanging out with gay people who speak in riddles
Bartimaeus my guy, my memes
just logged onto tumblr for the first time in 2+ years.. looks like I picked a good day for it 👀

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Tree Swallows by Linda H. Dulak - Audubon Photography Awards
barn swallows depicted in the “spring fresco”, akrotiri, thera, greece. c. 16th century BC
355.02
the art of war
[Image ID: Post from Scott Alexan... reading: My son has created a primitive pillow fort. My daughter, unable to break her way in, has wandered to the kitchen and is eating his half-finished dinner while he screams "No! Mine!" from behind his walls. I could stop her, but I think it's important to let children learn important lessons like "When the enemy's fortification are impregnable, pillage the countryside until starvation forces them out." /End ID]
One should always have at least 2 craft projects going. That way, when one of them is messed up and misbehaving, you can switch to another, and let the first one sit there and think about what it's done.
I attempted to rob a man at zweihanderpoint but unfortunately he pulled out a pike and gained the range advantage, giving me no choice but to flee
i set my name to Paul Enis in the app because then the stickers they put on my grocery deliveries would say P. ENIS. it was like this for months, but now all the sudden they say PAUL E. instead
i can't have that. i won't let that happen. what they could have never predicted is that a beautiful woman named Peni Sausage is about to log on

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Worry about it kitten
ok ♥️
fuck ♥️
The reason why Tales From The Gas Station works so well is because the premise is so fucking funny.
Imagine a guy. Just a guy. He is a cashier at the gas station at the edge of town.
That town is fucking weird. There are monsters, hauntings, eldritch gods appearing in dreams, parasites, cultists, serial killers, tree people, politicians that don't stay dead, a ventriloquist puppet that has more influence than anyone else in town.
But this guy just wants to do his damn job. He doesn't care. He is tired. If you're not going to buy anything, he'll kindly ask you to leave the store.
He gets robbed, attacked, beaten up, threatened with death, threatened by old naked men, visited by murder cultists and terrible beings and he just goes right back to work afterwards. (He's nothing if not a good employee.)
At the same time, this guy isn't normal. He doesn't sleep. Ever. He has memory issues and sees hallucinations (so those weird things are probably not real anyway, right). He forgets his friend died on Halloween and isnt surprised when he keeps showing up. Aforementioned murder cultist tries to convince him to join the mission to blow up the planet, then adopts him as his best friend when it doesn't work. He is locked in a neverending battle with the local racoons.
ah I see you’ve caught me thinking about the voice the audio book narrator does for Honorius
you just know mr jones had the time of his life getting to show off his range like that
cemeteries aren’t creepy they’re actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity
Some of my favorite things from when I worked landscaping at a small town cemetery:
The things that got left on graves. 6-packs of beer, little boxes of chocolates or cookies, the occasional large Tim Hortons double double. My favorite was the one grave that on a Monday would always have a 6-pack with one can missing. Someone visited regularly and had a drink while they were there.
The veterans section, and how it was almost empty. Not that there weren’t veterans buried in the cemetery; there were tons, but they were buried beside their wives in family plots. Most of these guys went away for WW2, survived, came home, and were buried decades later, with people they loved, the rank carved on their headstone less important than the names of the children and grandchildren who remember them.
The way standing headstones make you take the time to trim the weeds around them every time you cut the grass, and give you the chance to slow down and read the inscriptions. There was probably a time I knew every name there.
The small metal markers in the back rows, only labeled with numbers. They took the place of old wooden crosses when the town was a little farming village. Somewhere in the museum they probably have a record of who was buried under each, but I never saw it.
The big plastic flower wreath (the kind people decorate wedding cars with) that spelled “MOM”. She was young, and her grave was so new she didn’t have a headstone yet. She had 5 little kids, and they’d made it for her.
The stones lined up by the landscaping shed, carved with their inscriptions and waiting for their graves to settle so we could place them. The little printed or hand-decorated paper signs loved ones taped to the temporary plaques they would replace.
The guerrilla wildflowers planted around grave markers. We weren’t supposed to leave them when we cut the grass, but we tried to anyway.
Walking through the tiny local museum and putting faces and items to the names I knew from grave markers. Esme and her room full of quilts and knitting. The old veterans who lived to their 80s and 90s, fresh-faced in pressed new uniforms before they left for the war more than half a century ago. Pictures of young couples grinning in front of houses I recognised from my recycling pickup rounds, whose names I recognised from their shared plots.
The signs of life among the dead: lawn chair prints in the grass, kid’s snack wrappers that didn’t quite make it into the trash, elastic bands from bouquets, a place where someone sat cross-legged in the grass long enough to leave an imprint, a family’s worth of footprints in the muddy roadway.
Cemeteries may house the dead, but they exist for the living, and they’re a fascinating place where life and death exist side by side. There’s something really cool about a place where the dead are remembered and the living feel less alone because of it.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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