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Floor Is Lava

Floor Is Lava

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The News

The News

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The Floor

The Floor

The Floor Is Lava
The Floor Is Lava

The Floor Is Lava

With
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With

Was
Was

Was

Pick
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Pick

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Holding

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Pulled

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Cinderella , Tumblr, and Blog: necrofuturism: i-am-the-egg: necrofuturism: there was a moustache on the floor at the movie theater today… Cinderella … this comment has utterly undone me
Cinderella , Tumblr, and Blog: necrofuturism:

i-am-the-egg:

necrofuturism:

there was a moustache on the floor at the movie theater today…

Cinderella …

this comment has utterly undone me

necrofuturism: i-am-the-egg: necrofuturism: there was a moustache on the floor at the movie theater today… Cinderella … this comment ha...

Bad, Be Like, and Dad: In Case of "B" Break Glass My daughter is currently pulling a D- in math. This is her phone. galexion: handmetheshovel: thatguyinthecornerino: randomavengersquotes: lolnerdsposts: robanilla: justsomeonereloadable: thesecretkeith: blanketfortprincette: tastefullyoffensive: (photo by fistfullofcookies) Why do parents always assume their kid is lazy when they get bad grades? Like maybe help your kids by talking to them, not punishing them. This is how I failed math and didn’t even know I had number dyslexia for years. When my sister was in high school she struggled a LOT with math. Like I know a lot of people find it really difficult (myself included), but I mean she was really really bad at it. She has always been a very smart, creative and sensitive person, but math made no sense to her, to the point where passing seemed impossible. I will always remember that twice a week, around the kitchen table, my sister would sit down with my dad for hours, and they would try to work out her math homework. I should mention that my dad is an artist, and art teacher. Truth be told I think he struggled with math just as much if not more then she did. But twice a week you could hear them downstairs, going back and forth, trying to figure it out together. Some nights would be smooth and easy, some nights I could hear them arguing from one floor up about factors or equations, not in anger but in mutual frustration. I remember the day that she passed. My sister couldn’t wait until my dad’s school day ended, so she called him at work. She gleefully announced to him “I got a D-!”. We could hear him through the phone as he exclaimed “She got a D!” excitedly to his class. Still through the phone we heard his students clapping, laughing and whooping in congratulations. Seldom has a grade in our household been so celebrated. Just thought a shitty picture like this should be accompanied by a story about a person’s parents who actually gave a shit about helping their kid instead of mocking and punishing them. Read the story Read the story Read the story reblogging for the story. READ IT. THE STORY If it weren’t for my dad I would not be able to read and write. I was born1971 and people really didn’t know or care that some people struggle not because they are lazy but they just fuckin’ can’t do what comes easy to most. My dad did what that father did. Dad was working 12/14/16 hour days. And still… he sat down and read up on shit, talked to my teacher - and then he saved me. Reading has made me. I am a reader. The one thing people know about me is: she reads. Be like dad. Don’t be a tit. R E A DT h eS T O R Y
Bad, Be Like, and Dad: In Case of "B"
 Break Glass
 My daughter is currently pulling a D- in math. This is her phone.
galexion:

handmetheshovel:
thatguyinthecornerino:

randomavengersquotes:

lolnerdsposts:

robanilla:


justsomeonereloadable:

thesecretkeith:

blanketfortprincette:

tastefullyoffensive:

(photo by fistfullofcookies)

Why do parents always assume their kid is lazy when they get bad grades? Like maybe help your kids by talking to them, not punishing them. This is how I failed math and didn’t even know I had number dyslexia for years.

When my sister was in high school she struggled a LOT with math. Like I know a lot of people find it really difficult (myself included), but I mean she was really really bad at it. She has always been a very smart, creative and sensitive person, but math made no sense to her, to the point where passing seemed impossible.
I will always remember that twice a week, around the kitchen table, my sister would sit down with my dad for hours, and they would try to work out her math homework. I should mention that my dad is an artist, and art teacher. Truth be told I think he struggled with math just as much if not more then she did. But twice a week you could hear them downstairs, going back and forth, trying to figure it out together. Some nights would be smooth and easy, some nights I could hear them arguing from one floor up about factors or equations, not in anger but in mutual frustration.
I remember the day that she passed. My sister couldn’t wait until my dad’s school day ended, so she called him at work. She gleefully announced to him “I got a D-!”. We could hear him through the phone as he exclaimed “She got a D!” excitedly to his class. Still through the phone we heard his students clapping, laughing and whooping in congratulations. Seldom has a grade in our household been so celebrated.
Just thought a shitty picture like this should be accompanied by a story about a person’s parents who actually gave a shit about helping their kid instead of mocking and punishing them.


Read the story


Read the story


Read the story 


reblogging for the story. READ IT.


THE STORY


If it weren’t for my dad I would not be able to read and write. I was born1971 and people really didn’t know or care that some people struggle not because they are lazy but they just fuckin’ can’t do what comes easy to most.
My dad did what that father did. 
Dad was working 12/14/16 hour days.
And still… he sat down and read up on shit, talked to my teacher - and then he saved me. Reading has made me. I am a reader. The one thing people know about me is: she reads.  
Be like dad.
Don’t be a tit.


R E A DT h eS T O R Y

galexion: handmetheshovel: thatguyinthecornerino: randomavengersquotes: lolnerdsposts: robanilla: justsomeonereloadable: thesecretkei...

Being Alone, Crying, and Dude: thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie: gucciballs: thejorie: peble: thejorie: My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed. do they smoke weed? Yes, actually. you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,) They don’t look like they smoke weed. Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad. Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle. I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING  Well that escalated quickly…… What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body* haha oh my god who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes. love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”. and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”. “the goo pile that is now your body” i’m dying over here, jesus please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun. *shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.* this dude playin omg  Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
Being Alone, Crying, and Dude: thejorie:

xilast-zurvifferman:

thejorie:

jackbecq:

thejorie:

19leahjade96:

thejorie:

madamekagamine:

thejorie:

gccgrimm:

thejorie:

gucciballs:

thejorie:

peble:

thejorie:

My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed.

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? 

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

thejorie: xilast-zurvifferman: thejorie: jackbecq: thejorie: 19leahjade96: thejorie: madamekagamine: thejorie: gccgrimm: thejorie:...

Beautiful, Bored, and Head: Here's a prime example of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" offered by an English professor from the University of Phoenix: The professor told his class one day: Today we will ex- periment with a new form called the tandem story The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. As home- work tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that para- graph and send another copy to me. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another para- graph to the story and send it back, also sending an- other copy to me. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back-and-forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be ab- solutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and any- thing you wish to say must be written in the e-mail. The story is over when both agree a con- clusion has been reached." The following was actually turned in by two of his English students: Rebecca and Gary THE STORY: (first paragraph by Rebecca) At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the second paragraph by Gary) Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. " Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the ####pit. (Rebecca) He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peace ful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Per- manently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news si- multaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and care- free, with no newspaper to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully Gary) Little did she know, but she had less than 10 sec- onds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace disarmament Treaty through the congress had left Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien em- pires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile en- tered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid Laurie. (Rebecca) This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvin- istic semi-literate adolescent. Gary) Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. Oh, shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F-KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels!" Gary) B*tch. (Rebecca) F K YOU-YOU NEANDERTHALI In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea. A+ Ireally liked this one. epicjohndoe: A Very Good Example Of ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’
Beautiful, Bored, and Head: Here's a prime example of "Men Are
 From Mars, Women Are From Venus"
 offered by an English professor from
 the University of Phoenix:
 The professor told his class one day: Today we will ex-
 periment with a new form called the tandem story
 The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the
 person sitting to his or her immediate right. As home-
 work tonight, one of you will write the first paragraph
 of a short story. You will e-mail your partner that para-
 graph and send another copy to me. The partner will
 read the first paragraph and then add another para-
 graph to the story and send it back, also sending an-
 other copy to me. The first person will then add a third
 paragraph, and so on back-and-forth.
 Remember to re-read what has been written each time
 in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be ab-
 solutely NO talking outside of the e-mails and any-
 thing you wish to say must be written in the e-mail.
 The story is over when both agree a con-
 clusion has been reached."
 The following was actually turned in by two of his
 English students:
 Rebecca and Gary
 THE STORY:
 (first paragraph by Rebecca)
 At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea
 she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her
 favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded
 her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier
 times, that he liked chamomile.
 But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her
 mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating,
 and if she thought about him too much her asthma
 started acting up again. So chamomile was out of
 the
 second paragraph by Gary)
 Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of
 the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4,
 had more important things to think about than the
 neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named
 Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night
 over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he
 said into his transgalactic communicator. " Polar
 orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But
 before he could sign off a bluish particle beam
 flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through
 his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent
 him flying out of his seat and across the ####pit.
 (Rebecca)
 He bumped his head and died almost immediately,
 but not before he felt one last pang of regret for
 psychically brutalizing the one woman who had
 ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth
 stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peace
 ful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Per-
 manently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie
 read in her newspaper one morning. The news si-
 multaneously excited her and bored her. She
 stared out the window, dreaming of her youth,
 when the days had passed unhurriedly and care-
 free, with no newspaper to read, no television to
 distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at
 all the beautiful things around
 her. "Why must one
 lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she
 pondered wistfully
 Gary)
 Little did she know, but she had less than 10 sec-
 onds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the
 Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its
 lithium fusion missiles. The dimwitted wimpy
 peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace
 disarmament Treaty through the congress had left
 Earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien em-
 pires who were determined to destroy the human
 race. Within two hours after the passage of the
 treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for
 Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the
 With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated
 their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile en-
 tered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President,
 in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters
 on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the
 inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized
 poor, stupid Laurie.
 (Rebecca)
 This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of
 literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvin-
 istic semi-literate adolescent.
 Gary)
 Yeah? Well, my writing partner is a self-centered
 tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the
 literary equivalent of Valium. Oh, shall I have
 chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of
 F-KING TEA??? Oh no, what am I to do? I'm such an
 air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle
 Steele novels!"
 Gary)
 B*tch.
 (Rebecca)
 F K YOU-YOU NEANDERTHALI
 In your dreams, Ho. Go drink some tea.
 A+
 Ireally liked this one.
epicjohndoe:

A Very Good Example Of ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’

epicjohndoe: A Very Good Example Of ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus’