It's gone from cold to hot to cold again so many times that I think it ought to be called a Bi-Polar Vortex.
During WWII (I?) children played war in the rubble of war...
Found a new comic site...
Uncanny villain resemblance...
A Lesser OOMVO...
Wait for it...
This motherfucker needs an exorcist...
And from the captions I can assume it's Japanese? Goddamnit, they lost the war and aren't allowed to make jokes about it!
It's called cliterature for a reason...
Men need much less stimulation...
I have no idea why all this traffic is stopped...
But look what they did...
My wife would be right in the middle of this shit...
I taught my 4th graders two point perspective like this...
I taught my 5th graders one point perspective...
I couldn't agree more...
Ships were painted like this to confuse the enemy subs in judging type of ship, speed, and distance...
I never ask for people to send me thoughts & prayers but,
while sitting at Starbucks a man standing behind me farted on my shoulder.
OOMVO...
Most homophobes are secretly gay. However, most arachnophobes
are not secretly spiders.
I have only ever completed 2 successful high-fives.
What a wonderful idea...
I will say that my barber shop has me on the computer, so when I walk in they know exactly how I want my hair cut. On the first visit I told them that I wanted it expedited as quickly as possible and I get no chit-chat.
You never know when this could come in handy...
At least the kids will grow up with a realistic view of the world...
Oh, no.......no, no, no..................NO!
Who would of thought...
And the emus WON!!!
I've heard many good things about meditation, but I think most of it has to do with just stress relief and giving people a sense they have control of their lives...
A friend of mine lost 50+ pounds and when I asked how he did it, he said he began to take Yoga lessons and meditates every day. I saw no indication he was lying.
I'd love to show a fountain to someone from the 3rd world:
"This is our water showing off contraption. We also throw our extra money
in it"
Do you guys remember 10 years ago, when all the people with
gluten allergies were dying in the streets like diseased cattle?
Somewhere in the world right now, somebody is buying a house
based on its potential for great bathroom selfies.
That's about how old Jay was when we partied on my patio....it's a long story.
A repost because I love this photograph...
The moment these Jews just found out that they were liberated...
AND THEN THERE'S THIS...
THERE he was, then, as if it had been he even though it might not be, lying on the banquet table in the ballroom with the feminine splendor of a dead pope amidst the flowers in which he would not have recognized himself in the display ceremony of his first death, more fearsome dead than alive, the velvet glove stuffed with cotton on a chest armored with false medals of imaginary victories in chocolate wars invented by his persistent adulators, the thunderous full-dress uniform and the patent leather boots and the single gold spur that we found in the building and the ten sad pips of general of the universe to which he was promoted at the final moment to give him a rank higher than that of death, so immediate and visible in his new posthumous identity that for the first time it was possible to believe in his real existence without any doubt whatsoever, although in reality no one looked less like him, no one was so much the opposite of him as that showcase corpse which was still cooking in the middle of the night on the slow fire of the tiny space of the little room where he was laid out with candles while in the cabinet room next door we were discussing the final bulletin with the news that no one dared believe word by word when we were awakened by the noise of the trucks loaded with troops in battle gear whose stealthy patrols had been occupying public buildings since before dawn, they took up prone positions under the arcades of the main commercial street, they hid in doorways, I saw them setting up tripod machine guns on the roofs of the viceregal district when I opened the balcony of my house at dawn looking for a place to put the bouquet of wet carnations I had just cut in the courtyard, beneath the balcony I saw a patrol of soldiers under the command of a lieutenant going from door to door ordering people to close the doors of the few shops that were beginning to open on the commercial street, today is a national holiday they shouted, orders from higher up, I threw them a carnation from the balcony and I asked what was going on with so many soldiers and so much noise of weapons everywhere and the officer caught the carnation in midair and replied to me just imagine girl we don't know ourselves either, the dead man must have come back to life, he said, dying with laughter, because nobody dared think such an earthshaking event could have happened, rather, on the contrary, we thought that after so many years of negligence he had picked up the reins of his authority again and was more alive than ever, once more dragging his great feet of an illusory monarch through the house of power where the globes of light had gone on again... [and ends thus]... he had arrived without surprise at the ignominious fiction of commanding without power, of being exalted without glory and of being obeyed without authority when he became convinced in the trail of yellow leaves of his autumn that he had never been master of all his power, that he was condemned not to know life except in reverse, condemned to decipher the seams and straighten the threads of the woof and the warp of the tapestry of illusions of reality without suspecting even too late that the only livable life was one of show, the one we saw from this side which wasn't his general sir, this poor people's side with the trail of yellow leaves of our uncountable years of misfortune and our ungraspable instants of happiness, where love was contaminated by the seeds of death but was all love general sir, where you yourself were only an uncertain vision of pitiful eyes through the dusty peepholes of the window of a train, only the tremor of some taciturn lips, the fugitive wave of a velvet glove on the no man's hand of an old man with no destiny with our never knowing who he was, or what he was like, or even if he was only a figment of the imagination, a comic tyrant who never knew where the reverse side was and where the right of this life which we loved with an insatiable passion that you never dared even to imagine out of the fear of knowing what we knew only too well that it was arduous and ephemeral but there wasn't any other, general, because we knew who we were while he was left never knowing it forever with the soft whistle of his rupture of a dead old man cut off at the roots by the slash of death, flying through the dark sound of the last frozen leaves of his autumn toward the homeland of shadows of the truth of oblivion, clinging to his fear of the rotting cloth of death's hooded cassock and alien to the clamor of the frantic crowds who took to the streets singing hymns of joy at the jubilant news of his death and alien forevermore to the music of liberation and the rockets of jubilation and the bells of glory that announced to the world the good news that the uncountable time of eternity had come to an end.
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