o-val
Hi. I'm Anne and this is my blog.
Enjoy.

p1ants:

i’m not very good at small talk, i want 2 talk about dying and aliens and sex and meaning and the sky i am terrible at asking about school and weather 

(Source: artvevo, via explicitlyvulgar)

fartgallery:

readingaroundthemovies:

fartgallery:

i need to date a girl with the initials AG so we can carve SW+AG on benches

Those r my mums initials…,

say hello to your new dad. i see that your tumblr blog contains some vulgar language. you’re grounded

(via pizza)

adambloghart:

artaeologist:

there are five frogs staring at me right now

but only one can be america’s next top model

(Source: reconcicle, via pizza)

prototype-the-walter-girl:

dailyshitsandgiggles:

People should only update their Facebook statuses with great stories like this one.

That was wild

bullied:

party at my house bring food then leave

(via artic-daisy)

rolan-pard:

“every time you post something online the entire world sees it”

yeah then explain to me why my post doesn’t have more notes

(via w-ave)

ehnoshima:

shavingryansprivates:

remember in 2012 when that lady tried restoring that painting of jesus

image

image

(via moistbottom)

theludicrousrival:

plunders:

raise your hand if you’re a lil bit of an asshole

(Source: cokeproblem, via pizza)

meladoodle:

*forgets what im talking about halfway through a sentence*

(Source: meladoodle, via sp-iderlily)

jetn:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

fingersareoptional:

*prepares party popper*


*nervously shakes the party popper*


*slowly falls asleep with the party popper*


*has a wonderful night with the party popper*


*gets married to the party popper*

It’s a beautiful evening in February. My wife and I are sitting at the fireplace, when suddenly a terrible image appears on the screen of my computer.

My wife looks at me. As I look in her terrified, cardboard eyes, filled with tears, she takes a deep breath, before saying with her shivering voice “It’s what you’ve always wanted, dear. Do it.” My hands start shaking and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. “I can’t, honey. I’m not like that anymore.” “I will do it.” a small voice behind us says. As I turn around, my eyes cross with my son; our son. “You don’t have to do this, Benedict.” I say, as I hold his hands.
Ignoring what I told him, young Benedict Popper-Are Optional holds my wife’s cardboard body in one hand, and her long, beautiful string in the other. With tears in my eyes, I turn my head away. A loud pop sounds behind me and I watch in terror as I see my wife’s confetti spread across the room.
"It’s what you’ve always wanted, dad…" my son says, putting his small, cardboard hand on my shoulder. "Yes," I say, "but not like this… Never like this…"

what the actual fuck

spenceromg:

I hate it when netflix pauses and asks me if im still watching like yeah you actually think i got up and started doing something with my life bitch put my show back on

(via unescapable)

198ft:

girls screenshot everything and then send it to their friends in a group chat and then laugh at people and that is why you should never trust us

(via unescapable)

concernedresidentofbakerstreet:

spexote:

what if after you die you get stats like

words said total: 21,390,459

pushups done: 1.3

hours spent crying: 238

1.3 pushups

(via unescapable)