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sometimes I feel like people treat me like shit and the rest of the time I feel shitty for feeling like people treat me like shit

h0odrich:

everything good makes you fat an addict or broke

offbeatorbit:

jesus fucking christ

chauvinistsushi:

contraception:

the goal is to love myself so much it offends other people

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collapsed:

everyone im interested in is too hot for me…

nerdy-trans-girl:

Okay guys lets get this stuff unpacked.  Karen’s stuff…Some supplies…Karen…

nerdy-trans-girl:

Okay guys lets get this stuff unpacked.  
Karen’s stuff…Some supplies…Karen…

jaclcfrost:

don’t underestimate me. i’ll wear sweaters in the summer. i’ll eat like eighteen gallons of ice cream in the winter. fuck the temperature. i don’t give a fuck

acting-captains-log:

I have no explanation for this; but it looks as though they’re Kling-ing-on for dear life.

*badum-tss*

[x]

kenzby:

college kids going home for break

kenzby:

college kids going home for break

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”
On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 
Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 
This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

rainbowcranes:

Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”

On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”. 

Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes. 
I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was. 

This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.

whitepool:

something I accidentally discovered today! (I’d imagine a lot of color theory stuff was involved with computer fonts that makes them readable and not all pixelated)

mr-egbutt:

WAKE UP COUSIN
WE’RE GOING TO THE ZOO

mr-egbutt:

WAKE UP COUSIN

WE’RE GOING TO THE ZOO

caesaretluna:

spnedit: Angels

the angels, they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have
the equipment to care. seems like when they try, it just breaks
them apart.

[demon version]

owlturdcomix:

It’s okay to have a weird laugh.

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