filmjunky-99
r e m e m b e r i n g
Joe Cocker, OBE
20 May 1944 – 22 December 2014
Rest In Peace ⚘
post-store
meatball-surgeon
kalichnikov
I can't donate my body to science what if it goes to a medical school and when the students crack open my torso and the professor says "I'm sorry these are the stupidest organs I've ever seen"
I was put off donating my body (not that i was eligible anyway) to the anatomy lab by Blue Arthur.
Blue Arthur was a torso prosection who had been stored in a plastic box filled with formaldehyde, wrapped in a blue sheet. unfortunately the formaldehyde solution had caused the dye in the sheet to run, and dyed him blue.
He was famous among students, and helped us all immensely in our anatomy exams, because you could recognise him from across the room. But still. What a way to be remembered.
morallydiseased
delphinidin4
How we know that the US is experiencing another major wave of Covid-19: online reviews complaining that Yankee candles have no scent are up again
morallydiseased
somecunttookmyurl
tumblr deleted my last confessional post so here’s a new one:
when i was like 6 my grandparents got me an awesome dollhouse (playmobil haus 5301 if anyone needs to know). for some reason, i had in my head that one day, god would shrink a bunch of people until they were the size of polly pockets and the world would be so cruel and scary for them. so every night i would pray to god that if he did that, that he would please put the tiny people in my dollhouse so i could provide for them. and every night, in case it happened, i would put water in a little cup for them and make their little beds so they’d have somewhere warm to rest after finding out they would be tiny forever. i told my friend in school about this and he said “oh my dad’s a wizard dont worry he can make them grow again” and then i felt at ease and never worried about it again.
this made me think of another doll themed confession:
when i was 7, the same grandparents got me Kit, the american girl doll. if you didnt know, this was back when american girl dolls were decent and cared abt historical context and shit, so kit’s whole thing was she lived in the great depression. i also had a blonde bob and freckles so everyone kept saying i was just like kit, but i didn’t understand that they meant my looks. so one night, i prayed to god that he would make me more like kit so i wouldn’t let anyone down by not being like her. and the next morning, my parents sat me down and explained the recession to me and i cried the whole night because i genuinely thought i’d caused it.
mischievous-thunder
bunjywunjy
Anonymous asked:
Hi Bunjy, how the tarantula and frog communicate to get mutual consent?
they don’t actually communicate, the tarantula just instinctually doesn’t eat the frog and the frog instinctually seeks out tarantula burrows to hang out in.
but isn’t that enough, really?
bunjywunjy
bunjywunjy
Anonymous asked:
What happens if tarantula no longger need the frog?
bunjywunjy answered:
great news! that just straight-up doesn’t happen.
tarantulas can live for well over a decade, and female tarantulas can expect to breed multiple times before they finally kick it! and since there’s always the expectation of there going to be a new clutch of eggs in the nest every year, there’s no benefit in getting rid of the frogs that will keep those eggs safe.
a female columbian lesserblack tarantula will treasure and protect her frogs until the day she dies, and then those frogs will go into the care of whichever of her daughters inherits her burrow! it’s an eternal cycle. a cycle of frog.
the scorpion came upon the frog on the riverbank.
"friend frog," said the scorpion, waving its little pincer things in an emotive fashion, "would you carry me across? the river is wide, and I cannot swim."
the frog was a kindly fellow, and hesitated, thinking it over.
now, this story could have progressed as it normally does, into a very sad and rather ham-fisted metaphor for the nature of the human experience, but luckily for both the frog and the reader (though not for the scorpion), our story is interrupted rather abruptly here by the sudden appearance of a ginormous fucking spider popping out of the bushes and making short work of the scorpion.
"Ribbort," said the giant fuckoff tarantula, delicately wiping some scorpion off her huge terrifying spider fangs, "there you are! I was worried. you know better than to wander off into an allegory like this. come home, the children miss you."
the frog, whose name was Ribbort, shrugged his damp little shoulders. indeed, some metaphors just can't be accurately applied to the natural world, due to the enormously complex and often unexpected web of relationships between living creatures in any given ecosystem, and that is the way of things.
and then they went home together, hand in hand.
yeoldenews
arcticflakes
