theonewiththeshippinggoogles:

Who the hell are you?

I’m Sherlock Holmes, and you’re all idiots.

(Source: youshouldhaveletmesleep)

This is my bucket list:

• work at NASA
• do something revolutionary, something cutting edge. like right now with the ibook
• work in Silicon Valley
• learn computers backwards and forwards
• go to space. the ISS. anything. before you turn 40. 
• work as a park ranger
• meet Jane Goodall
• meet people and make lifelong friends and mentors
• work with animals. in a reserve.
• be impressive
• study in a coffee shop next to a landmark
• meet someone there
• climb a glacier
• go to Antarctica
• work at NASA

watchtheskytonight:

Young Buddhist monks feel their newly shaved heads in Seoul

Is this not the cutest thing

(Source: n8yager)

“Flapper “

The notorious character type who bobbed her hair, smoke cigarettes, drank gin, sported short skirts, and passed her evenings in steamy jazz clubs, where she danced in a shockingly immodest fashion with a revolving cast of male suitors.”

“The New Woman of the 1920s boldly asserted her right to dance, drink, smoke, and date— to work her own property, to live free of the structures that governed her mother’s generation. (…) She flouted Victorian-era conventions and scandalized her parents. In many ways, she controlled her own destiny”

(Source: giulsvln)

(Source: onlypooh)

sketchlock:

capaow:

amandatolleson:

cleolinda:

(via Old Spock battles New Spock in the greatest car commercial ever)

OH MY GOOOODDDDDDDDDDDD CAN YOU HEAR ME SHRIEKING FROM ACROSS ANYWHERE?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

T

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nevver:

Moore, Oklahoma

science blue, engineering red, and command yellow

(Source: napoleonesque)

letsgetdwntofitnss:

if you don’t have room for a banana dolphin on your blog, you’re running the wrong kind of blog.

(Source: paneneleakes)

youcanfly:

Rejection is a flirt. She sidles up to your side, plays with your heart for a bit, drags a long dagger through it, and leaves you bleeding while she prances away. Simply: rejection hurts.

Rejection causes us to think crazy crazy thoughts and our emotions surge up to a huge level and suddenly we feel unjustified and fiery and swollen and dangerous on the inside.

We cry, we yell, we scream, we shriek, we stay silent. Then we cry some more.

The bitter words “you didn’t make it,” “you were waitlisted,” “not this time,” are sponges soaked with organic Noni plant juice and bleach. These sponges are wrung upon our hearts, and cause us to gasp for air, to search for a string of some kind of hope that could be waiting for us out there.

Then there’s silence, the engulfing silence of the world. When you try not to think about anything but you can hear the city cars roar and the little crickets chirp and the wise man cough.

It’s after this silence the world tells us to shape up. To get over it. To become better. Listen to a few songs on the radio and cheer up. Be strong.

So while we try to listen to the medley of the world, our thoughts pile up in our bodies, starting from the tips of our toes to the arch above our eyes where your eyebrows rest. Our heads feel stuffed, because literally, they are.

And I think there’s this period where we reflect on what has happened. Why wasn’t I good enough. And the world replies cruelly: well honey, sometime you just gotta fake it till you make it.

I disagree.

Yes, we must be stronger, we must exert ourselves with confidence, we must ar-ti-cu-late clearly, we must, we must smile, we must brush our teeth and we must get through this but, we must not forget who we are. We must not forget our original intentions, and we must not forget the why. We must not fake it till we make it simply because there will be no genuine people left in the world. Let us stay true to ourselves and our ideals. Let us be honest and humble.