unicornempire:

impsexual:

Tea comes in two delicious flavors: hot grass water and hot grass water with a stale lemon aftertaste. 

This is… -exactly- how I feel about tea.

OH you poor diluted non-tea drinkers.

dezi-desire:

wilwheaton:

(via HijiNKS ENSUE – A Geek Comic - Make It So / As You Wish)

…this made me far too happy.

lewild:

iconicmonsters:

me-andd-you-forever:

d4untles-s:

10000steps:

sayhellotoskinnyme:

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________

To Whomever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”

He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
loved me.

If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.

The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.

“C’mere boy.”

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.

“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.

“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”

Not thinspo, but deserves a reblog. Makes me cry everytime.

This made me cry too….

omg, Im in tears right now!

I’m literally crying , oh my gosh !

Well this shit made me emotional.

Crying pretty hard now…. This is pretty amazing

morganoperandi:

thehappysorceress:

deantrippe:

“You’ll be safe here.”

Society 6 / DeviantArt / Wallpaper <- click that for real, tho

This is fabulous. And yes, click the wallpaper link!

Guys, this is what geek culture is all about.

This.  Right here.

That kid who picks up one comic.  Maybe it’s Batman, maybe it’s X-men, maybe it’s the Ninja Turtles (for me, it was Spider-man).  But, it’s about that kid who picks up that one comic or watches that one show or reads that one book and finds their world completely changed.  Who feels like they’ve come home for the first time.

This kid, who’s never felt entirely comfortable in the real world, who finds a fictional world in which they feel welcome.  That kid who knows they would accept the X-men if they ever met.  Who wants to be saved by Batman.  Who wants to fly aboard the Enterprise or in the TARDIS.  That kid who wishes they could be bombarded with cosmic rays, gain wondrous abilities, and leave their world behind for one of adventure.

The real world is a world of bullies; of teachers; of parents who might be abusive or neglectful or who might be perfectly wonderful but, through no fault of their own, might not be able to help or understand.  The real world is a world of change, and fear, and social conventions that are sometimes mind-boggling.  The fictional world, however, will always be there for you.  When the rest of the world is simply too hard, this world can be your oasis.  I think, if you asked any one of us about our first fictional love; about our first fandom before we ever knew that word, you’d find a lot of stories with a lot of similarities.

That’s why it pisses me off so badly when I hear about people who aren’t being accepted by this culture.  Stories about guys who spend their time policing the “fake” geek girls.  People who so harshly judge the cosplayers who “get it wrong”, because they don’t have the right body type or enough money to get every costume piece perfect.  These people who act as if you can’t really love a character if you’ve only read or seen some of it; who forget that fandom is often love at first sight.  It only took me one episode of Star Trek to know I loved it.  If I didn’t have the time or ability to watch every episode, does that make my love any less real than the person who owns every season?

Geek culture can and should be the most accepting culture there is.  We are bound together by a love for a world that is other than our own.  There’s no need for credentials or proof, just a sharing of this love and a welcoming of all comers with open arms.  These characters, this world, will always accept you, and so will I.

You’ll be safe here.

feigenbaumsworld:

sorveharth:

snitchesbecray:

motegs:

By far one of my FAVORITE signs I’ve seen this week!

aw snap. I love the smell of logic in the afternoon

I haven’t been reblogging many of these but I like this one.

I’d like to know when it became acceptable for one segment of the population’s religious choices to govern everyone else’s personal lives. This shouldn’t even be an issue.

She can kiss me on the forehead any time she wants