“i want to wear shorts because it’s hot but i really hate my legs” an autobiography
“I want to wear shorts but i didnt shave” the sequel.
“I want to wear shorts but I don’t tan and I’d rather not blind you” The trilogy
“I want to wear shorts but my huge dick always sticks out” a pop-up book
I write sins not five page research papers
‘Why would you want tattoos and crap they’re gonna look gross when you’re older’
damn punk since 1950
I really don’t think you understand the amount of would right now.
Always reblogging this old ass, dapper motherfuck.
are you the SAT because i’d do you for 3 hours and 45 minutes
with a ten minute break halfway through for snacks
That’s the most reasonable pick up line I’ve ever heard. You’re hired.
Why you shouldn’t microwave a cell phone
LOOKS LIKE YOU JUST OPENED A PORTAL TO HELL
SUMMONING IT’S SPAWN AND SHIT
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.
HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY…
WHAT IN THE FUCK HAPPENED
WTH?! I see this creepy face opening it’s mouth O_O
whats the html code for a social life
Imagine a movie like The Avengers
But instead of Marvel heroes joining forces
It was Disney Princesses
“I have an army,” Maleficent taunted.
“Yeah?” said Rapunzel, “We have Kuzco.”
YOU THREW OFF MY GROOVE
“That’s my secret Mulan… I’m always off groove”
when he’s angry he turns into a giant llama
why don’t they have big hyped up award shows for books
best male/female character
best plot development
best plot twist
“I AM ANGRY, SHORT, AND I HAVE MORE MOVIES THAN YOU. RESPECT ME. STEVE. STEVE. STEVE.”
Oh god, Tony looks so fucking done. “I AM TONY FUCKING STARK. I SHOULD BE TALLER THAN ALL OF YOU. GODAMMIT. PEPPER, GET ME A FOOTSTOOL.”
PEPPER, GET ME A FOOTSTOOL.
I’LL GET YOU 12% OF A FOOTSTOOL.
REBLOGGING FOR THAT COMMENT OH GOD
Thanks, Cas. Thanks.
STILL MY FAVORITE CAS/SAM/DEAN COMIC EVER
AsylumWaiting Room of the Big Three.
it’s funny because it looks like the sherlock fandom are sane here
Sherlock bustled about the kitchen, throwing a cupboard door open and pushing aside a box of nicotine patches to retrieve two mismatched mugs. A kettle whistled plaintively in the background, like it had been trying to draw attention to itself for a while now. Setting the mugs aside, Sherlock absently pulled the kettle off the stove, poured tea into the two mugs, and carried them into the living room.
Doctor Who was sprawled over the same chair it had collapsed into last night, when it had appeared at the door muttering inanely about lost regenerations and knackered navigations systems. It made a whining noise as Sherlock tucked the shock blanket it had thrown off in the night back around its shoulders.
Supernatural was in similar straits, curled up on the floor with a throw pillow and a tattered trench coat around its shoulders and alternating between sobbing and muttering about domesticity potential.
A thudding on the stairs indicated the ruckus had finally awoke Merlin, who poked its head into the room, hair sticking up at all angels as it tied its scarf around its neck. Blinking blearily at the mess, it seemed to realize what had occurred when it picked up a discarded bow-tie from the floor, holding it between forefinger and thumb, “Is it that time already?”
“It was bad this year,” Sherlock whispered, trying not to exacerbate the already fragile fandoms under its care.
“I remember what that was like,” Merlin muttered, running a hand through its hair and pulling a cape off the nearby coat rack, “I’ll go to the store. We’re out of milk again. May as well pick up some fish fingers, custard, and salt.”
Supernatural gurgled something quietly.
“No, I won’t forget the pie.”