uhhhhh.....
every episode of scooby doo
guy: something spooky's happening
fred: k we'll come check it out
fred: daphne, velma come with me
daphne: lol okei
shaggy: but scooby and i are terrified of everything why do you always fucking send us off alone
velma: shut up you two
shaggy and scooby: *run into monster*
scooby: RAGGY
shaggy: *oblivious to everything*
scooy: RAAAAGGGGGY
shaggy: zoinks!
*the monster chases them accompanied by fun music: part 1*
shaggy and scooby: *meet up with fred, velma, and daphne*
fred: what happened?
shaggy: M-M-MONSTER
velma: uh oh
monster: boo
all: AAAAH
*the monster chases them accompanied by fun music: part 2*
*they run into one room and come out of another one, i don't fucking know how that's possible*
velma: my glasses! i lost my glasses!
monster: *picks up velma's glasses and hands them to her*
velma: thanks. ....JINKIES!
*the monster chases them accompanied by fun music: part 3*
monster: whoops i tripped
scooby: i captured you
*they pull the monster's mask off*
fred: oh look it's the suspicious guy we met at the beginning of the episode who was super suspicious and greedy and he wanted money
suspicious guy: and i would've gotten away with it too if it weren't for you meddling kids and your dumb dog
scooby: ROOBY ROOBY ROO
all: *laugh*

ice-cream-and-cigarettes:

achievement-hunter:

miggylol:

pumpkin spice candles soon

pumpkin lattes soon

pumpkin everything

image

image

planetfuckingjupiter:

new olympic sport: the contestants must sit on their legs until they fall asleep and then run down a flight of stairs

johnothetree:

fucktheflagandfuckyou:

baiovevo:

Oh u love ur mom? Name 3 of her albums

1) I swear to fucking god I have to do everything in this house
2) No it’s okay I’ll do it myself
3) If I have to ask you one more time I’m gonna lose it

the 4th album is “i’m not mad, i’m disappointed”

shingekinokyojinheaven:
fubugod:

Look at the concentration on the barber face making sure he don’t become the third tear drop

fubugod:

Look at the concentration on the barber face making sure he don’t become the third tear drop

beersmoker:

praxis89:
Orange in his Hand
I see two men sweat at the exit of the freeway.
One is brown and burnt from the sun rays the other is white with an American Flag stitched across his trucker hat.
They both wear dirty clothes. They both burn  to hold a little green.
One sells oranges, walking up and down the street.  One holds a sign that reads, “I’m hungry, help me eat.” I feel for both of them, but I only admire one.
The one who hands oranges in bags to tired faces, who chases cars for his change, who counts pennies as profit to keep his apartment.
The one whose wife wakes before sunrise to walk through Los Angeles streets yelling “tamales, tamales” with a 4 year old daughter  at her side.
The mother who crossed over 4 years earlier so her daughter wouldn’t have to sell tamales with a baby at her side.
The father tells his son never to beg, but to work hard for the bread. So the son sells Cheetos at his high school and gets called beaner for not owning  named brand clothes. A son who must bring dollars before good grades because rent is two weeks late. A son who will one day hold  a gun to the head of a liquor store clerk, only to remember  his father’s words.
Mijo, work hard for the bread.
Rent is two weeks late  so the family breaks tax laws to make jobs and they lifts roses to the sky hoping someone passing by is falling in love again, so the family takes elotes to the neighborhood projects hoping the ninos are hungry.
The news says this family is here to take my job,  my seat in school,  my country, but the only thing they’re taking  is the risk of being handcuffed, broken and deported in the name of family in the name of love in the name of trying  everything to stay above the current and that is why I can’t help
But to admire the man with an orange in his hand, a fireball of hunger in his palm.

beersmoker:

praxis89:

Orange in his Hand

I see two men sweat
at the exit
of the freeway.

One is brown and burnt
from the sun rays
the other is white
with an American Flag
stitched across his trucker hat.

They both wear dirty clothes.
They both burn
to hold
a little green.

One sells oranges, walking up
and down the street.
One holds a sign that reads,
“I’m hungry, help me eat.”
I feel for both of them,
but I only admire one.

The one who hands
oranges in bags to tired faces,
who chases cars
for his change,
who counts pennies
as profit
to keep his apartment.

The one whose wife wakes
before sunrise to walk
through Los Angeles streets
yelling “tamales, tamales”
with a 4 year old daughter
at her side.

The mother who crossed over
4 years earlier so her daughter
wouldn’t have to sell tamales
with a baby at her side.

The father tells his son
never to beg,
but to work hard for the bread.
So the son sells Cheetos
at his high school
and gets called beaner
for not owning
named brand clothes.
A son who must bring dollars
before good grades
because rent is two weeks late.
A son who will one day hold
a gun to the head
of a liquor store clerk,
only to remember
his father’s words.

Mijo, work hard for the bread.

Rent is two weeks late
so the family
breaks tax laws to make jobs
and they lifts roses to the sky
hoping someone passing by
is falling in love again,
so the family
takes elotes
to the neighborhood projects
hoping the ninos are hungry.

The news says this family is here
to take my job,
my seat in school,
my country,
but the only thing they’re taking
is the risk
of being handcuffed,
broken and deported
in the name of family
in the name of love
in the name of trying
everything to stay above
the current
and that is why
I can’t help

But to admire the man
with an orange in his hand,
a fireball of hunger in his palm.