It Might Be My Childhood Trauma Speaking, But The Idea Of Someone Seeing The Darkest, Most Vicious Side

my astronomy professor just told us that whenever he sees the sun rise he says “Hello again, old friend”

what the "go outside and touch grass" sayers dont know that if you go outside and touch grass for long enough you cross an event horizon in which you become significantly weirder and more fucked up than any chronically online asshole can be. and they like those people even less.

“My boy Spatula bunking down for a snowy night” 

(Source)

After you gave your master the standard 3 wishes, you told him to leave the lamp in a place like a women’s shelter or a homeless camp. Instead he sold your lamp to the highest bidder and now you are determined to twist the 3 wishes to the detriment of both your current and former master.

Pros of growing your own vegetables: There's food in my dirt.

Cons of growing your own vegetables: There's dirt in my food.

all I want is to have a room that looks like I'm old biology professor whose been away from human civilization for half a century in the forest who spends my evenings reading old books researching about cryptids with my cat surrounded by my many treasures and trinkets I've collected over the years and my many, many growing plants that nearly take over all of my house.

We picked you because we saw greatness,

We picked you because you were the best.

We picked you and you loved us,

And we loved you too.

We called you a name,

We made you home.

Between our game,

Between the unknown.

When we made you a new house,

We loved you.

When we knew it was a coffin,

We loved you.

When we kissed you nose goodbye,

We loved you.

When we sent you to the sky,

We loved you.

You were confused, most likely,

Scared, certainly.

And we loved you.

As the engine died,

As you were left alone in the dark,

No one you could recognize around,

In a space too small yet too vast.

Did you know that we loved you ?

Did it matter ?

You died like a star,

And we never saw you again,

We were the reason, I'm afraid.

At never again, my friend.

I am asking you to endure it.

me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

Shout out to the best joke I’ve ever told, WWDITS style.

(His name is Timothy)