homocidol:

i hate when guys say shit like “why would you cut your hair? guys dont like girls with  short hair” thats like watching someone else make a sandwich for their self and saying “why are you putting tomatoes in it? i dont like tomatoes”

184,927 notes

gayindustrialcomplex:

fag3000:

gayindustrialcomplex:

Spiders eat their parents all the time and no one cares when they do it so what the fuck

did you eat your parents

How about you mind your own business

364,579 notes

kateordie:

katlay:

page 10
page 11
page 12
page 13
page 14
page 15
page 16
page 17
page 18
page 19
page 20
page 21

Bad Weather’s all done! The longest Supercakes comic to date at 21 pages! All of which can be read on the site.

I often want to do a comic with Kat Leyh but I’m really content to just read ‘em ‘cause they’re perfect.

2,746 notes

unknownamericans:

It was in America where I learned to be black. In the predominantly small white town we moved to in Upstate New York; in the nasty ways young kids behave to other young kids they perceive as different, dangerous. In the way my seventh grade teacher evaded my innocent question of what the word coon meant. It was during lunch, with the chaotic buzz of several dozen prepubescent children going on when I approached her and posed my question. Her large, brown eyes looked into mine for a fleeting moment, before looking away, scanning the room for an answer, a culprit, perhaps. She never did explain that word but I learned all I needed from her nonanswer. I learned to be black in the way, at the onset of high school, I was all of sudden referred to as, “What up, G?” by a girl in my neighborhood who had just filled herself up with a dose of mid-90s rap videos on MTV. When, after watching Poetic Justice, my sister and I came home, tossing the n word around casually, cracking our bubble gum all the while. That word left our vocabulary as quickly as it arrived. We never received a pass.
It was in America where I learned that I was not really black enough. In college when I was the producer on a radio show; the emcee a fiesty, gap-toothed, diminutive -sized girl from the West Indies. Upon hearing my British-inflected English, she spat out that I was a ”white girl!” On the eight hour bus ride from the North Country to New York City where I had some of my first encounters with black and Latino kids from the city. The Urban Youth. When I squarely asked one boy whether all black people listen to hip-hop and wear their pants down low and baseball caps backwards. He calmly replied, ”No,” and after beat, added, not without a sense of humor, “…but they should!”
It was in America where I learned I was more American than most Americans. When I had to study American History in order to pass the naturalization test and be granted citizenship. I got a nearly perfect score, answering nine out of ten questions correctly. I forgot who said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” (It was Patrick Henry). All the naturalborn Americans I spoke with where unanimous in their ignorance of the answer to that very same question.
It was in America where I learned I was not really American enough. In graduate school when applying for work overseas as an English language teacher, a visiting South Korean professor from the department discouraged me from applying to a certain university job vacancy since they were looking for native speakers of English. I had to dig into my family history for my response, letting her know that not only is my mother English (from England), but that I grew up speaking English and went to English-medium schools in Nairobi.
It was in this land, where wave upon wave of immigrant stories continue to unfold, where I learned I was black and not black enough and too white and not native enough. I remain waiting for the final and grand admission into what it means, truly, to be an American.
— Wambui Njuguna

unknownamericans:

It was in America where I learned to be black. In the predominantly small white town we moved to in Upstate New York; in the nasty ways young kids behave to other young kids they perceive as different, dangerous. In the way my seventh grade teacher evaded my innocent question of what the word coon meant. It was during lunch, with the chaotic buzz of several dozen prepubescent children going on when I approached her and posed my question. Her large, brown eyes looked into mine for a fleeting moment, before looking away, scanning the room for an answer, a culprit, perhaps. She never did explain that word but I learned all I needed from her nonanswer. I learned to be black in the way, at the onset of high school, I was all of sudden referred to as, “What up, G?” by a girl in my neighborhood who had just filled herself up with a dose of mid-90s rap videos on MTV. When, after watching Poetic Justice, my sister and I came home, tossing the n word around casually, cracking our bubble gum all the while. That word left our vocabulary as quickly as it arrived. We never received a pass.

It was in America where I learned that I was not really black enough. In college when I was the producer on a radio show; the emcee a fiesty, gap-toothed, diminutive -sized girl from the West Indies. Upon hearing my British-inflected English, she spat out that I was a ”white girl!” On the eight hour bus ride from the North Country to New York City where I had some of my first encounters with black and Latino kids from the city. The Urban Youth. When I squarely asked one boy whether all black people listen to hip-hop and wear their pants down low and baseball caps backwards. He calmly replied, ”No,” and after beat, added, not without a sense of humor, “…but they should!”

It was in America where I learned I was more American than most Americans. When I had to study American History in order to pass the naturalization test and be granted citizenship. I got a nearly perfect score, answering nine out of ten questions correctly. I forgot who said, “Give me liberty or give me death.” (It was Patrick Henry). All the naturalborn Americans I spoke with where unanimous in their ignorance of the answer to that very same question.

It was in America where I learned I was not really American enough. In graduate school when applying for work overseas as an English language teacher, a visiting South Korean professor from the department discouraged me from applying to a certain university job vacancy since they were looking for native speakers of English. I had to dig into my family history for my response, letting her know that not only is my mother English (from England), but that I grew up speaking English and went to English-medium schools in Nairobi.

It was in this land, where wave upon wave of immigrant stories continue to unfold, where I learned I was black and not black enough and too white and not native enough. I remain waiting for the final and grand admission into what it means, truly, to be an American.

— Wambui Njuguna

103 notes

mymodernmet:

Japanese illustrator and designer Akihiro Mizuuchi used precise molds to make LEGOs out of chocolate, opening up a whole realm of possibilities for building and snacking.

1,097 notes

shelbysbutt:

thechanelmuse:

thechanelmuse:

thechanelmuse:

BREAKING: Black Man Shot and Killed by Police in South L.A.

A 24-year-old man has died after being shot by police during an encounter in the Florence neighborhood of South Los Angeles, officials said Tuesday.

The incident began at 8:12 p.m. when officers responded to a report of a shooting at the intersection of West 65th Street and South Broadway, said Lt. Ellis Imaizumi of the Los Angeles Police Department.

Eight minutes later, at 8:20 p.m., the officers stopped a man who was walking in the 200 block of 65th, authorities said.

“A struggle ensued” and police opened fire, according to a statement from the Police Department.

The man was transported to a hospital where he underwent surgery, according to Officer Sara Faden, spokeswoman for the LAPD. He later succumbed to his injuries. No officers were hurt in the incident.

It is unknown if the suspect has any gang affiliations, police said.

A woman who said she was the deceased man’s mother identified him as Ezell Ford.

Tritobia Ford said her son was lying on the ground and complying with the officers’ commands when he was shot.

Yet another one…It’s always a “struggle.” And why bring it up if it’s unknown. They know exactly what they’re insinuating. Be fearful of black people and not the police… This is insanity. 

EZELL FORD WAS UNARMED. This happened just two days after Mike Brown’s murder. (8/11)

UPDATE: It has been reported that Ezell Ford was mentally disabled.

image

An eyewitness to the killing, Leroy Hill, describes what happened: “He wasn’t a gang banger at all. I was sitting across the street when it happened. So as he was walking down the street, the police approached him, whatever was said I couldn’t hear it, but the cops jumped out of the car and rushed him over here into this corner. They had him in the corner and were beating him, busted him up, for what reason I don’t know but he didn’t do nothing. The next thing I know I hear a ‘pow!’ while he’s on the ground. They got the knee on him. And then I hear another ‘pow!’ No hesitation. And then I hear another ‘pow!’ Three times.”

At one point while the police had Ford on the ground, but before the shooting took place, Hill said, he heard an officer yell, “Shoot him.”

Unrest has rocked the suburb in the days following Brown’s death. At least four people, including two police officers, have been hurt and 47 arrested in the aftermath of the shooting.

image

On Wednesday morning in South LA, a group of about 10 young and middle-aged men gathered at a makeshift sidewalk memorial lined with candles and signs that read “Police brutality must stop.”

The men at the memorial near the sight of the shooting were visibly shaken by the events that had unfolded there Monday night. They expressed anger toward the LAPD. They said that Ford wasn’t a gang member at all — that he was a “good guy,” a local man who was born and raised in the neighborhood, one whom everyone knew and liked, who routinely played basketball and who also suffered from some form of mental illness.

While all of the men said Ford suffered from some mental illness, they couldn’t confirm what it was. One young neighbor, who requested to not be identified, said that while “he wasn’t all there, he was there enough to follow orders and know to stop when the police tell him to stop. He did nothing wrong.”

Another eyewitness told KTLA that Ford’s mental state was well-known in the neighborhood and to the police.

"They laid him out and for whatever reason, they shot him in the back, knowing mentally, he has complications. Every officer in this area, from the Newton Division, knows that — that this child has mental problems," the man said in an interview with the local network. "The excessive force … there was no purpose for it. The multiple shootings in the back while he’s laying down? No. Then when the mom comes, they don’t try to console her … they pull the billy clubs out." The young neighbor described the incident as "racial bullshit."

image

Source

Something has to change

63,681 notes

tastefullyoffensive:

Makeup Transformations (Part One)

Previously: Office Safari

sarahwhat OMG

89,845 notes

tripnipalex:

Finally someone asks for them to make the important things in life

tripnipalex:

Finally someone asks for them to make the important things in life

(Source: rhubrbtrmoil)

158,935 notes