“the thing you have to understand is that, helen aside, things were kind of like, brewing,” homer says. to be fair, up until this point he really could not have given less of a shit about greek life politics. he’d rushed alpha sig because he wanted to lose his virginity, make friends, drink a lot of beer, and because lowkey he wanted to be like capi from ABC’s greek. he loved that guy. that guy was the shit.
anyway, the point is, now that homer’s really giving it some thought, yeah: the thing between troy and alpha sig had been building for a while, long before homer got anywhere near campus. helen was kind of just like, the final straw.
“the trojans aren’t even greek, is the thing,” he explains. “like, they used to be, um … i dunno, some national chapter, i forget because who cares. but they got kicked off campus and then just renamed themselves after the street their new house was on. priam’s nice but he’s not exactly creative.”
“why did they get kicked off campus?”
“well, a deer got drunk at one of their parties, and then the deer got hit by a car, and then there were all these protests by the vegan club.”
“why did they get a deer drunk?”
“is this on the record?”
“son, you’re at a police station. everything is on the record.”
homer hesitates. he’s pretty sure they’re past the statute of limitations on getting animals drunk, and also he doesn’t think that’s technically illegal, just a real dick move.
“well … they didn’t,” he admits. “but – okay. look, don’t tell anyone i told you, but the real truth is aggy did it.”
“aggy got them kicked off campus?”
“no, aggy got the deer drunk. it was on trojan property, though. and – this is extremely on the DL, i’m very serious about this, boys – it wasn’t the vegans who protested. or i mean, it was the vegans, but how did the vegans find out, you know what i’m saying?”
there’s a thoughtful hum. homer isn’t sure if it’s coming from Ray Ban or Donut Mouth, but he thinks it might be Donut Mouth because he smells a hint of bear claw on the exhale.
“so how did they find out?” Ray Ban asks. his words are a little squished, like he’s resting his chin on one of his hands.
“roy,” Donut Mouth mutters. “c’mon, this isn’t relevant.”
“so?” Ray Ban answers, unapologetic. “it’s fucking interesting. you so desperate to go write up your reports that you wanna get out of here? you itching to sit in the bullpen listening to frank powerwash the floors for the next four hours?”
homer grins. he holds his hand out for a high-five. “my main man ray ban,” he says. Ray Ban takes the five.
“it’s roy, actually,” he says.
“rick and roy, that’s cute, actually,” homer answers. “i’m still gonna call you ray ban, though. it’s like, your vibe. rick, sorry man, but you’ve been donut mouth to me this whole time and i just don’t think that’s gonna change for you.”
“for god’s sake,” Donut Mouth says, “can we please focus?”
homer, nodding, feels around the table until he finds the corner of what he’s pretty sure is the donut box. he raises his eyebrows in question and is gratified to hear Donut Mouth sigh before nudging the box forward so he can get his hand in. he grabs whatever is closest – no such thing as a bad donut, after all – and says, mouth full of strawberry glaze, “okay, so, someone told the muses and the muses told me that it was emi hunter, olly hunter’s twin sister. she’s not a vegan herself but is BIG into like, animal husbandry. their whole family have been butchers since like, the 1600s or some shit. i heard she only eats meat she’s killed herself, which is super hot and very scary.”
he waits, but neither Ray Ban nor Donut Mouth have anything to say about emi hunter. “… anyway, she found out that someone at this party had gotten the deer drunk and that the deer had gotten hit by a car and died, and also nobody even used the venison, and she sicced the vegans on them.”
it’s ninety-nine degrees outside, four fuck-thousand percent humidity, and my husband was like, “i’m gonna go for a bike ride.” and i was like “why. no. why. don’t put us on the news like that. local fool collapses on unnecessary journey. don’t do it.” so he says he doesn’t want to “hide in the house” because the sun is shining. bruh. honeybruh. “the sun is shining” does not cover it. its hot outside. its motherfucking hot as fuck outside. our outdoor plants have been crying into their hands all week. whole cars are melting into the sewer. our fucking patio umbrella developed sentience to ask me for lemonade this morning
@robotmango, you need to work for the weather forecast – this was both hilarious and so vivid it made me stand up and get some iced tea.
this is a great idea, thank you. here goes. my audition tape for the weather channel. dearly beloved. we are gathered here today to have a fucking funeral for the outdoors. it had a good run, with all its creeks and clouds and shit. pretty great. now it’s ten-thirty at night but still ninety-two asshole-sweating degrees and humid as fuck. everything is hot and slimy, like being a “borrower” that got trapped inside a bottle of shampoo and then accidentally microwaved. you can see on my doppler radar that nothing is moving around out there because everything is probably dead. the only alive thing is the mosquito currently trying to drill a hole in my leg. no surprise that all the shitbag mosquitos are fine, since the thermostat of hell is always at the devil’s preferred temperature. this forecast has gotten away from me a little, but in conclusion fuck the sun
Tags:
#weather #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #death mention
I love how casually knowledgeable Ronald Weasley is, talking facts, including the year and the venue
like that.
Charlie studied dragons. Ron isn’t just casually knowledgeable, he takes an interest in his brothers’ hobbies
I’ll bet it wasn’t just an interest. In fact, I’ll bet those exact words were repeated in the Weasley household on a weekly, if not daily, basis.
“But Mum, my mate’s cousin’s sister’s uncle has the egg just ready to go and honestly, who better to take care of things than us, because after all—?”
“Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, Charlie!”
“Dad, seriously, the guy in the alleyway was practically begging me to take the egg and I mean—”
“Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, Charlie!”
“Good morning, family, let’s say I managed to convert my bedroom into a habitat suitable for a Chinese Fireball, wouldn’t that show that I’m respons—”
“Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709, Charlie!”
It’s just on a gigantic af poster in the middle of the Burrow’s kitchen. Hanging right there above the tea kettle: 𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤’ ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝟙𝟟𝟘𝟡, ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕖!
It just wasn’t mentioned because it wasn’t relevant to Harry’s journey.
Not a poster. A sampler, spite-embroidered by Percy one very surly winter.
Tags:
#Harry Potter #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #dragon
Today I had the revelation that my half orc has 30ft speed, but because she’s a monk, her unarmored movement is +10ft at Level 3. Using the ki feature Breath of the Wind, she can dash as a bonus action meaning she can go 80ft in a turn.
If anyone cast Haste on my dear sweet Marfu, she would go 160 in six seconds.
At her most perfect Level 20 self’s unarmored movement of +30, she could go a max 120ft in a turn, or 240ft hasted. With 20 ki points to spend that could mean a solid two minutes of going almost 30 miles per hour and I think that’s beautiful.
Grab yourself the mobile feat for that extra 10ft base movement
We’re up to a max of 210/420 (lol) feet per six seconds which is 47 MPH. I feel like we’re crowdsourcing this monk at this point to make her as game-breakingly fast as possible.
BETTER MAKE THAT 94MPH
I quote the 5th Edition rulebook:
Boots of Speed
While you wear these boots, you can use a Bonus Action and click the boots’ heels together. If you do, the boots double your walking speed, and any creature that makes an opportunity attack against you has disadvantage on the Attack roll. If you click your heels together again, you end the effect.
When the boots’ property has been used for a total of ten minutes, the magic ceases to function until you finish a Long Rest.
Are you telling me Haste and Boots of Speed STACK?! Oh my god we’ve discovered the real Fast Travel function
Oh shit mom’s home everyone hide the Speed
Tags:
#puns #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(the pun at the end) #D&D #fun with loopholes #my past self has good taste #may or may not have reblogged this before #(I think it might have been a different chain though) #drugs mention
au where the trojan war is a party menelaus throws to win back his girlfriend who left him for some douchebag and he ropes all his friends into helping him and wacky shenanigans happen and a running gag is that odysseus doesn’t even want to be there he’s got shit to do and at the end he gets stuck in traffic on the way home
“listen, man,” homer says, “i dunno what you want me to tell you. like, i wasn’t even there.”
the cop who smells like bear claw donuts and watering hose plastic slaps his hands flat on the table, toying with the corner of something papery; maybe a folder, or a photo. the cop whose uniform swishes like lycra when he walks–and, though this is just a guess, is probably wearing knock-off ray ban pilot sunglasses that he hasn’t taken off once in his life–leans against the two-way mirror so hard that the buttons on the shoulder of his uniform click against the glass.
“kid, i admire your desire to keep your friends out of trouble,” Donut Mouth says. “but a real house really burned down. people could have died.”
“look at it from our point of view,” Ray Ban suggests. “because from our point of view, it looks like a prank war got out of control and ended in arson. you don’t want arson on your record.”
homer, who has been in this police station since three-thirty in the goddamn morning and is more hungover than he has ever been in his entire fucking life, leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest.
“oh, you want me to look at it from your point of view,” he drawls. “nice. real fucking nice.”
the embarrassed pause is enough for homer to gather his wits a little: if he pushes past the pounding in his head he can kind of remember how he got here. he knows that the cops were right; there was definitely a fire, and it was almost definitely the greek alpha sig’s fault, although if you really go all the way back it’s not like they were unprovoked.
he sips at the coffee they’d given him a little while ago. it’s almost cold, but it helps quiet the pounding in his brain. pancakes would have helped more, but he doesn’t think the police station have those on the menu, and even if they do, it isn’t like they’re going to be any good if the quality of their coffee is any indication.
he tries to figure out how long he’s been here, in realtime not drunk time. probably an hour at least. so–that’s one down, and they can only keep him for twenty-four, right?
yeah. he’s pretty sure. so all he has to do is make it twenty-four hours without telling them who actually started the fire but also without being, like, a hostile witness, or whatever. he doesn’t actually know that much about the law, but he remembers that one brooklyn nine nine episode where jake arrested someone too early and they had to find something to charge him with in one day
homer is fairly confident that he can’t get charged with anything he’s done lately, but he does definitely smell like weed, so.
love, justice, and homer all are blind, but none of them are stupid, so he rubs at his eyes and says, “okay. fine. i’ll tell you what i know, but like, most of this is just what i heard. it’s not gonna hold up in court. i mean, i didn’t see anything.”
“obviously,” says Ray Ban.
“what do you mean, ‘obviously’? that’s fucking ableist, man.”
“that’s not what i–”
“roy,” Donut Mouth interrupts, tone a warning. “go on, son.”
“okay,” homer says. he takes a deep breath. “so like–okay, what you have to understand is we’re deep in this war, right? i mean, this has been going on since like, the first toga party of the year, when this transfer kid, paris, hooked up with helen during rush.”
“helen …”
“spartowski.”
“and she is?”
“manny atreus’ girlfriend. or–ex-girlfriend, i guess. she’s alpha delta chi.”
“so manny atreus burned down the trojan house because … his girlfriend cheated on him in paris?”
“what? no. i never said he burned it down, i said the prank war started because his girlfriend cheated on him, and not in paris, with paris.”
“someone’s parents named them paris?”
“i don’t fucking know, man, i didn’t name him. that’s just what he’s called. maybe it’s a family name.”
“sure.”
“my dude, i’m called homer. you think i’m judging people on the weird shit their parents named them?”
Donut Mouth coughs into his hand. “fair point.”
“okay. so: manny said we had to go to war, for like, honor or something, and honestly at first it sounded kind of fun, so we just kind of went with it. but …”
he trails off. august seems like such a long time ago. a whole lifetime. maybe more than one.
“but what?”
homer’s head hurts. he’s so hungover he thinks he can smell beer in his sweat. he can definitely smell weed. it’s going to be a long, long, long day.
“i dunno,” he admits. “i guess things just got–a little out of hand.”
personally I like to think steve’s birthday isn’t actually July 4th but someone asked him when his birthday was when he was doing his little show tour thingy and he just said it as an accident and/or a panic response in a bid to seem even more patriotic and everyone believed him and now it’s like 100 years later and he’s too deep in the lie to back out now bc he knows all the avenger’s would fucking publicly roast him if he admitted july 4th wasn’t actually his birthday- like he would literally never live that down- so he lives his life in fear that some bitch ass historian is gonna find his birth certificate and expose him
avengers: happy birthday, steve!
bucky, eyes narrowing: what the fuck your birthday isn’t until-
steve, holding back tears: shut up
Bucky tries to hand him a birthday card one cold December day, and Steve tackles him out a window before anyone else can see what he’s holding
Tags:
#Marvel #embarrassment squick #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #birthday
Samuel L. Jackson seriously wants to be in the new Star Wars movies. He doesn’t care how it happens, he doesn’t care how many arms he has or how dead he is, or if he has to somehow do this as Nick Fury instead of Mace Windu.
Is there anyone among us who doesn’t think Star Wars could use a little Nick Fury? (Source)
…it’s a universe with a well-established history of just cloning the shit out of people at the slightest excuse. Samuel L. Jackson could theoretically play every role in the next movie without it being that implausible, by Star Wars standards.
Holy shit I would pay twice the going rate for a movie ticket to see a film performed entirely by Samuel L. Jackson. I don’t even care what film. Star Wars, Pride & Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes, The Godfather…Any. Movie.
“From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and fucking conceit made me realize that you were the last motherfucker in the world I could ever be fucking prevailed upon to marry.”
It is a truth fucking universally acknowledged that a single motherfucker in possession of a giant motherfucking fortune must be in want of a goddamn wife.
“The fucking recollection of what I said—of my fucking conduct, my fucking manners, my motherfucking expressions during it, is now, and has been many fucking months, goddamned painful to me. Your reproof, I shall never fucking forget: ‘had you behaved like less of a motherfucker.’ Those were your goddamned words. You know not, you can scarcely fucking conceive, how they have tortured me.”
“Really, Watson, you fucking excel yourself,” said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. “I am bound to say that in all the fucking accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have fucking habitually underrated your own motherfucking abilities. It may be that you are not yourself fucking luminous, but you are a motherfucking conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a fucking remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your fucking debt.”
“About three goddamn things I was absolfuckinglutely postive. First, Edward was a motherfucking vampire. Second, there was a part of his sparkly blood drinking ass — and shit if I know how strong that part of the cold bastard might be — that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was fucking unconditionally, irrefuckinvocably, in motherfucking love with the pale ass blood drinking motherfucker. “
“One day, and that fuckin’ day may never come, I may call upon your bitch ass to do me a motherfuckin’ favor. But for now, consider this a fuckin’ piece of generosity on the day of my daughter’s fuckin’ wedding.”
We must be as swift as the fucking cold river, with all the force of the badass typhoon, screw shit up like the goddamn fire, mysterious as the mutherfucking dark side of the motherfucking moon.
Mr. Kane was a man who got everything he wanted and then lost it. Maybe Motherfucker was something he couldn’t get, or something he lost. Anyway, it wouldn’t have explained anything; I don’t think any word can explain a man’s life. No, I guess Motherfucker is just a… piece in a jigsaw puzzle… a missing piece.”
“Your ass shouldn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, motherfucker.”
“Lemme tell you a riddle. Your ass is waitin for a train, a train that will take your ass far away. You know where you hope this motherfuckin train will take you, but you don’t motherfuckin know for goddamn sure. But it doesn’t motherfuckin matter. How the fuck can it not matter to you where the fuck this train takes your ass?”
“Fuckers assume that time is a fucking strict progression of motherfucking cause to motherfucking effect. But actually from a goddamned non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint it’s more like a big motherfucking ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey…goddamned stuff.”
Seven motherfucking minutes ago… we, your forefather motherfuckers, were brought forth upon a most motherfucking excellent adventure conceived by our new friends, Bill… and Ted. These two great motherfucking gentlemen are dedicated to a proposition which was true in my motherfucking time, just as it’s true today. Be motherfucking excellent to each other. And… MOTHERFUCKING PARTY ON, DUDES!
That motherfucker is like fucking fire and ice and shit. He’s like the motherfucking night and the storm and the heart of the goddamn sun. He’s ancient as shit and fucking forever. He fucking burns at the center of goddamn time and he can see the turn of the fucking universe. And that motherfucker is awesome as shit.
Only if you assume that George Lucas was making a documentary. Otherwise for all we know the actual intended audience of the piece was Jack Harkness sitting around on Boeshane in the year 5122.
Also this seems to indicate a despicable lack of faith in the time travel abilities of Nick Fury.
Or that you think our current Nick Fury is not himself potentially a clone of the Furies that existed a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.
#long post #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(most of them don’t do much for my sense of humour) #(but I laughed at ”how the fuck can it not matter to you where the fuck this train takes your ass?”) #Samuel L Jackson
Brinens and Things 