dare-i-say-asexual:

dare-i-say-asexual:

dare-i-say-asexual:

i just walked past the apartment beneath mine and through an open window i could hear my downstairs neighbor crying faintly while the song jolene played in the background and im just like… bitch are you okay…?

I actually ended up going back downstairs to check on her and brought some leftover cookies I baked this afternoon. she’s very sweet and going through a Breakup Mood™️ after being cheated on. she’s coming over to my gf and I’s annual bad movie night on Friday and she even let me pet her cat named Clarence

my gf thinks it’s funny but very fitting that our downstairs neighbor was able to summon a concerned lesbian just by playing jolene while crying about being done dirty by a man

thebibliosphere:

torlibram:

notyouramelie:

cipheramnesia:

tyrannosaurus-trainwreck:

ritavonbees:

petermorwood:

madenthusiasms:

unreconstructedfangirl:

doctornerdington:

medinaquirin:

priceofliberty:

anarkisses:

frosty-the-snowden:

tilthat:

TIL the Ottoman Sultan wrote to a group of Ukrainian cossacks in 1676 and demanded their submission. They responded, “we have no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee, fuck thy mother.”

via reddit.com

The full response is even better

“Zaporozhian Cossacks to the Turkish Sultan!

O sultan, Turkish devil and damned devil’s kith and kin, secretary to Lucifer himself. What the devil kind of knight are thou, that canst not slay a hedgehog with your naked arse? The devil shits, and your army eats. Thou shalt not, thou son of a whore, make subjects of Christian sons; we have no fear of your army, by land and by sea we will battle with thee, fuck thy mother.

Thou Babylonian scullion, Macedonian wheelwright, brewer of Jerusalem, goat-fucker of Alexandria, swineherd of Greater and Lesser Egypt, pig of Armenia, Podolian thief, catamite of Tartary, hangman of Kamyanets, and fool of all the world and underworld, an idiot before God, grandson of the Serpent, and the crick in our dick. Pig’s snout, mare’s arse, slaughterhouse cur, unchristened brow, screw thine own mother!

So the Zaporozhians declare, you lowlife. You won’t even be herding pigs for the Christians. Now we’ll conclude, for we don’t know the date and don’t own a calendar; the moon’s in the sky, the year with the Lord, the day’s the same over here as it is over there; for this kiss our arse!

– Koshovyi otaman Ivan Sirko, with the whole Zaporozhian Host.”

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks to Sultan Mehmed IV of the Ottoman Empire

In case anyone needed a dramatic reading of the above historical letter.

I’m dying! 

Oh my god.

I’m now dying to know what happened next.


Period invective at its finest, even if it may not be quite as period as you think.

(NB – Peter Capaldi’s reading is probably NSFW without headphones.)

Here’s a link to much larger versions of the painting. Take a look at the full-size one: the facial expressions are a treat.

Also, check out Repin’s later, revised but uncompleted “sketch” version, which seems to have Vlad Dracula as a guest star just right of centre.

Listening to Capaldi’s reading you can really imagine this crowd of bros around a table yelling at the guy with the pen not to forget their favourite insult.

Tag yourself–I’m “don’t know the date and doesn’t own a calendar”

TOM SAVINI WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN 1676

@torlibram I feel like you’d maybe like this?

@thebibliosphere Doth not this put you in mind of the Nac Mac Feegle’s response to the Quin, pardon me, Queen?

It does, it really truly does.

whyand-whynot:

mapleflavoreddice:

egregiousoveruseofnormalcy:

lovelystimmy:

when you touch a Bad Texture™ and have to scrub at ur hands until the feeling is gone

When your teeth scrape against something they don’t like and your entire body tries to escape the upper atmosphere.

When your nails drag across an Unpleasant Thing so your arms stop working from the elbows down and your ears ring.

when something nearby makes a Bad Sound and you’re actively trying to get onto the astral plane in your corporeal form