If your phone gets wet, try putting it in a bag of dry rice. At night, the rice will attract Asians who will fix your electronics for you.
all 46 excuses on my friends wall,
1. i was just really, really early for tomorrow
2. we can’t all be usain bolt
3. in this day and age, we shouldn’t need labels like “late”
4. i had pe first period do you blame me
5. i really, really didn’t want to sing
6. my brother thought it would be hilarious to drop me outside the prison gates
7. you can’t tell me how to live my life
9. my legs fell off and i had to roll all the way to the emergency clinic
10. there was a freak yachting accident
11. i am a fucking retard
12. this is just for my wall
13. do you even read these
14. “it does not matter how slow you go, so long as you do not stop”
15. i spent my entire night writing tom daley fanfiction
16. my father left my mother for an air hostess seven years ago do you expect me to get over that emotional trauma overnight
17. sarah palin and i got into a twitter war and i couldn’t leave and let her win
18. traffic jammy jammy jam
19. how can i go to school when alex turner
20. my sim was having an emotional meltdown and i needed to be there for her
21. i was sticking it to the man
22. i spent my entire night worrying if i would ever lose my virginity
23. fifty shades of late; i was walking and then i caught the eye of an attractive member of the opposite sex and we began exchanging significant looks and i knew we would one day make sweet love so i just walked alongside him and tried to catch his eye and to be continued
24. part two he was playing hard to get so we walked and walked and he had the perfect hair colour it was sort of beige brown anyway it turned out he was walking to a bus stop so obviously i had to catch the bus because true love and silently we rode out to papakura and into the sunset
25. my meth lab caught fire
26. my bed is more comfortable than your school will ever be
27. i was sad
28. it was a nice day, so i walked leisurely
29. i had beat my younger brother for saying “swag”
30. i had to travel back to the 1950’s to ensure my birth
31. 2 kool 4 scool
32. i had to stop, collaborate and listen
33. i tried
34. i’m sorry i’m late
it’s not my fault
my auntie was killed
and i joined a cult
35. a haiku about lateness:
late late late late late
late late late late late late late
late late late late late
36. my best friend was telling me how to give a satisfactory blow job i wish i was joking
37. i was fashionably late
38. i was caught in a flash mob true story omfg
39. i did not choose the late life, the late life chose me
45. i was fighting al qaeda
YESSSS IT’S ON MY DASHBOARD AGAIN
the post that doesn’t age
but… people die if they are killed….
Frodo made no answer. Almost he yielded to the desire for help and counsel, to tell this grave young man, whose words seemed so wise and fair, all that was in his mind. But something held him back. His heart was heavy with fear and sorrow: if he and Sam were indeed, as seemed likely, all that was now left of the Nine Walkers, then he was in sole command of the secret of their errand. Better mistrust undeserved than rash words. And the memory of Boromir, of the dreadful change that the lure of the Ring had worked in him, was very present to his mind, when he looked at Faramir and listened to his voice: unlike they were, and yet also much akin.
this is just about the greatest thing i’ve ever seen
You sit at the restaurant with your young son, he says he is hungry. You agree to get him dinner. You open up to the kids menu, your child is far to young for adult food. Chicken nugger stares at you from the page. You don’t understand. Your palms get sweaty and your son complains. He says he is hungry. Your mind strains, searching for an answer in a world of sweer potato and french fried. You try to order the chicken nugger, but you cannot. The words cannot escape your lips. Your son is hungry, he complains. The waitress stares at you, her head a spinning chicken nugger, her arms swinging french fried. Your son cries the tears of a chicken nugger-less child. In your mind you scream. It is raining sweer potato now, you have french fried engraved on your left temple and you do not understand. Your son weeps in the corner, he is starving. Starving for the chicken nugger.
You watch as your son scarfs down nugger after nugger. He is satisfied. He loves the chicken nugger. You wonder if you could ever attain that kind of happiness in your own life. You quietly pay your bill and enter the street. Your son asks if you can buy him an ice cream. You enter Mrs. Moo’s on Jefferson street hoping to order a rocky road. You look at the menu on the wall.
Chicken Nugger …. $3.50
Chicken Nugger …. $4.75
Chicken Nugger …. $2.11
Chicken Nugger …. $6.65
It goes on and on. You are confused. Your son asks again for the chicken nugger. He is full but wants chicken nugger for dessert. You ask the woman at the counter for a scoop of rocky road. She doesn’t know how to respond. You get desperate, you ask for vanilla. Her eyes widen. She motions her way toward the telephone. You ask again, “a scoop of vanilla?” She picks up the phone and begins dialing. Your son again asks for chicken nugger. You want to run, you want to scream, you look at your palms and the lines have begun to form chicken nugglets. The phone the woman is dialing starts sweating chicken grease, her eyes close and she is ashamed, ashamed that she her customer has caused such a problem. You want to run but your son is screaming for the chicken nugger.
You sir have just gotten yourself into a reality war, are you ready?
The waitress makes her call and collapses into chicken nuggers, grease rolling from where her body had stood. You look up to the menu on the wall, but the words have tumbled off the paper and have conjeeled as mustard on the floor. You turn to your son, his eyes flaming mirrors of your own reality. The rain has turned to hail, currents of sweer potato break the glass windows in the shop and sirens yell in the distance. You try to cover your eyes, but your hands are no longer yours, they drip grease and melt into a familiar form. Your hands are chicken nuggers. You scream.
you watch yourself from above as you become chicken nugger. Your son collapses into a quivering sweer potato as the universe fold in on its self to form a massive french fried. Your son is now screaming from his forehead for a chicken nugger and the space time continuum ceases to exist and in its place is a toasty nugger. you try to scream for chicken nugger but all your mouth will produce is sweer potatat. In japan, your hundreds of children mime to you their deep need for chicken nugger, and you demand a lawyer to defend you. The planets, all of them, mercury through pluto, crash to earth and are reduced to a myriad chicken nugger. Death comes for you. you hope to go to a better place but there is only chicken nugger.
This website is on drugs.