Guys if you’re in the Orlando area please donate. They’re in desperate need of plasma and blood.
gojo killed megumi’s dad and he’s about to kill yuuji’s mom too… he really said fuck custody battles those are My kids
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pirates of the caribbean really introduced an eldritch octopus man who kills indiscriminately and torments the dead as their poster villain and then you watch the movies and it's like, "oh no, actually the worst villain in this series is a small white british man who functions as the herald of capitalism" and that was very very brave of them
Anonymous asked:
Where do you see yourself in 5 years?
two-thirtyy answered:
Look buddy, i’m just trying to make it to Friday.
reblog if its friday and you made it
Small town culture is knowing that there are Old Folks with strange nicknames but never knowing the stories behind them.
Of course, I made the mistake of asking why everyone calls this one guy Brickaday and it turns out that he worked at a brickyard for 40 years, stealing exactly one brick every day and making no particular efforts to conceal the theft. Nobody thought anything of it until years later he was discovered to have built three houses.
His boss is said to have shrugged and made some remarks about the importance of coming up with a plan and sticking to it.
I‘m trying to arrange my face into an appropriate approximation of silent bafflement and failing miserably.
i appreciate brickaday
chaotic good
My grandpa once told me he worked with a guy called Scrappy at General Motors back in the 50s. Every few days he would wheelbarrow out metal shavings and the foreman was convinced he was stealing things and hiding them in the scrap metal to get it out of the factory. But every time they’d go through the scrap they’d find nothing. He was stealing the wheelbarrows.
One of my late grandfather’s friends was called Salami because he used to steal salami and cured meats so I’m seeing a pattern here
Aziraphale’s phone rings. He answers, expecting it to be Crowley. But to his surprise, it’s a demon he’s never met.
“I’m Crowley’s replacement,” the demon says. “He’s not done anything impressive lately, and Downstairs doesn’t like how ineffective he is at keeping you in line. So now he’s shuffling paperwork and scooping up hellhound shit while I do his job for him.”
“Ah… I see,” Aziraphale says icily. “Well, I most assuredly do not look forward to working with you.”
The demon laughs. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Twenty-four hours later, the demon is very surprised to find himself discorporated in his sleep. He can’t explain what happened, he has absolutely no idea.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Beelzebub says, annoyed, and sends the demon back up.
After a mere three days, the demon ends up discorporated again.
A new replacement is sent up. This one lasts for a week and a day.
A third replacement is sent up. This one lasts for exactly four hours.
Three demons are sent up next time. Two manage to stay alive for at least five months. In that time, they botch four very important temptations, and the citizens of London inexplicably find their daily lives much improved in thousands of little ways. Traffic and pollution are nonexistent, injury and illness are miraculously avoided. Church attendance is up five hundred percent, and every politician and CEO is struck by the urge to donate as much money as possible to charity. There’s a general feeling of contentedness and goodwill in the air that wasn’t there before. It feels downright heavenly.
Suddenly, Beelzebub is having a very hard time finding anyone to take Crowley’s post. Bribes and threats make no difference. The rumors have spread and only grown more disturbing in the telling. Not one demon is willing to go up there and face the cold, calculated, merciless wrath of the angel known as Aziraphale.
Crowley absolutely loses it when someone gets around to telling him. “Y’know, I could’ve warned you,” he says gleefully. “Been working with him for thousands of years. I know exactly how much of a bastard he can be.”
After running the numbers and seeing how many souls they’ve lost to Heaven in the past year, Beelzebub gives up and concludes that trying to replace Crowley is a massive waste of resources Hell can’t afford.
After one year, Aziraphale receives another phone call. He answers, with bated breath, and nearly shouts for joy when he hears a familiar voice.
“Hi, angel. Lunch on me?”
OP this is exactly, completely, my kind of Aziraphale characterization I’m in love with this little fic
please god above can someone explain to me why we're still working on self driving cars when trains exist
"we're training them to interpret road signs!" Train goes same place every day. No road signs.
"when forced to choose between old lady and child, which is more ethical for the car to hit?" Fence around train track. Nobody on the road.
"people with disabilities preventing them from driving themselves can be independent" Yes but also. Train.
"reduces the dangers of fatigue with long distance trucking" Train.
"the technology is not yet price effective for the average driver" Train.
Seriously come on choo choo bitches let's goooooooooo