Its Just A
Its Just A

Its Just A

Look At My
Look At My

Look At My

bugging
 bugging

bugging

if you want to
 if you want to

if you want to

waving
 waving

waving

apparent
apparent

apparent

ifs
ifs

ifs

somebody
somebody

somebody

pretty
pretty

pretty

passionately
passionately

passionately

🔥 | Latest

Alive, Apparently, and Come Over: I'm a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it's saved a few lives I DONT LIKE THE PHRASE "A CRY FOR HELP"ェJuST DONT LKE HOW IT SOuNDS, WHEN SOMEBODY SAYS TO ME, "I'M THINKING ABOUT SUICIDE, I HAVE A PLAN: I JUST NEED A REASON NOT TO DOITTHE LAST THING I SEE IS HELPLESSNESS. I THINK: YOUR DEPRESSION HAS BEEN BEATING YOU UP FOR YEARS. IT'S CALLED YOU UGLY, AND STUPID, AND PATHETIC, AND A FAILURE, FOR SO LONG THAT YOU'VE FORGOTTEN THAT IT'S WRONG. YOU DON'T SEE ANY GOOD IN YOURSELF, AND YOu DON'T HAVE ANY HOPE. BUT STILL, HERE YOu ARE: YOU'VE COME OVER TO ME, BANGED ON MY DOOR, AND SAID, "HEY! STAYING ALIVE IS REALLY HARD RIGHT NOW! JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING TO FIGHT WITHI I DON'T CARE IF IT'S A STICK! GIVE ME A STICK AND I CAN STAY ALIVE!" HOW IS THAT HELPLESS? I THINK THAT'S INCREDIBLE. YOU'RE LIKE A MARINE: TRAPPED FOR YEARS BEHIND ENEMY LINES, YOUR GUN HAS BEEN TAKEN AWAY, YOU'RE OUT OF AMMO, YOU'RE MALNOURISHED, AND YOU'VE PROBABLY CAIGHT SOME KIND OF JUNGLE VIRUS THAT'S MAKING YOU HALLLICINATE GIANT SPIDERS AND YOU'RE STILL JUST GOING, "GIVE ME A STICK. I'M NOT DYING OUT HERE." "A CRY FOR HELP" MAKES IT SOND LIKE I'M SuppOSED TO AKE PITY ON YOu, BUT YOU DON'T NEED MY PITY THIS ISNT PATHETIC. THIS IS THE WILL TO SURVIVE. THIS IS HOW HUMANS LIVED LONG ENOIGH TO BECOME THE DOMINANT SPECIES. WITH NO HOPE, RUNNING ON NOTHING, YOU'RE READY TO CLIT THROUGH A HUNDRED MILES OF HOSTILE JUNGLE WITH NOTHING BUT A STICK, IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES TO GET TO SAFETY ALL IM DOING IS HANDING OUT STICKS YOU'RE THE ONE STAYING ALIVE irondad-not-ironsad: aurora-nerin: tea-rabbits: ultimate-science-nerd: positivelyqueerace: dreamsrainandwitchythings: intp-again: muslimintp-1999-girl: asexualchristian: mentalmentalhealth: girlwhorpsalot: I needed this. Thank you to all the people who posted this so I ended up seeing it. I really needed this right now. Thank you! Yeah… Not gonna lie… I cried… We need more people like this Goddamn it stop making me feel human The therapist I wanna be. Text in the image: “I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives.” I don’t like the phrase “a cry for help.” I just don’t like how it sounds. When somebody says to me, “I’m thinking about suicide. I have a plan: I just need a reason not to do it,” the last thing I see is helplessness. I think your depression has been beating you up for years. It’s called you ugly, and stupid, and pathetic, and a failure, for so long that you’ve forgotten that it’s wrong. You don’t see any good in yourself, and you don’t have any hope. But still here you are: you’ve come over to me, banged on my door and said, “HEY! Staying alive is REALLY HARD right now! Just give me something to fight with! I don’t care if it’s a stick! Give me a stick and I can stay alive!” How is that helpless? I think that’s incredible. You’re like a marine: trapped for years behind enemy lines. Your gun has been taken away, you’re out of ammo, you’re malnourished, and you’ve probably caught some kind of jungle virus that’s making you hallucinate giant spiders. And you’re still just going, “GIVE ME A STICK. I’M NOT DYING OUT HERE.”“A cry for help” makes it sound like I’m supposed to take pity on you, but you don’t need my pity. This isn’t pathetic. This is the will to survive. This is how humans lived long enough to become the dominant species. With NO hope, running on NOTHING, you’re ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that’s what it takes to get to safety. All I’m doing is handing out sticks. You’re the one saying alive. I legit cried at this. I’ve needed to hear it put this way. Bless this post. Every time I see this post I stop to read the whole image. It always helps — even on the good days. Because it wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t shameful to seek help. It wasn’t pathetic to “cry for help”. I was looking for a stick, be that from myself or from someone else. I was trying to find a way out. I was trying to heal myself. this is fuckin incredible.  I’m sorry if I repost to many of these, but if it could be someone’s “stick” then it’s worth it
Alive, Apparently, and Come Over: I'm a therapist and keep this poster
 in my waiting room, apparently it's
 saved a few lives
 I DONT LIKE THE PHRASE "A CRY FOR HELP"ェJuST DONT LKE
 HOW IT SOuNDS, WHEN SOMEBODY SAYS TO ME, "I'M THINKING
 ABOUT SUICIDE, I HAVE A PLAN: I JUST NEED A REASON NOT TO
 DOITTHE LAST THING I SEE IS HELPLESSNESS.
 I THINK: YOUR DEPRESSION HAS BEEN BEATING YOU UP FOR YEARS.
 IT'S CALLED YOU UGLY, AND STUPID, AND PATHETIC, AND A FAILURE,
 FOR SO LONG THAT YOU'VE FORGOTTEN THAT IT'S WRONG. YOU DON'T
 SEE ANY GOOD IN YOURSELF, AND YOu DON'T HAVE ANY HOPE.
 BUT STILL, HERE YOu ARE: YOU'VE COME OVER TO ME, BANGED ON MY
 DOOR, AND SAID, "HEY! STAYING ALIVE IS REALLY HARD RIGHT NOW!
 JUST GIVE ME SOMETHING TO FIGHT WITHI I DON'T CARE IF IT'S
 A STICK! GIVE ME A STICK AND I CAN STAY ALIVE!"
 HOW IS THAT HELPLESS? I THINK THAT'S INCREDIBLE. YOU'RE LIKE
 A MARINE: TRAPPED FOR YEARS BEHIND ENEMY LINES, YOUR GUN
 HAS BEEN TAKEN AWAY, YOU'RE OUT OF AMMO, YOU'RE
 MALNOURISHED, AND YOU'VE PROBABLY CAIGHT SOME KIND OF
 JUNGLE VIRUS THAT'S MAKING YOU HALLLICINATE GIANT SPIDERS
 AND YOU'RE STILL JUST GOING, "GIVE ME A STICK.
 I'M NOT DYING OUT HERE."
 "A CRY FOR HELP" MAKES IT SOND LIKE I'M SuppOSED TO
 AKE PITY ON YOu, BUT YOU DON'T NEED MY PITY THIS ISNT
 PATHETIC. THIS IS THE WILL TO SURVIVE. THIS IS HOW HUMANS
 LIVED LONG ENOIGH TO BECOME THE DOMINANT SPECIES.
 WITH NO HOPE, RUNNING ON NOTHING, YOU'RE READY TO CLIT
 THROUGH A HUNDRED MILES OF HOSTILE JUNGLE WITH NOTHING
 BUT A STICK, IF THATS WHAT IT TAKES TO GET TO SAFETY
 ALL IM DOING IS HANDING OUT STICKS
 YOU'RE THE ONE STAYING ALIVE
irondad-not-ironsad:
aurora-nerin:

tea-rabbits:

ultimate-science-nerd:


positivelyqueerace:


dreamsrainandwitchythings:

intp-again:

muslimintp-1999-girl:


asexualchristian:

mentalmentalhealth:

girlwhorpsalot:

I needed this.


Thank you to all the people who posted this so I ended up seeing it.  I really needed this right now. Thank you!

Yeah… Not gonna lie… I cried…


We need more people like this


Goddamn it stop making me feel human

The therapist I wanna be.

Text in the image:
“I’m a therapist and keep this poster in my waiting room, apparently it’s saved a few lives.”
I don’t like the phrase “a cry for help.” I just don’t like how it sounds. When somebody says to me, “I’m thinking about suicide. I have a plan: I just need a reason not to do it,” the last thing I see is helplessness.
I think your depression has been beating you up for years. It’s called you ugly, and stupid, and pathetic, and a failure, for so long that you’ve forgotten that it’s wrong. You don’t see any good in yourself, and you don’t have any hope.
But still here you are: you’ve come over to me, banged on my door and said, “HEY! Staying alive is REALLY HARD right now! Just give me something to fight with! I don’t care if it’s a stick! Give me a stick and I can stay alive!”
How is that helpless? I think that’s incredible. You’re like a marine: trapped for years behind enemy lines. Your gun has been taken away, you’re out of ammo, you’re malnourished, and you’ve probably caught some kind of jungle virus that’s making you hallucinate giant spiders.
And you’re still just going, “GIVE ME A STICK. I’M NOT DYING OUT HERE.”“A cry for help” makes it sound like I’m supposed to take pity on you, but you don’t need my pity. This isn’t pathetic. This is the will to survive. This is how humans lived long enough to become the dominant species.
With NO hope, running on NOTHING, you’re ready to cut through a hundred miles of hostile jungle with nothing but a stick, if that’s what it takes to get to safety.
All I’m doing is handing out sticks.
You’re the one saying alive.


I legit cried at this. I’ve needed to hear it put this way. Bless this post.


Every time I see this post I stop to read the whole image.  It always helps — even on the good days.  
Because it wasn’t weakness.  It wasn’t shameful to seek help.  It wasn’t pathetic to “cry for help”.  I was looking for a stick, be that from myself or from someone else.  I was trying to find a way out. I was trying to heal myself.

this is fuckin incredible. 


I’m sorry if I repost to many of these, but if it could be someone’s “stick” then it’s worth it

irondad-not-ironsad: aurora-nerin: tea-rabbits: ultimate-science-nerd: positivelyqueerace: dreamsrainandwitchythings: intp-again: mu...

Apparently, Ass, and Drunk: snarling-through-our-smiles I once lost my keys at a frat house. My drunk ass had actually walked home without them, pounded on my apartment door, gotten let in by my rightfully- disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to pass out on the couch. Apparently I puked in the toilet before passing out do not remember The next morning, I schlepped back to the frat house. I stood there, right in front of the front door. This was a novel experience for me. I'd never been at a frat house in broad daylight before. A boy, presumably, of the house, asked me what I was doing. "I lost my keys in here last night, I called back. "I was seeing if I could go in and look for them?" He opened the door and gestured for me o come in. "Go wherever you want." I'd never seen a frat house post-party Derore. Wandering up the stairs a by hungover and still-drunk frat boys sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food and showers like moths to a porch light. A few of them threw puzzled glances my way. I'm sure they thought I was some post-bacchanalia hallucination. I entered one room where a boy was drunkenly watching some Old Yeller- esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of his room from his bed. "Do you like dog movies?" he asked, voice from the fact that his face was squished against his pillow and half-buried by his blanket. I told him I did. e mumbled again, pleased, and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking my keys. "Sorry, I haven't seen any keys around bere I didn't doubt him. Twenty minutes had passed. I'd searched just about every bedroom and nuclear- at dumn-site of a bathroom in that house. I'd given up on ever finding my keys and was prepared to beg my roommates' forgiveness and get a new set copied. As I stood there in the hallway, silently a particularly burly frat boy approached me. "You need help with something? "I lost my keys here last night and I can't find them, I've looked everywhere. "What do they look like? I'll put it into the group chat. He was already pulling out his phone. No one ever checks a group chat, I thought, but what the hell. It was worth a shot. "Um, it's just a ring of keys. The keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like yea big. Like bright pink, you can't miss He nodded, presumably typing this description faithfully into the group chat. "Alright, I sent the message out. Good luck. e turned and left. And with that, A few moments later, I heard a distant and it was getting louder and louder, One assumes that how I felt in that moment was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest stampede through the ravine as a horde large young men all thundered down the stairs, making a beeling for me. "Someone tell the girl!" One of them shouted, faceless in the mob. "Girl! Hey, GIRL! We found your keys, girl!!! They circled around me. I hadn't felt that old, One of them split himself off from the crowd. "Are these -"he pulled out a ring of keys from his pocket, "your keys? And lo, there was the distinctive bright millennial pink cat keychain dangling off the ring. "Yes,"I whispered. "Oh my god, yes." "EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY YYYYYYYYYY!!" The cheer went up. Turns out he found them in the bathroom upstairs. I thanked them again profusely. There was a scattered round of "no problems" and then, just suddenly as they descended, they all dispersed, like ships in the night. gatorfisch THIS is boys will be boys Nice Frathouse
Apparently, Ass, and Drunk: snarling-through-our-smiles
 I once lost my keys at a frat house.
 My drunk ass had actually walked home
 without them, pounded on my apartment
 door, gotten let in by my rightfully-
 disgruntled roommate, and proceeded to
 pass out on the couch. Apparently I
 puked in the toilet before passing out
 do not remember
 The next morning, I schlepped back to the
 frat house. I stood there, right in front of
 the front door. This was a novel
 experience for me. I'd never been at a frat
 house in broad daylight before.
 A boy, presumably, of the house, asked
 me what I was doing.
 "I lost my keys in here last night, I called
 back. "I was seeing if I could go in and
 look for them?"
 He opened the door and gestured for me
 o come in.
 "Go wherever you want."
 I'd never seen a frat house post-party
 Derore. Wandering up the stairs a
 by
 hungover and still-drunk frat boys
 sandals and gym shorts, seeking out food
 and showers like moths to a porch light.
 A few of them threw puzzled glances my
 way. I'm sure they thought I was some
 post-bacchanalia hallucination.
 I entered one room where a boy was
 drunkenly watching some Old Yeller-
 esque movie on a tiny TV in the corner of
 his room from his bed.
 "Do you like dog movies?" he asked, voice
 from the fact that his face was squished
 against his pillow and half-buried by his
 blanket.
 I told him I did.
 e mumbled again, pleased, and asked
 what I was doing. I told him I was looking
 my keys.
 "Sorry, I haven't seen any keys around
 bere
 I didn't doubt him.
 Twenty minutes had passed. I'd searched
 just about every bedroom and nuclear-
 at dumn-site of a bathroom in that
 house. I'd given up on ever finding my
 keys and was prepared to beg my
 roommates' forgiveness and get a new
 set copied.
 As I stood there in the hallway, silently
 a particularly
 burly frat boy approached me.
 "You need help with something?
 "I lost my keys here last night and I can't
 find them, I've looked everywhere.
 "What do they look like? I'll put it into the
 group chat. He was already pulling out
 his phone.
 No one ever checks a group chat, I
 thought, but what the hell. It was worth a
 shot. "Um, it's just a ring of keys. The
 keychain is a pink plastic cat, though, like
 yea big. Like bright pink, you can't miss
 He nodded, presumably typing this
 description faithfully into the group chat.
 "Alright, I sent the message out. Good
 luck.
 e turned and left.
 And with that,
 A few moments later, I heard a distant
 and it was getting louder and louder, One
 assumes that how I felt in that moment
 was how Simba felt seeing the wildebeest
 stampede through the ravine as a horde
 large young men all thundered down
 the stairs, making a beeling for me.
 "Someone tell the girl!" One of them
 shouted, faceless in the mob. "Girl! Hey,
 GIRL! We found your keys, girl!!!
 They circled around me. I hadn't felt that
 old, One of them split himself off from
 the crowd.
 "Are these -"he pulled out a ring of keys
 from his pocket, "your keys?
 And lo, there was the distinctive bright
 millennial pink cat keychain dangling off
 the ring.
 "Yes,"I whispered. "Oh my god, yes."
 "EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
 YYYYYYYYYY!!"
 The cheer went up.
 Turns out he found them in the bathroom
 upstairs. I thanked them again profusely.
 There was a scattered round of "no
 problems" and then, just
 suddenly as
 they descended, they all dispersed, like
 ships in the night.
 gatorfisch
 THIS is boys will be boys
Nice Frathouse

Nice Frathouse

America, Apparently, and Bad: normal-horoscopes: pooraurora: postmarxed: inkandcayenne: wilfulwayfarer: rasec-wizzlbang: dalaisa-katili: local-emo-mom: anarcho-individualist: explanatorypower: i dont understand this at all and america scares the fuck out of me This is the america they don’t want you to see i love america This is what you call Waffle House at 2 am when the bars close and everyone is drunk and hungry *group of people having fun*this site: wtf this is so scary People having safe fun at a waffle house is scary for most Tumblr bloggers, reports say. Some context for those not familiar with Waffle House Culture:  Waffle House is one of the few chains in America that’s open 24/7/365, and where you can get both breakfast and lunch/dinner options at any time (I have had so many Breakfast Cheeseburgers at Waffle Houses). The food is really good, and people eat there at all times of the day or night, but it’s particularly popular as a late-night post-drinking spot because it’s all that’s open and it’s the kind of food that tastes especially good when you’re hammered. Part of Waffle House Protocol is that all the servers and cooks greet every single customer as they come through the door. It sounds lame, but I’ve never been to a Waffle House where that greeting didn’t feel completely heartfelt. My mom is a health nut who could barely find anything on the menu she was willing to eat and yet she describes the Christmas Day lunch we had there one year as one of the nicest meals she’s ever had because everyone was so warm and welcoming. That sense of camaraderie gets turned up to 11, of course, at 2 a.m. when everyone’s shitfaced. The jukeboxes have Waffle-House-themed songs on them (once you have heard “Raisins in my Toast” you will be earwormed forever) and there is an arcane system of hash brown ordering: scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered, and/or capped. The hot sauce bottles say “Casa de Waffle.”  Once, in Oxford (UK), my husband and I walked past a kebab van very late one night and he said “why do I smell Waffle House” The location of most Waffle Houses means there’s some… classism that tends to get tied up with Anti-Waffle House Discourse, which is probably lending itself, in part, to this being such a fraught topic. (I’m looking at a map and apparently I was born and raised right in the middle of the Peak Waffle House Density Zone) It is, in the words of chef Anthony Bourdain, “indeed marvelous— an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts; where everybody regardless of race, creed, color or degree of inebriation is welcomed.” We’re not even gonna mention FEMA’s Waffle House Index where they determine how bad a natural disaster is by calling the local Waffle House to see if they’re open? #and wafflehouse is one of those spiritual places#2am friendships#its the same hazy feel#of cicadas and front porches with your friends Waffle House is physical and spiritual neutral territory. Starting shit in a Waffle House isn’t just bad form, it tips the entire natural balance of the universe against you.
America, Apparently, and Bad: normal-horoscopes:

pooraurora:

postmarxed:
inkandcayenne:

wilfulwayfarer:

rasec-wizzlbang:

dalaisa-katili:

local-emo-mom:

anarcho-individualist:

explanatorypower:
i dont understand this at all and america scares the fuck out of me

This is the america they don’t want you to see

i love america

This is what you call Waffle House at 2 am when the bars close and everyone is drunk and hungry

*group of people having fun*this site: wtf this is so scary


People having safe fun at a waffle house is scary for most Tumblr bloggers, reports say.

Some context for those not familiar with Waffle House Culture: 
Waffle House is one of the few chains in America that’s open 24/7/365, and where you can get both breakfast and lunch/dinner options at any time (I have had so many Breakfast Cheeseburgers at Waffle Houses). The food is really good, and people eat there at all times of the day or night, but it’s particularly popular as a late-night post-drinking spot because it’s all that’s open and it’s the kind of food that tastes especially good when you’re hammered.
Part of Waffle House Protocol is that all the servers and cooks greet every single customer as they come through the door. It sounds lame, but I’ve never been to a Waffle House where that greeting didn’t feel completely heartfelt. My mom is a health nut who could barely find anything on the menu she was willing to eat and yet she describes the Christmas Day lunch we had there one year as one of the nicest meals she’s ever had because everyone was so warm and welcoming. That sense of camaraderie gets turned up to 11, of course, at 2 a.m. when everyone’s shitfaced.
The jukeboxes have Waffle-House-themed songs on them (once you have heard “Raisins in my Toast” you will be earwormed forever) and there is an arcane system of hash brown ordering: scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, topped, diced, peppered, and/or capped. The hot sauce bottles say “Casa de Waffle.” 
Once, in Oxford (UK), my husband and I walked past a kebab van very late one night and he said “why do I smell Waffle House”
The location of most Waffle Houses means there’s some… classism that tends to get tied up with Anti-Waffle House Discourse, which is probably lending itself, in part, to this being such a fraught topic. (I’m looking at a map and apparently I was born and raised right in the middle of the Peak Waffle House Density Zone)
It is, in the words of chef Anthony Bourdain, “indeed marvelous— an irony-free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts; where everybody regardless of race, creed, color or degree of inebriation is welcomed.”


We’re not even gonna mention FEMA’s Waffle House Index where they determine how bad a natural disaster is by calling the local Waffle House to see if they’re open? 



#and wafflehouse is one of those spiritual places#2am friendships#its the same hazy feel#of cicadas and front porches with your friends



Waffle House is physical and spiritual neutral territory. Starting shit in a Waffle House isn’t just bad form, it tips the entire natural balance of the universe against you.

normal-horoscopes: pooraurora: postmarxed: inkandcayenne: wilfulwayfarer: rasec-wizzlbang: dalaisa-katili: local-emo-mom: anarcho-ind...

Apparently, Brains, and Confidence: bidoof change.org Trending petition Matt-There's a new petition taking off on Change.org, and we think you might be interested in signing it. Change.org - Petition To Hire 1,000,000 People To Put Their Fingers In The Shoot Hole Of Peoples' Guns So They Can't Shoot Them thetwinkerbell It's still gonna shoot... And they're gonna lose a finger ssj14goku No. The finger blocks the bullet. We can do this domozillla This is a gun we're talking about. The projectile is fired using an explosion, not by compressed air of a toy gun or the elastic forces of a sling shot. People would be lucky if they only lost their finger. ssj14goku The finger blocks it dildomuncher3000 The finger won't block it the shaft is only there for keeping the bullet straight, all the propulsion happens behind the bullet. The bullet would rip through the finger, not that many would actually fit without the victim being a child, and beyond. ssj14goku The bullet would go forward a little and then hit the finger and stop it's not that hard to understand lgbltsandwitch People are going to lose their hands. Go watch Mythbusters. They did an episode on this, the hand fucking exploded. hungwy No, the bullet would start to go but stop at the finger. Thats basic physics. Also hands dont explode normally they did something wrong. blipblerp Why the dingleknockers would you even consider sticking your finger in the barrel of a loaded gun?? the amount of force propelling the bullet at that close of range would shatter the finger at the very least; this is a petition for 1,000,000 people to loose the use of their hands. If a bullet explodes the back of a persons skull when they shoot it in their mouth it sure as hell will explode a finger. gorps No the finger would stop it jorycancrochet I'm loving the idiocy of this post. Ppl with brains: ummm finger go boom... Others: no bullet stop. U no kno fisics >:V snakegay no the finger would stop it indianworiorprincess You guy who think the bullet would stop at the finger have never shot a gun and can volunteer to it their fingers in the barrel of my 9 mil and I'Il I'll the trigger and see if it will stop the bullet Dumdasses egay sna the finger would stop it meatswitch raptorific Apparently for dudes who've got a compulsive need to be the smartest person in the room, "someone who's wrong in a really stupid way who has unshakable confidence that they're smarter than you" is their kryptonite. You can play dumb on almost any subject and their ego, their staunch belief that the masses are so far below them, will blind them to the fact that you're just fucking with them, and as long as you don't admit you're fucking with them or acknowledge that there's anything Off about what you're saying, they won't be able to stop themselves trying to get you to Respect Their Authority, and they won't be able to see that will literally never happen. lynati The finger is smooth in all directions. That's why it can stop the bullet.
Apparently, Brains, and Confidence: bidoof
 change.org
 Trending petition
 Matt-There's a new petition taking off on Change.org, and we
 think you might be interested in signing it.
 Change.org - Petition To Hire 1,000,000
 People To Put Their Fingers In The Shoot Hole
 Of Peoples' Guns So They Can't Shoot Them
 thetwinkerbell
 It's still gonna shoot... And they're gonna lose a
 finger
 ssj14goku
 No. The finger blocks the bullet. We can do this
 domozillla
 This is a gun we're talking about. The projectile
 is fired using an explosion, not by compressed
 air of a toy gun or the elastic forces of a sling
 shot. People would be lucky if they only lost
 their finger.
 ssj14goku
 The finger blocks it
 dildomuncher3000
 The finger won't block it the shaft is only there
 for keeping the bullet straight, all the
 propulsion happens behind the bullet. The
 bullet would rip through the finger, not that
 many would actually fit without the victim
 being a child, and beyond.
 ssj14goku
 The bullet would go forward a little and then
 hit the finger and stop it's not that hard to
 understand
 lgbltsandwitch
 People are going to lose
 their hands. Go watch
 Mythbusters. They did
 an episode on this, the
 hand fucking exploded.
 hungwy
 No, the bullet would
 start to go but stop at
 the finger. Thats basic
 physics. Also hands dont
 explode normally they
 did something wrong.
 blipblerp
 Why the dingleknockers would you even
 consider sticking your finger in the barrel of a
 loaded gun?? the amount of force propelling
 the bullet at that close of range would shatter
 the finger at the very least; this is a petition for
 1,000,000 people to loose the use of their
 hands. If a bullet explodes the back of a
 persons skull when they shoot it in their mouth
 it sure as hell will explode a finger.
 gorps
 No the finger would stop it
 jorycancrochet
 I'm loving the idiocy of this post.
 Ppl with brains: ummm finger go boom...
 Others: no bullet stop. U no kno fisics >:V
 snakegay
 no the finger would stop it
 indianworiorprincess
 You guy who think the bullet would stop at the
 finger have never shot a gun and can volunteer
 to it their fingers in the barrel of my 9 mil and I'Il
 I'll the trigger and see if it will stop the bullet
 Dumdasses
 egay
 sna
 the finger would stop it
 meatswitch
 raptorific
 Apparently for dudes who've got a compulsive need
 to be the smartest person in the room, "someone
 who's wrong in a really stupid way who has
 unshakable confidence that they're smarter than
 you" is their kryptonite. You can play dumb on
 almost any subject and their ego, their staunch
 belief that the masses are so far below them, will
 blind them to the fact that you're just fucking with
 them, and as long as you don't admit you're fucking
 with them or acknowledge that there's anything
 Off about what you're saying, they won't be able to
 stop themselves trying to get you to Respect Their
 Authority, and they won't be able to see that will
 literally never happen.
 lynati
 The finger is smooth in all directions. That's
 why it can stop the bullet.

Apparently, Bad, and Comfortable: theladyzephyr: Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen. We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.” Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress. Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell. You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home. We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it. An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly” That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them. Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes. Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off. It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do. It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them. He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’. The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please. Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it. Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it. When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.  
Apparently, Bad, and Comfortable: theladyzephyr:

Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’t, and Hiding versus Being Seen.
We’re introduced to the concept of Crowley wearing glasses even before we’re introduced to Crowley, by Hastur: “If you ask me he’s been up here too long. Gone native. Enjoying himself too much. Wearing sunglasses even when he doesn’t need them.”
Honestly Crowley’s whole introduction is a fantastic; we learn so much about his character in a tiny amount of time. The fact that he’s late, the Queen playing as the Bentley approaches, the “Hi, guys” in response to Hastur and Ligur’s “Hail Satan”. I like this intro much better than the one originally scripted with the rats at the phone company, but I digress.
Crowley wears sunglasses when he doesn’t need them. Specifically, he still wears them around the demons, and when he’s in hell.
You know where Crowley doesn’t wear glasses? At home.
We never once see him wearing glasses in his flat, except for when he knows Hastur and Ligur are coming. That’s an emotional kick to the gut for me. Here’s one of the only places Crowley’s comfortable enough to be sans glasses, and when he knows it’s going to be invaded he prepares not just physically with the holy water, but by putting up that emotional barrier in a place where he wasn’t supposed to need it.
An argument could be made that Crowley actually never needs glasses. We’re shown that it’s well within the angels’ and demons’ powers to pass unnoticed by humans. Crowley and Aziraphale waltz out of the manor in the middle of a police raid, and going unnoticed by the police takes so little effort that they can keep up a conversation while they stroll through. Even an unimaginative demon like Hastur apparently doesn’t have trouble with the humans losing it over his demonic eyes. The humans in the scene at Megiddo are acting like “this guy is a little weird” and not “holy shit his entire eyeballs are black jelly”
That means that Crowley’s glasses are a choice, just like Aziraphale’s softness. Sure, he could arrange matters so that nobody ever noticed his eyes, but he doesn’t want to. Crowley wants acceptance, and he wants to belong, and he’s never, ever had that. He didn’t fit in before the Fall in Heaven, he doesn’t fit in with the demons in Hell. With the glasses, and with the Bentley and his plants and with the barely-bad-enough-to-be-evil nuisance temptations, he’s choosing Earth. This is where he wants to fit in, perhaps not with the humans, but amongst them.
Even after Crowley is at his absolute lowest, when he thinks Aziraphale’s dead and he’s on his way to drink until the world ends, he takes the time to put a new pair on when the old ones are damaged. He needs that emotional crutch right now, even with everything about to turn into a pile of puddling goo he’s not ready for the world to see his eyes.
Which is why I swore out loud when Hastur forcibly takes them off.
It’s about the worst thing that Hastur could have done. Rather than leading with a physical threat, his first act is to strip away Crowley’s emotional defences. It’s a great writing choice because god it made me hate Hastur, even more than all the physical violence we see him do.
It’s also the moment that Crowley really truly gets his shit together, and focuses all of his considerable imagination on getting to Tadfield and Aziraphale to help save the world. He’s wielding the terrifyingly unimaginable power of someone who’s hit rock bottom and realised it literally could not get any worse than this. He doesn’t put another pair of glasses on after discorporating Hastur, and he spends the majority of the airbase sequence without them.
He puts them back on again, I think, at the moment that he really lets himself hope. When he thinks ‘shit, there may be a real chance that we get through this to a future that I don’t want to lose’.
The vulnerability is back, and he needs Adam to trust him. In Crowley’s mind being accepted by a human means he needs to have his eyes hidden. Someone give the demon a hug, please.
Interestingly, there’s only one time in the whole series that we see Crowley willingly choose to take his glasses off around another person. Only one person he’ll take down that barrier for, and even then he’s drunk before he does it.
Dear God/Satan/Someone that makes my heart ache. Crowley’s chosen Earth, but he’s also chosen Aziraphale. He’s been looking for somewhere to belong his entire existence, and it’s with the angel that he finally feels it.
When the dust settles and the world is saved and they finally have space to be themselves unguarded, I like to imagine Crowley takes off the glasses when it’s just the two of them; the idea of being known doesn’t scare him quite so much anymore.  

theladyzephyr: Folks let me talk about Crowley and sunglasses, because I have a lot of emotions about when he wears them and when he doesn’...