do you ever get in one of those moods where you’re like feeling okay but you’re really sad at the same time and you just want to talk to someone and make them hug you but you feel annoying so you kind of just sit there being really sad
The joke that Bender tells but never finishes (while crawling through the ceiling) actually has no punchline. According to Judd Nelson, he ad-libbed the line. Originally, he was supposed to tell a joke that would end when he came back into the library and said, “Forgot my pencil”, but no one could come up with a joke for that punchline.
Did they just make up this entire movie on the spot.
I want you to imagine a ten year old version of yourself sitting right there on this couch. Now this is the little girl who first believed that she was fat, and ugly, and an embarrassment.
This is groundbreaking
this is my third time rebloging this today. this is so important.
Jesus was a homeless Palestinian anarchist who held protests at oppressive temples, advocated for universal health care and redistribution of wealth, before being arrested for terrorism, tortured, and executed for crimes against the state, now go ahead and explain to me why he’d vote conservative. I’ll wait.
Relationships are not a destination. They’re not an end-point. They’re always a journey. They should always be challenging and growing and evolving.
Tiffany Schmidt, on what makes for a good contemporary romance in YA fiction. She also offers up an excellent reading list of current and forthcoming contemporary novels with well-done romances for YA fiction fans. (via yahighway)
Let’s “cuddle” and when I say cuddle I mean aggressively makeout and grab me everywhere
maybe i wear lipstick so that
you will see my pretty pink mouth
wrapping around a coffee cup lid
and be distracted enough not to notice
that i am intelligent and powerful;
maybe i draw my brows into high arches
so you will look at my unimpressed skepticism
and overlook my spiteful glare
as a trick of my silly, girlish routine.
maybe i wear my heels so high and thin
so that i grasp your attention with the sway of my hips
as i listen to the click-clack-click against the floor
and know that if you should try to overpower me
i walk on sharpened knives.
maybe when i laugh at your worthless jokes
i am really baring my fangs
waiting patiently for the day
that i sink them into your neck.
i am not made of porcelain pleasantries;
you will find that these things are my armor
to keep you at a distance
so you do not step on me and shatter
my fragile control.
i am not a husk — i am not wilting.
i am turning my head
so that the fire blazing through my eyes
does not catch on the accelerant of your sweaty palms
and burn your bones to dust.
i am not your pretty girl;
i am a fury, a faerie, a phoenix —
a forest of werewolves and wendigos
that will carve out your chest
so that the next time i paint my pretty pink lips
i will taste the copper tang of your dying breaths.
R.K., I Am The Wolf Only Barely Contained (via theytookmyluna)