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.