Umm can we talk about Carrie Underwood’s dress right now?
this is some cinna from hunger games type shit
impressive!
you have no proof that i am not at least one of the members of daft punk
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proof: they are from France and there are two of them at the Grammies tonight.
bonjour my petite omlette de frumage bagguette i am coming from u live from the grammys.
wheres your god now
You know that part in movies where the main character turns on their car radio and the song that’s playing slowly fades in and becomes the movies background music? I like that
I love the opposite, where the background music is seemingly just background music until the cut to someone turning off the radio and the music abruptly cuts off.
What about a soul mate au where you hear background music for the most important parts of your life, and when you meet your soul mate it’s dramatic and romantic music
But on the other hand…..
“Guys we really shouldn’t go in there, can’t you hear the creepy ass music? I don’t want to get killed.”
“Fuck I’m pretty sure this is fighting music I can’t fight you I have exams to study for.”
“Oh no poor kitty why are you out here all on your-NO STOP THE SAD MUSIC THIS CAT ISN’T GONNA DIE JUST WATCH ME”
not. badass.
I gotta come clean with you. I keep hearing the phrase “badass” bandied about and applied to me. I am not a badass. I play one on TV.
We are shooting a television show and I need to have certain abilities that do not come naturally to me, so I am working and pretending with guns and violence. One of my trainers, a man whose radiant power is eclipsed only by his radiant kindness, began teaching us disarming techniques. He held a toy rubber gun, the color of a bath ducky. It was the most cheerful decoy weapon on the planet. The moment he pointed it at me, I burst into tears.
On set, the first scene I had to employ a firearm at an oncoming threat, my body froze and I couldn’t pull the trigger. I screwed the shot because I was shaking. (It did turn out that the gun was wonky as well, but I knew I had been unable to do it.) It was pretend, but my body didn’t know that. I didn’t react from my mind. I reacted like me.
The first time the monsters rushed out of the haze into my eyeline, I scampered like a bunny. “Cut! Kim, you have to take the shot before you run!” Right. Right. Sure. I knew that. The sweet human inside of the costume would check in with me between every take. He knew I was terrified and was taking care of me. I needed reassurance it was fake and I was safe. I needed reminding that he wasn’t really a monster. Every. Five. Minutes.
I am not a badass. I’m coming clean with you so you know that if, on your off days or in your daily life you are scared and might look to some of us for inspiration, I am just like you. I whither under scorn, I struggle to make myself understood, and I nearly piss myself facing shit that can’t possibly hurt me. That’s just how I’m made. And that’s okay.
When I went out to my first weapons-training date a couple of months ago, I had a mini panic attack in the car. I called Matt Cohen. He is a personal muse of mine. Kind and wise, with a current of rage running under his being that he suppresses on a daily basis. I relate so deeply to this. I knew he would help me.
“What’s up?”
“Matt, I’m going to train with guns and I’m scared.”
He knows my story. He knows why. “Yeah,” he answered. “Guns are scary. But here’s the thing… you have a job to do and you don’t have the information you need to do the job. Go let knowledge take the place of fear.”
I have a job to do that is my life. We all do. I look at people who seem fearless and I envy them. But I look at myself, my tiny little mountains I climb, and I am proud of my tiny little wins. I am proud when I can choose to let knowledge take the place of terror.
I offer you this: I am not fearless. But I can be brave. So can you.
If you love someone, you will always try harder
ive been trying really hard lately to break through my television screen so that one day ill be able to walk into the arms of my beloved Luigi
This is what I’m talking about
STOP TELLING PEOPLE TO LEAVE THEIR TVs ON A DIFFERENT CHANNEL DURING THE INAUGURATION!
That is not how ratings work. Unless you have a Nielsen box, your television doesn’t count in ratings.
Make sure that you DO. NOT. WATCH. OR. READ. ANYTHING. ONLINE. during or after the inauguration!
So here’s the thing. It won’t count in Nielsen ratings, but Cable/Satellite providers can still give information about what their viewers watch.
I think for most people it was mostly going to be as a FUCK YOU and distraction during the inauguration - so it’s still valid. Just avoid all major news stations, stay offline, read your favorite book, play some video games, watch your favorite movies. You do you.
Also don’t tweet about Trump, his cabinet memrs, or the inauguration that day. Various companies (including the Neilson ratings) gather information from Twitter to report on what kind of television people are talking about. It doesn’t matter if you’re talking positively or negatively, television programs that get talked about are more likely to get viewers so any kind of talk is viewed as a good thing.
“Every freckle is an angel’s kiss; pressed into soft skin with precision and unconditional affection.”
Sam looked up from the book he was reading. He studied the pair on the couch, his face soft with fondness.
Dean was snoring, his head in Cas’ lap, and he was probably drooling.
Cas’ eyes were fixed on the television screen, his face placid and content. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through Dean’s hair, making it stick up in all directions.
Sam smiled to himself and looked back down, reading the words again.
No wonder his brother had so many.
it’s been nine years and twenty seven days since the pilot of pushing daisies aired on television and still no screenwriter has ever topped the line “bitch I was in proximity”
“Every freckle is an angel’s kiss; pressed into soft skin with precision and unconditional affection.”
Sam looked up from the book he was reading. He studied the pair on the couch, his face soft with fondness.
Dean was snoring, his head in Cas’ lap, and he was probably drooling.
Cas’ eyes were fixed on the television screen, his face placid and content. He was absentmindedly running his fingers through Dean’s hair, making it stick up in all directions.
Sam smiled to himself and looked back down, reading the words again.
No wonder his brother had so many.
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