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Me and my single cat cell 🌟

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I am truly grateful for the number of trans people I see on the internet on a daily basis. This kind of representation is so important

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Their fleshless faces seem forever fixed in a cruel smile, as if they invite a second death... Or relish in yours

The top half of a YouTube video thumbnail with the text "A Short Introduction to Five Nights at Freddy's" on it.ALT

does anyone want to guess how long this video is

Three reblogs of this post. The first is from @alhexy, with the tags "#110 mins or 80mins #hexy rebloggy". The second is from @flocksis, with the tag "#3 hours minimum". The third is from @the-system-of-dumb, with the response "uhhhh m0re then  1 m1nute".ALT

great guesses everyone! here is the length of the video:

A timestamp on a YouTube video that reads "8:47:37".ALT

Pro-homosexual forces stay winningALT

Pro-homosexual forces stay winning

do it scared do it weird do it alone. holy trinity

Gets funnier every time.

This episode aired in the ‘90′s. This joke has aged like fine wine. Depressing, depressing wine.

Keying/graffiti-ing someones car is old news now if someone cheats we go at their wardrobe with a seam ripper

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yknow what? Fuck you *unstitches all your shirts and jeans*

My mother did this to my father once. They got into an argument, my very pregnant and hormonal mother stormed off…except they lived in a tiny apartment so the only place to go was to shut herself into the closet for a good long sulk. And while she was sitting in there, fuming, she looked up and saw her sewing kit on the shelf, and all my father’s uniforms hanging right there.

So she picked one shirt and one pair of trousers, carefully, methodically ripped every third stitch out of every seam, and then hung them back up together so that he would be likely to pick them at the same time. This took her a couple hours, so by the time she was done, the anger had worn down. She came out, she and my father had a talk that ended in apologies, after which they were tired and went to bed. My mother swears up and down that she meant to warn my father about the sabotaged clothes in the morning, but he wore a different uniform set and they were both still feeling a little raw, so she didn’t want to bring up the fight again. She decided to tell him that night instead.

And then she forgot.

Anyway, about four days later, my father apparently came home roughly an hour after he left for work, his clothes slowly, gently shredding off his body, the most bewildered expression on his face. “Paula,” he said, his voice mildly shell-shocked. “Paula, my clothes are broken.”

My mother promptly burst out laughing so hard that she went into labor. And that’s the story of my birth, heralded by petty vengeance and utter confusion.

GUYS IT’S THE POST

THIS POST THIS POST OMG

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im obsessed with painting droplets

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