Just your everyday problems.
did he just drop his phone on his fucking baby
done with the infomercials tag
the baby i’m gonna cry
well why the fuck would you touch pasta that was in boiling water?
the girl tho shes all like “o M G jimmy what the fuck did you do my CRAYONS YOU HOESLUT”
i laughed too much at this than normal people
Via i'm adam wazzup
I want some grits but I don’t feel like making them. Why can’t they just magically materialize?
“you shouldn’t be depressed, people have it worse than you”
finally, after years of searching, the person with the worst life ever is found. formally, they are granted permission to be sad. but only them. only they have earned it. no sads for anyone else at all ever
A couple of years ago, (around this time although I do not remember the day nor does it warrant looking up) I, too, graduated college.
That’s right, you fresh crop of Facebook photo albums, I ALSO once carried a smart phone while frantically looking for my parents post-ceremony, lost in a sea of light cardigans and Ann Taylor mom pants. That’s right, you group shots of bright cheeks and “it’s weird that I hooked up with him and he got in this picture anyway!” I was there once. I held the diploma. I did it as well.
Time, you devil. I look at these Twitter statuses, ye throngs of faithful social media mavens, displaying optimism and fear and all that lies in between—and I feel old. Well, not old in the way Rose was SO old she deemed it perfectly fine to drop a bajillion dollar necklace in the sea. Old in the way that my bread feels old: moldly, but still potentially usable.
Via The Frenemy.
One of my favorite Ben Wyatt moments.
—Charlie Brooker, awesomest columnist ever. (via akx)
As for me, I’m stuck in a loveless relationship with myself, the backseat driver who can’t stop tutting and nagging. There’s no escape from me’s relentless criticism. Me even knows what I’m thinking, and routinely has a pop at Me for that. “You’re worrying about your obsessive degree of self-criticism again,” whines Me. “How pathetically solipsistic.” And then it complains about its own bleating tone of voice and starts petulantly kicking the back of the seat, asking if we’re there yet.