Please don’t ascribe this to any recent current events but like… when Dick Cheney finally dies, I’m gonna need everyone to be at their most tasteless. I’m gonna need full-on disrespect for the dead, like, the sort of stuff that would get you thrown out of the funeral. I’m talking mockery that would in any other circumstances would stop his cold robot heart, and also the artificial pump he uses to keep it working. I’m talking “if you have a chance to glue a clown wig to the body before it goes in the ground, make it happen” disrespect. None of this “he was a patriot and devoted public servant” crap. Start planning your Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead party NOW
Here’s a link for people who don’t know all the things he’s done.
This is legitimately the funniest thing that has ever happened on MBMBAM
who doesn’t eat raw pasta tho, that’s a thing???
transcript:
Justin: Hi, Brooks!
Travis: [crosstalk] Hello, Brooks!
Brooks: So, my question is – my boyfriend keeps on going into the pantry and grabbing… handfuls of fettuccine?
[audience laughs]
Brooks: Unco – [laughs] uncooked?
Griffin: [sarcastically] I would hope he’s not grabbing handfuls of cooked fettuccine, Brooks!
Travis: In your pantry?!
Brooks: No – and eating them raw – [audience groans] – and he keeps calling them chips?
Justin: Okay –
[audience laughs]
Brooks: How do I make him stop?
Travis: Is your boyfriend here?
Brooks: Yeah.
Travis: You’re a monster! [audience and Justin laugh] Words mean things!
Griffin: Does anyone remember – [clears throat] I haven’t been to olive garden in… many moons, but they do have like, a little, like – fettuccine… bottle that you can just grab ‘em out of and chew – hold on! [indignantly] Was this a prank you guys pulled on me when we went to Olive Garden as kids?!
[audience laughs]
Griffin: No. Stop, everybody shut up! [audience and Justin laugh] Do they give you fe – raw fettuccine to chew on in the lobby of the Olive Garden??
Audience: No!
Griffin: YOU ST- FUCKIN’ –BASTARDS!
Travis: [crosstalk] Yaaaaaaayyy!!
[audience starts cheering and clapping]
Justin: The prestige!!
[Travis and Justin cackle while the audience cheers. Griffin presumably has his head in his hands.]
Travis: And now you have IBS!
Griffin: I didn’t -!
Travis: [triumphantly] We got ‘im!
Griffin: What I need you – [aside] Brooks, we’ll get back to you – [to his brothers] what I need you two to understand is – [Justin wheezes and giggles] that was not – the only time I went to Olive Garden. [audience laughs] There were – [laughs]
Travis: [in disbelief] Were there never employees around, like -??
Justin: [high-pitched giggles]
[audience laughs even more at Justin’s giggling]
Griffin: I – I! Wanting to seem like an authentic metropolitan… diner, would always grab the fettuccine and walk over to my friends like, “Mm, yeah, I’m a little – a little peckish -”
Travis: [cackles]
Justin: Griffin – Griffin, I –
Griffin: I fucking can’t believe – I can’t believe you did that, and I can’t believe literally I’m finding out in the worst imaginable venue –
Justin: Speaking as a former Olive Garden employee, there is – if I saw a little kid eating fettu – raw fettuccine, the… odds of me stopping them are negative one thousand percent.
[audience laughs]
Griffin: Okay, Brooks.
Justin: Brooks.
Griffin: Yeah, so I’m – gonna –
Justin: Wait –
Griffin: Sit this one out, Brooks! [audience and Travis laugh]
Justin: Brooks, is it possible that your boyfriend has been laboring under the same delusion as my brother for all these years? [audience laughs] “Oh, but wait, they sell this for you to take home? Okay! Little fancy for myself, then!”
[Griffin and audience giggle]
Travis: Brooks, is it possible –
Griffin: Mmm.
Travis: – your boyfriend does not believe these are chips, but instead, likes to annoy you, by calling them chips, a thing I – not exactly that, but similar – do to my wife all the time? [audience laughs]
Griffin: Is it possible, your boyfriend… loves chips. And you never have chips, and this is his way of passive-aggressively sort of – [audience laughs] guilting you into go – “Ooh, these are tasty chips!” – and as a raw fettuccine eater myself, I can tell you, it’s not a – it’s not a good chew!
[audience and brothers laugh]
Griffin: You do it, and you put it in your mouth, and your six-year-old brain thinks, it’ll turn to fettuccine in the heat of your mouth. [hysterically, as audience laughs] It doesn’t work like that! It doesn’t work like that! It justdoesn’t work like that.
I hate in the MCU or anything when the aliens or whatever are attacking and everyone’s just ‘oh yeah we be chilling just cowering over here’ as if seventy percent of humanity isn’t really angry all the time like catch these hands motherfucker I’ve bitten people for trying to steal my chips you think you can just steal my whole fucking planet YEET HERE COME MY TEETH film people be using responses to natural disasters but I promise if human sized things came to throw down humanity would be ready to fuck them up like yeah you got laser guns I got this dope ass stick I just found let’s go you ugly fuck
silentwalrus1: #yeah bicht!!!!!!#gimme the battle of new york with fuckin chitauri comin down and the shift manager of the times sq H&M has finally had Enough#Tracie bout to kill this alien with a traffic cone#’ JUST PRETEND THEY’RE TOURISTS’ she screams choking out goddamn Lizard Lite with her lanyard#10 feet away a park slope mom is beating an alien to death with her four year old’s knockoff eco friendly razr scooter#every single retail employee gets ten years’ worth of therapy in one day#captain america’s kill count: 83 aliens#kathleen from accounting: 94 and also her boss
No one believes her after, but she swears to every deity out there that she went to high school with the guy who’s shooting the arrows. It was only for, like, a month and he was so angry (scared) so she didn’t really know him, but–
But she went to high school with the guy shooting the arrows.
She’s not brave, okay? She’s run from her fair share of muggers and held her thanks in her heart when another vigilante came to chase them away. She’s carried her car keys in her fist like daggers, cut strangers with the look in her eyes, kicked out at corners before turning them just in case.
She lives in New York, she knows how to keep her head down, keep a look out for debris, and run. She’s doing it too, dodging buses and cars and people as she scrambles away from the sound of alien technology and alien language. The panic response is strong, real, and she’s not ashamed of the way she screams as the street explodes under her feet.
Then she realizes that the guy who shoots the arrows went to her high school and the aliens don’t seem so alien. She went to high school with the guy shooting the arrows at the aliens and he’s hurting them. The look on his face says that he’s at the end of his line and she–
She realizes, crouched behind a burning car, that she is too.
New York explodes every day. Sometimes the sun is blocked out by aircrafts from other countries, other worlds. Her work practiced drills in case Doom sends robot spiders into the air ducts with nerve gas. Again. Jeffrey down the hall slapped her ass on Thursday and, after, she wasn’t proud enough to turn down his offer to walk her to her car. Again.
Her eyes land on jagged, blue metal, the remnants of a mail box. The leg is just the right size for her to wrap her hand around it and she’s just far gone enough that she doesn’t care that it’s wet from lying in the gutter.
She hears that stupid fucking alien sound from behind her and, for once, she doesn’t think. She doesn’t think about how her hair is down (easy to grab) or how her heels are too high (hard to run in).
She swings her arm around, a snarl ripping from the remains of her throat, and bitch slaps that alien motherfucker right in the theoretical face. The thing flails, gun arm going wild, and stumbles back. She follows it , heels snapping against the concrete and raises her metal club over her head. She brings it down on the back of the thing’s neck and does it again even as it falls, stops screaming, and goes still.
“I, uh,” a man says from behind her, “think it’s dead.”
The voice is wrong for the situation–too calm, too dry, too amused. She turns, feeling alien blood dripping from her face, and leverages her weapon.
The guy who shoots the arrows takes a hasty step back. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Team human here. You need to get down to the subway, they’re basically bunkers–”
She tracks his gesturing hand and glances to the nearest entrance. People are streaming in, directed by police and fire and good Samaritans. She’s shocked that she doesn’t want to go over there. She’d much rather stay here.
She blows hair out of her face and says, “You went to my high school.” Another alien charges them, making some sort of clicking noise, and there’s an arrow sprouting from its throat between one blink and the next. It happens so fast that she can’t stop her lunge and swing in time. Her weapon connects with the side of the alien’s head instead of it’s chest with a sick thunk. It takes muscle to yank her club out of its skull, but she manages and the body falls back onto the asphalt.
They both stare at the dead alien for a long moment.
“Right” arrow guy says. He seems to have decided to let her do what she wants. He takes a deep breath and says, “No one’s going to believe I went to high school.”
“But you did,” she says.
He starts jogging towards where the aliens are concentrated, arrow already in hand. “Yeah,” he says over his shoulder, “but they won’t believe it!”
“I–” she starts, but he’s too far away, fast as all hell.
She takes out her irritation on the next alien who makes that stupid scifi noise right next to her ear.
(Inspired by that one tumblr post I saw years ago suggesting that Twilight wouldn’t have ended the way it did if Bella were conscious of the type of story she was in.)
It could be a love story. It could be the dark, mysterious boy in her class setting his eyes on her. It could be her looking back. It could be the pounding of hearts, sweaty palms, secrets in all the dark corners this town has to offer.
It could be a lot of things, but it’s never going to be more than a “story.” Dressed up and sanitized so that people can parse it, learn from it, take from it. It will never be her history or her dreams, never be her life or her purpose. It will always be a tale, tall or small, and she can’t forget that.
No matter how much he wants her to.
He laces their fingers together, his cold palm to her human heat. “I love you.”
She wishes she could exist in her body and believe that. She’s still a teenager and she wants love, connection, and intimacy. Growing pains and bleeding hearts with the promise of happy endings and worthwhile lessons.
Her mind, however, is a little too old to let the surface appearance pass for reality.
“I’d spend forever with you if I could,” she tells him. She means it. She would spend forever in the cold embrace of his arms, in the sphere of his love, if it really existed all for her. He takes it differently than she means.
“Maybe that will be possible,” he says slowly. He lets go of her hand to slide his arm over her shoulders, pulling her against his strong chest. “One day.”
She can practically taste how the thought excites him. He wants to change her to be like him—immortal and timeless.
After two months, she still doesn’t know if this is a story she’s willing to let play out.
a small backyard, a decent fence and the will to make a safe coop for your fluffy dames is all you need to make it happen
they will eat your vegetable scraps and gobble down pretty much any kind of food waste, turning discarded crusts and mushy fruit into big fat eggs full of protein!
and depending on which breed you buy, they will lay an egg almost every day. free, nutritious food every morning! what other pet will do that?
it’s a misconception that eating eggs is inherently cruel, or that you need a rooster for your chickens to lay eggs! all the eggs you buy in supermarkets are unfertilised, which means there is no chance of that egg ever hatching. you’re not eating a potential life, your chickens will lay eggs regardless of whether there’s a rooster around
so only buy a rooster to go with your lovely ladies if you want baby chicks – otherwise, just get some girls and enjoy those omelettes!
the way cage egg farms are run is terrible, and you can’t always be sure that a free range farm is as idyllic as the picture you see on the carton. lots of sad chookies who can’t perch or scratch or eat grass and clean themselves. 😦
this way, you will always be certain that your girls are happy, healthy, doing what chicken are meant to do and eating what chickens should be eating, which means bigger and better eggs for you!
you can give eggs to your friends! give eggs to strangers! eggs for everyone!
tiny and furious lawnmowers. chickens LOVE grass, especially clover. if you have a small backyard, they will do all the work of keeping the grass trimmed.
a caution, pls buy your chicken a friend – they will get lonely if you only buy one. my friend had two chickens and one died, leaving Gizmo all alone. she got depressed and stopped laying, so they put her in the rabbit hutch. now she has a best friend bunny called Jimmy and she’s very happy! she often sits on him and purrs.
chickens are good around most other pets – cats and chickens usually regard each other with mutual indifference and disdain, but they generally bond with dogs. however, if you know your pooch or kitty is particularly aggressive, make sure you check it won’t be a problem!
scratch scratch scratch, scratch party!!
one time I was cleaning out the stables and my chicken came over, saw that I was using a big rake and went !!!! scratch time!!! and she started scratching furiously next to me like she was trying to help
they’re very clean animals and will clean themselves every day with a dust bath and a thorough preening
when it starts raining it takes them a good 10 seconds to process what’s happening, then they RUN to shelter
gloriously stupid tiny velociraptor running
peck peck peck. is food? I check! peck. not food!
rip all snails and slugs that live in your garden
they will also go after mice and spiders
chicken poop is great fertiliser! when you clean out their coop, spread the poo on your garden and watch your flowers and veggies grow!
kiddos LOVE chickens!!
seriously, looking after chickens is a great job for little kids – any little fella can fill up their water and give them some food, and collecting a warm, fresh egg every morning is so rewarding for them!!!
hours of entertainment watching their antics
some (not all) like a cuddle! the ladies will let you know what their preference is. they may also gently peck and groom you because they love you.
you can give them fancy names like lottie, ethel and lady beatrice so it sounds like they’re a supporting cast in a Jane Austen novel
in conclusion give a pretty chicken a happy home today
Also: you want a bird friend? well it is PSYCHOLOGICALLY HEALTHY for you and the chicken to be friends! After thousand and thousands of years of domestication, chickens are basically genetically programmed to be happy to live with humans.
As small as the world 