In first grade I wanted to grow up to be a bird and one day I remember my neck and arms being covered in little red bumps and I thought the transformation was beginning and I ran to my teacher crying saying I wasn’t ready to become a bird yet and it turned out I was just allergic to yogurt and I wasn’t turning into a bird at all
MY BIRD IS SITTING IN THE TOP CORNER OF HER CAGE CALLING MY DOG’S NAME AND ASKING IF HE WANTS A TREAT AND IF HE WANTS TO GO TO OUTSIDE AND HE’S TOO STUPID TO REALIZE IT’S HER SO EVERYTIME SHE SAYS SOMETHING HE LOOKS AT ME LIKE
SHE LAUGHS EVERYTIME TOO AND NOW HE’S JUMPING ON ME AND BARKING AND GETTING MAD AT ME LIKE OLIVER TURN AROUND AND LOOK IN THAT HUGE ASS CAGE AND BEG HER FOR A FUCKING TREAT OR SOMETHING.
your bird is an asshole
The amount of questions Bastille asks in thier songs really stresses me out
are you gonna age with grace? do you like the person you’ve become? can you fill the silence? how am i gonna be an optimist? how am i gonna get myself home?
like idk dan you figure it out
This was done through a technique called “fore-edge painting,” which is an illustration that is hidden on the edge of the pages of the book. The technique allegedly dates back to the 1650s.
When I was 12, revealed to my mommy that I don’t believe in God. She looked at me wild-eyed and screamed, “So when you’re laying there dying on the hospital bed, who is going to save you?? SCIENTISTS?!”
And I said, “Yes, mommy, they’re called Doctors.”
reminded me of