timtampon

If Supernatural was a British Show with a British Cast

shadows-of-a-fallen-angel:

primal-fallen-angel:

the-masters-fallen-angel:

popculturesavvyangel:

Dean Winchester

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Sam Winchester

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Castiel

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Crowley

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John Winchester

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Young John Winchester

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Young Mary Winchester

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Charlie 

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Michael/Adam Milligan

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Abaddon

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Meg

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Ruby

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Lucifer

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Bobby Singer

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Jo Harvelle

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Ellen Harvelle

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god dAMMIT. PLEASE.

Excuse you.

Crowley: 

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Crowley is Mark no matter what side of the pond you’re on

acrumblebatchwithcustardfreeman
fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
FULL naked.
REAL naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!

I get naked.

FULL naked.

REAL naked.

I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.

No cookies. Blatant nudity.

That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…

And there it was.

This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.

Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.

“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”

Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”

As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.

This was, nearly, one of those.

If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.

My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.

I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:

“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”

And inquiries such as:

“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”

Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?

That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.

An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

timtampon

phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess:

howtospoon:

i-o-u-a-fall:

chroniclesofpanem:

tunadeluna:

ninejuanjuan:

bromofasho:

nigga-chan:

nicoosuxx:

Remember when they were going to censor the internet?

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Remember when people cared about Kony?

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Remember when people did the cinnamon challenge?

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Remember when everyone played Temple Run?

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Remember the Alamo?

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Remember the Titans?

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remember who you are

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i cant remember shit 

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Me either!

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No! Go and sit in the corner!

timtampon
galactic-kat:

wasarahbi:

emes:

leeantsypantsy:

all-aboutqoqo:



“We dressed up as the book Madeline, with six people dressed up as her and me as Ms. Clavel, their teacher. One of the Madelines, however, was the truly special one…the one with the beard, that is. Our experience was hysterical—I’d walk all the girls (and one guy) down the street in two straight lines. Guys would be walking the other way, whistling or hollering at all the pretty ladies. Then, as they got to the back of the line, they’d see my friend Brennan, then they’d see me, and I could tell that they were suddenly wondering if ALL the Madelines were men.”




the last sentence

lmao what

There will never be a time when I don’t reblog this because it is my fave.

galactic-kat:

wasarahbi:

emes:

leeantsypantsy:

all-aboutqoqo:

“We dressed up as the book Madeline, with six people dressed up as her and me as Ms. Clavel, their teacher. One of the Madelines, however, was the truly special one…the one with the beard, that is. Our experience was hysterical—I’d walk all the girls (and one guy) down the street in two straight lines. Guys would be walking the other way, whistling or hollering at all the pretty ladies. Then, as they got to the back of the line, they’d see my friend Brennan, then they’d see me, and I could tell that they were suddenly wondering if ALL the Madelines were men.”

the last sentence

lmao what

There will never be a time when I don’t reblog this because it is my fave.

ace27blr

lost-in-ikea:

glam00ur:

all 46 excuses on my friends wall, 

1. i was just really, really early for tomorrow

2. we can’t all be usain bolt

3. in this day and age, we shouldn’t need labels like “late”

4. i had pe first period do you blame me

5. i really, really didn’t want to sing

6. my brother thought it would be hilarious to drop me outside the prison gates

7. you can’t tell me how to live my life

8. #YOLO

9. my legs fell off and i had to roll all the way to the emergency clinic

10. there was a freak yachting accident

11. i am a fucking retard

12. this is just for my wall

13. do you even read these

14. “it does not matter how slow you go, so long as you do not stop

15. i spent my entire night writing tom daley fanfiction

16. my father left my mother for an air hostess seven years ago do you expect me to get over that emotional trauma overnight

17. sarah palin and i got into a twitter war and i couldn’t leave and let her win

18. traffic jammy jammy jam

19. how can i go to school when alex turner

20. my sim was having an emotional meltdown and i needed to be there for her

21. i was sticking it to the man

22. i spent my entire night worrying if i would ever lose my virginity 

23. fifty shades of late; i was walking and then i caught the eye of an attractive member of the opposite sex and we began exchanging significant looks and i knew we would one day make sweet love so i just walked alongside him and tried to catch his eye and to be continued

24. part two he was playing hard to get so we walked and walked and he had the perfect hair colour it was sort of beige brown anyway it turned out he was walking to a bus stop so obviously i had to catch the bus because true love and silently we rode out to papakura and into the sunset

25. my meth lab caught fire

26. my bed is more comfortable than your school will ever be

27. i was sad

28. it was a nice day, so i walked leisurely

29. i had beat my younger brother for saying “swag”

30. i had to travel back to the 1950’s to ensure my birth

31. 2 kool 4 scool

32. i had to stop, collaborate and listen

33. i tried

34. i’m sorry i’m late

      it’s not my fault

      my auntie was killed

      and i joined a cult

35. a haiku about lateness:

late late late late late

late late late late late late late

 late late late late late

36. my best friend was telling me how to give a satisfactory blow job i wish i was joking

37. i was fashionably late

38. i was caught in a flash mob true story omfg

39. i did not choose the late life, the late life chose me

40. do

41. you

42. even

43. read

44. these

45. i was fighting al qaeda

46. traffic

YESSSS IT’S ON MY DASHBOARD AGAIN

the post that doesn’t age

So recently, I’ve been experimenting a bit. Every time my parents ask me to walk up to the shop near our house, I put on a different t-shirt and see how people react. Yesterday, I went up wearing a generic slogan t-shirt from an ordinary clothes shop, and people seemed to accept that. I sort of blended into the crowd, and people seemed ok with that.
Just now, however, I went up wearing one of my many fandom t-shirts (a Doctor Who one, if you’re interested), and all the people seemed to look at me as if they were judging me or something. I got really weird looks from people, like it’s not normal to wear t-shirts about geeky/fandom things.
So basically, wearing football jerseys and band t-shirts is a cultural norm, but once it turns to fandom things, it’s suddenly wrong.

People confuse me.