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cah:

cah:

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bulletsandabow:

brians-time-is-nigh:

I believe this could be used metaphorically for people too. 

what a beautiful way to repair something

bulletsandabow:

brians-time-is-nigh:

I believe this could be used metaphorically for people too. 

what a beautiful way to repair something

babygoatsandfriends:

minerdch1st:

I’ve only been back on tumblr for about a week now… and I think goats are planning a coup against cats as king animal of the internet.

REVOLUTION!!!!!!!!

image

kittymudface:

uh-knee-ka:

conflictingheart:

THE CAT ASKS FOR FOOD
It politely taps him on the arm and then uses its little kitty paws to show that it would like some food
These adorable little creatues are just so intelligent and so utterly cute <3

and it looked like it nodded too :3 too cute!

It gets better— the guy is deaf, and he taught his cat the sign for “food.” So the cat’s not just saying “put that in my mouth,” it’s actually signing

kittymudface:

uh-knee-ka:

conflictingheart:

THE CAT ASKS FOR FOOD

It politely taps him on the arm and then uses its little kitty paws to show that it would like some food

These adorable little creatues are just so intelligent and so utterly cute <3

and it looked like it nodded too :3 too cute!

It gets better— the guy is deaf, and he taught his cat the sign for “food.” So the cat’s not just saying “put that in my mouth,” it’s actually signing

maxistentialist:

A couple months ago, this “gift guide for men” emailed us and asked if we would write a forward to their stupid book. We wrote them back with a draft of a forward that trolled them and sent it back, expecting that to be the end of it.

But much to our surprise, today we got a box of gift guides for men with our troll intro printed in each one. The cover even advertises, “WITH A FORWARD BY THE CREATORS OF CARDS AGAINST HUMANITY.”

Here’s the intro that they actually printed:

We, creators of popular-for-men party game Cards Against Humanity, designed our game with one purpose: to restore manliness to the world. In the centuries since Lady Montagu first christened man “the fairer sex,” people have lost sight of the four cardinal virtues of manhood: Piety, Purity, Submission, and Domesticity. In decades past, choosing the proper gift for a man was a delicate dance of rewarding these virtues, not the consumerist farce it has become today.

This year, the Cards Against Humanity team made an important discovery. Digging through the archive of Men’s Studies at the University of Chicago, we found a pamphlet entitled A Primer on Buying Gifts for Men, written in 1882 by John Shingley. The following excerpt of do’s and dont’s is a snapshot of manhood at its purest, and a cogent argument for the role of gift-giving in the foundation of the virtuous family:

  • Avoid potentially shocking gifts. Men are frail and quick to blush. Gifts such as noisemakers, personal type-writers, and putties may embarrass the recipient or send him into a faint.
  • Prefer the gift that is instructive and useful, e.g. some yarn, a block of wood, earmuffs to keep the Devil out. It may be tempting to flatter your delicate moonflower with brooches and filigreed cameos, but hold firm to your values! You must guide his moral development as the falconer guides the kestrel’s gyre. 
  • Avoid gifts that promote idleness or whimsy. Men are prone to weak affectations and dispositions of mind. Sweets are inadvisable in this regard, as are marbles, bilbo catchers, leather balls, and quoits.
  • Do not buy him books! Men are incapable of logic and not amenable to reason.
  • There’s no such thing as too many aprons. Trying on that muslin smock is the perfect excuse to spend more time at stove and table, where a man’s true gifts unwrap themselves. 
  • There’s more to man’s world than the kitchen. There’s also the scullery, the pantry, and the nursery. As the “angel of the house,” your darling cherub is sure to thrill at any appliance that assists him in the holy task of keeping house and home. 
  • Ultimately, your happiness is his happiness. Buy yourself a gift instead, and give your man the joy of seeing you smile.

Homes may no longer have sculleries, and bilbo catchers may have been outlawed years ago, but the sentiment remains the same. The battle for man’s soul rages on, and the chief weapon is gift-giving. Though we at Cards Against Humanity haven’t gotten around to reading Gifts for Men, we’re sure that it’s a fitting successor to John Shingley’s Primer. We’d like to think that the book is not only edifying, but practical. Every minute you save on choosing a gift for your man is a minute you can spend writing him poetry, massaging his earlobes, and singing hymns over his sweetly sleeping body.

thecottonproject:

Final for my Time Arts class. Nothing gets you in touch with your own anger quite like listening to this and thinking about all the times you’ve been objectified and belittled.

zoetica:

The first accurate photo of my current hair color I’ve managed to get since going deep violet early in the year, taken last night with the aid of my studio lamp. No color editing whatsoever here!

zoetica:

The first accurate photo of my current hair color I’ve managed to get since going deep violet early in the year, taken last night with the aid of my studio lamp. No color editing whatsoever here!

ink-splotch:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She’s become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.” - JK Rowling

Can we talk about Susan’s fabulous adventures after Narnia? The ones where she wears nylons and elegant blouses when she wants to, and short skirts and bright lipstick when she wants to, and hiking boots and tough jeans and big men’s plaid shirts when she feels like backpacking out into the mountains and remembering what it was to be lost in a world full of terrific beauty— I know her siblings say she stops talking about it, that Susan walks away from the memories of Narnia, but I don’t think she ever really forgot.

I want to read about Susan finishing out boarding school as a grown queen reigning from a teenaged girl’s body. School bullies and peer pressure from children and teachers who treat you like you’re less than sentient wouldn’t have the same impact. C’mon, Susan of the Horn, Susan who bested the DLF at archery, and rode a lion, and won wars, sitting in a school uniform with her eyebrows rising higher and higher as some old goon at the front of the room slams his fist on the lectern. 

Susan living through WW2, huddling with her siblings, a young adult (again), a fighting queen and champion marksman kept from the action, until she finally storms out against screaming parents’ wishes and volunteers as a nurse on the front. She keeps a knife or two hidden under her clothes because when it comes down to it, they called her Gentle, but sometimes loving means fighting for what you care for. 

She’ll apply to a women’s college on the East Coast, because she fell in love with America when her parents took her there before the war. She goes in majoring in Literature (her ability to decipher High Diction in historical texts is uncanny), but checks out every book she can on history, philosophy, political science. She sneaks into the boys’ school across town and borrows their books too. She was once responsible for a kingdom, roads and taxes and widows and crops and war. She grew from child to woman with that mantle of duty wrapped around her shoulders. Now, tossed here on this mundane land, forever forbidden from her true kingdom, Susan finds that she can give up Narnia but she cannot give up that responsibility. She looks around and thinks I could do this better.

I want Susan sneaking out to drink at pubs with the girls, her friends giggling at the boys checking them out from across the way, until Susan walks over (with her nylons, with her lipstick, with her sovereignty written out in whatever language she damn well pleases) and beats them all at pool. Susan studying for tests and bemoaning Aristotle and trading a boy with freckles all over his nose shooting lessons so that he will teach her calculus. Susan kissing boys and writing home to Lucy and kissing girls and helping smuggle birth control to the ladies in her dorm because Susan Pevensie is a queen and she understands the right of a woman to rule over her own body. 

Susan losing them all to a train crash, Edmund and Peter and Lucy, Jill and Eustace, and Lucy and Lucy and Lucy, who Susan’s always felt the most responsible for. Because this is a girl who breathes responsibility, the little mother to her three siblings until a wardrobe whisked them away and she became High Queen to a whole land, ruled it for more than a decade, then came back centuries later as a legend. What it must do to you, to be a legend in the body of a young girl, to have that weight on your shoulders and have a lion tell you that you have to let it go. What is must do to you, to be left alone to decide whether to bury your family in separate ceremonies, or all at once, the same way they died, all at once and without you. What it must do to you, to stand there in black, with your nylons, and your lipstick, and feel responsible for these people who you will never be able to explain yourself to and who you can never save. 

Maybe she dreams sometimes they made it back to Narnia after all. Peter is a king again. Lucy walks with Aslan and all the dryads dance. Maybe Susan dreams that she went with them— the train jerks, a bright light, a roar calling you home. 

Maybe she doesn’t. 

Susan grows older and grows up. Sometimes she hears Lucy’s horrified voice in her head, “Nylons? Lipstick, Susan? Who wants to grow up?”  and Susan thinks, “Well you never did, Luce.” Susan finishes her degree, stays in America (England looks too much like Narnia, too much like her siblings, and too little, all at once). She starts writing for the local paper under the pseudonym Frank Tumnus, because she wants to write about politics and social policy and be listened to, because the name would have made Edmund laugh. 

She writes as Susan Pevensie, too, about nylons and lipstick, how to give a winning smiles and throw parties, because she knows there is a kind of power there and she respects it. She won wars with war sometimes, in Narnia, but sometimes she stopped them before they began.

Peter had always looked disapprovingly on the care with which Susan applied her makeup back home in England, called it vanity. And even then, Susan would smile at him, say “I use what weapons I have at hand,” and not explain any more than that. The boy ruled at her side for more than a decade. He should know better. 

Vain is not the proper word. This is about power. But maybe Peter wouldn’t have liked the word “ambition” any more than “vanity.”

Susan is a young woman in the 50s and 60s. Frank Tumnus has quite the following now. He’s written a few books, controversial, incendiary. Susan gets wrapped up in the civil rights movement, because of course she would. It’s not her first war. All the same, she almost misses the White Witch. Greed is a cleaner villain than senseless hate. She gets on the Freedom Rider bus, mails Mr. Tumnus articles back home whenever there’s a chance, those rare occasions they’re not locked up or immediately threatened. She is older now than she ever was in Narnia. Susan dreams about Telemarines killing fauns. 

Time rolls on. Maybe she falls in love with a young activist or an old cynic. Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe Frank Tumnus, controversial in the moment, brilliant in retrospect, gets offered an honorary title from a prestigious university. She declines and publishes an editorial revealing her identity. Her paper fires her. Three others mail her job offers. 

When Vietnam rolls around, she protests in the streets. Susan understands the costs of war. She has lived through not just the brutal wars of one life, but two. 

Maybe she has children now. Maybe she tells them stories about a magical place and a magical lion, the stories Lucy and Edmund brought home about how if you sail long enough you reach the place where the seas fall off the edge of the world. But maybe she tells them about Cinderella instead, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, except Rapunzel cuts off her own hair and uses it to climb down the tower and escape. The damsel uses what tools she has at hand. 

A lion told her to walk away, and she did. He forbade her magic, he forbade her her own kingdom, so she made her own. 

Susan Pevensie did not lose faith. She found it. 

Jon Snow interviews Charlie Brooker on Channel 4 News [x]

redundeadwinter:

"Heroes aren’t defined by their powers or costumes, but by the content of their hearts. We don’t know what Carol’s going to be like when she comes back. She might not remember us. She might not ever remember herself. But we will know. We will know the light she has inside her because she showed us all today. We will know…she’s Captain Marvel. She’s our hero."

Captain Marvel #14

onepretentiousbastard:

thepastryalchemist:

Janelle Monae as Zatanna? OK, I need to do a black lady DC fancast at some point

I would watch this movie.

coyoterose1:

Victorian Star Trek uniforms. This makes me happy on several nerdy levels. Source.

coyoterose1:

Victorian Star Trek uniforms. This makes me happy on several nerdy levels. Source.