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lezbhonest:

wow, these are too perfect.

(Source: liquorinthefront, via plankhandles)

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dualpaperbags:

paulmcfruity:

This Icelandic police force has the most adorable Instagram account 

Meet the Reykjavík Metropolitan Police, serving the capital of Iceland. By the looks of their incredible Instagram account, a normal day includes holding kittens, eating candy and wearing false mustaches.

There’s more where those came from | Follow micdotcom

For the record the Icelandic police are probably the best police force in the world, There has only been one instance where an officer shot and killed a civilian in the entire history of the country (which is nearly a hundred years) and everyone was completely devastated by it, the police especially — because, as made clear in their statements after the incident, they understand their function is to protect the people. Not to mention that their general police go unarmed except for special squads.

Let’s run through some more facts while we’re on the subject: Compared to 31,000+ shooting deaths in the US in 2009, Iceland had… 4, because they have very rigorous screening processes for gun permits. There is very little economic disparity between upper, middle and lower classes, and social welfare programs take care of their people. Drug use affects less than 1% of the population between 15 and 65 years old, and 90% of drug-related court cases are settled with a fine rather than jail time. Violent crime is virtually non-existent. [x]

Iceland is like if you took the entire idea of chill and personified it as an country, and this exemplifies that. 

(Source: micdotcom, via plankhandles)

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titanmasterclass:

visovari:

What are bronies even trying to accomplish

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(via shithowdy)

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nemurism:

Yes your highness!

nemurism:

Yes your highness!

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poolsofchrome:

You can’t hear anything above the din of the rain, and the forest is growing dense…
>  Light torch

poolsofchrome:

You can’t hear anything above the din of the rain, and the forest is growing dense…

>  Light torch

(via internetangstar)

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heffysdoodles:

Finally settled on a Mia redesign I’m real happy with, hopefully it’ll stick! Attached a bunch of silly doodles too.

Now to actually be productive…

(via skootsforscales)

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"You’re born with a ton of fucks to give, so you spend them like a kid with a credit card. You give fucks about your friends, about your grades, about your fashion sense, about strangers’ opinions. You give way too many fucks about way too many things. You have so many. Then, as you get older, you have maybe 10 fucks per month, so you learn to budget them. You allocate fucks to family and career, but there aren’t enough fucks to give to the newest fads. Oh, someone at work has something they need my help with that’s outside my job title? I’ll do my best to allocate some fucks, but this month is pretty tight. Then, as you get even older, you’re down to 1-2 fucks per month, and those fucks are pretty damn precious. You give them to your family and your hobbies and your job, and that’s kinda it. It’s not your fault – fucks expire too quickly. I would’ve liked to save my fucks from when I was younger but I can’t. Then, you hit fuck insolvency. You’re getting like 1 fuck a year, and you have to make it last. So you go without, and even previously fuck-worthy things, you just can’t give a fuck. Some people run out really quickly, Some people have a fuck trust fund that pays out a decent amount even into old age. But at some point, the fuck faucet runs completely dry and you’re out of fucks to give. It’s just basic Fuckonomics."

— Unknown English Teacher (via memewhore)

(Source: swarthyvillain, via internetangstar)

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"Make the first move, tell people how you feel, stop being so scared of rejection, stop feeling so engulfed with thoughts that aren’t even yours, and stop wasting your fucking time."

— what i needed to hear (via gaystray)

(via wirelesshands)

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tastefullyoffensive:

[lunarbaboon]
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augustussinclairofficial:

R I S E
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tinycartridge:

Yes, I want to wear Slime underwear ⊟

These are lots of fun, if you idea of of fun is dressing up your bits in Slime faces. I didn’t see any of these available to purchase at any U.S. online retailer (admittedly I spent only 2 minutes of my Sunday looking), but you can get the booty Slime one — it’s separate from boxer briefs with King Slime on the front — at eBay. Shout-outs to Rahenna for the find!

BUY Dragon Quest games, upcoming games

(via skootsforscales)

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officialunitedstates:





Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.
After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 
The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.
The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.
Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.
Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"No." 
I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

officialunitedstates:

Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.

After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 

The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.

The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.

Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.

Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"No." 

I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

(via internetangstar)