earthworm-rights

[earthworm-rights]

Silverfish are so brave for going down the bathtub drain. I would be scared as fuck in there. I suppose when you have as many legs as they do things like that aren’t as frightening. #Perspective.

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[earthworm-rights]

just so you know, you have some followers who enjoy/write fanfiction. not saying their urls rn bc i don’t wanna air out dirty laundry in public but if you want them so you can block and report, just say the word and i’ll dm you a list

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recently we were out on a hilltop taking photos of the comet and suddenly some car's headlights blind us from across the bay. literally four miles away.

who the fuck is out here with these nuclear fusion powered headlights. who puts naval searchlights on their fucking toyota tacoma.

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Wicked dolls by Mattel have the wrong website of the film printed on the packaging which directs you to an adult film website.

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ok idk if people on here are talking abt this idk if I’ve seen it but one of the funniest/most awkward things about the immediate aftermath of the queen’s death was audiences that night going to see musicals on the west end, specifically Wicked. apparently before the show some official came out and called for a minute or two of silence in honor of the queen. makes sense. silence concludes, lights come down, show begins. the overture begins very loudly with dramatic and fast-moving music, moves to a slower section, and at around the minute mark, becomes a very brassy, loud, cantankerous kind of aggressive melody. and then, after a minute of silence and a minute of overture, the audience is greeted with the first words of this musical, the words that have started the musical every night since 2003, now being sung loud and proud in london on September 8th, 2022:

“Good news! She’s dead!”

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For the last decade or so, I’ve been routinely attending a ride-on lawnmower race. I’ve always wanted to participate, but the high cost of used mowers is better spent on more practical vehicles, like literally anything else. Sometimes, though, the universe sends you a message. And in my case, that message came in the form of an awkward leg of a huge trade-in scam.

Picture, if you will, the humble redneck. They await the approach of big, fast domestic mowers. John Deeres, Cub Cadets, even weird modified Chinese stuff they looted from Aliexpress. There is jubilance, but that soon comes to an awkward hush. An unfamiliar engine note approaches.

My International 1480 combine harvester, all ten tons of it, is barrelling down the highway at a clip somewhere between “tepid” and “jaunty.” Even though I have shown up for a race, I am sandbagging a little bit, making sure that the bets get settled against my vehicle before I show them the might of a fully operational monster such as mine.

Technically, there is no violation. I had looked at the rulebook from every angle in the previous year: it has the correct number of wheels, the proper agricultural intent, and with precise work on the tiller, it can even (poorly) mow a suburban lawn. Is it modified? Oh yes, yes indeed, but I see the nitrous bottles poking out from the rows of Kubotas at the starting line.

And when I leave the starting line, it is a thing of beauty. At least for a few milliseconds. It seems that the wizards at International Harvester simply did not comprehend of a situation in which the frame of their combine would be launched into the air by means of one thousand eight hundred foot-pounds of supercharger-bolstered torque. I had erroneously believed that the loose soil of the rural community would let the wheels dip in, but now I am facing directly into the sky, having twelve o’ clocked hard on my wheelie, shooting flames from my exhaust and whirling vertical blades of death towards the grandstand.

It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.

[earthworm-rights]

I just found the earliest email I ever sent from my email address, and it’s the funniest goddamn thing I can possibly imagine a fourth grader sending her teacher:

(Context - my fourth grade teacher was on maternity leave, and the state of the classroom fish tank was dire under the substitute teacher’s tyrannical rule. The class convened at recess, and decided to inform our (24yo, new mother) former teacher of the situation. I was selected as the duly appointed representative for this solemn communication.)

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horse pulling a very odd looking carriage in fact it appears to be a car upon a wheeled platform and even more surprisingly there seems to be a man in there this is a truly puzzling image

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Having anotheg 'gork we have got to get out of bed faster then this' morning

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just had an absolutely atrocious thought

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saw this absolute king at the Paris Miku Expo

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Im usually much too shy to send asks but you gotta be the change you want to see, and i agree that asks need to stay so: would you rather right 1 horse sized rat, or 100 rat sized horses?

ah yikes... so my knee jerk reaction is "the 100 rat-sized horses, certainly, as those can be picked off one at a time." however the risk of my conscience catching up to me by the 30th or 40th horse is too great. how much death could I inflict upon these rat-sized horses before I vow to see death no more? even if pure survival instinct drives me through all 100, what of the aftermath? surrounded by the carnage of 100 tiny horses with only my own wet breath among 100 still chests? inconceivable. war is hell.

[earthworm-rights]