be all over the Christian bad boys who be all like “Hey girl, I donated blood even though I just came back from my mission trip.”
And that is the type of person who tends to gravitate toward a person like me.
must have been reading the wrong parts because he was waaaay off. And then, his phone rang and he didn’t pick it up for at least a full minute. The teacher couldn’t take it anymore; he stopped the song and heatedly told the boy in front of the whole class, “Look, I don’t think this is going to work out. You keep missing the notes, and how in bloody hell do you not hear your phone going off?!”
The boy replied brashly, “My bad, teach. I’m a touch tone deaf.”
they’re like mini-island turtles holy shit
Awwww. It’s like a mini lion turtle.
The true mind can weather all the lies and illusions without being lost. The true heart can tough the poison of hatred without being harmed. Since beginningless time, darkness thrives in the void, but always yields to purifying light.
And I’m kinda proud of it so I thought I’d share:
A Crocodile and a Hippopotamus were swimming by the bank of a river. From the reeds, the Crocodile, angry because it was so early in the morning (you see, he was not much of a morning-person (or crocodile as the case may be)), started heaping a slew of insults at the Hippopotamus:
Crocodile: “You’ve really let yourself go. You’re not so easy on the eyes, either. Also you’re lazy. And a slow swimmer. In fact, you’re an ill-tempered, gluttonous brute. Look at you, how do you even belong in the water?
Exasperated, the Hippopotamus retorted: “Why are you being so hypocritical?”
about residents offering assistance to the victims of the Boston marathon explosions surely seems encouraging, but I wonder: why does it take a tragedy for people to help others in need? There are always people in need, always people in the wake of something. It might seem encouraging but I think it’s the opposite of that.
Like I really hate them. They’re the studpidest, most annoying, and easily ugliest of all birds (though seagulls might give them a run for their money). But then I learned that the pidgeon’s true name is rock dove. And I thought that’s really cool, and after a bit of mental resistance I realized…I was misjudging them. They’re not mangy or ugly birds—no, they are actually just grungy birds. Grungy birds living free and being awesome. With this different perspective and attitude I started to see them in a whole new light. So from then on I stopped calling them pidgeons and started calling them rock doves and from that moment, the whole of life just seemed a little more hopeful, the unmuddied lakes a little clearer, and the azure skies of deepest summer a little brighter.