You know, funny story: There’s this craft store called Michaels. Look, my sister knits, and she goes to Michaels. So my sister called me and she’s like, “Oh my god, I’m at Michaels, picking up yarn. You have a poster at Michaels.” I’m like, “What?” She’s like, “There’s a poster, there’s a Falcon poster at Michaels.” I’m like, “Holy s**t!” She’s like, “I’m gonna come and pick you up, and we’re gonna see your poster in this store.” So she picks me up and we go to Michaels.

We go in, and I see the poster and I’m like, “Oh, this is….” She’s like, “I know, I know.” I said, “I’m gonna sign these posters.” I was like, “That would be amazing, you buy a poster and it’s like, actually signed by the Falcon.” Like, it would blow my mind. So I go to the front, I buy a Sharpie, I run back to the back of the store. And she’s like, “I’m gonna take a picture of you signing it.”

I’m in this store and I’m signing all the posters. The manager comes out, he’s like, “Hey, whatcha doing?” I was like, “Oh man, I’m signing these posters so when people buy ‘em, they’re signed.” He’s like, “Well, people are not gonna buy ‘em if they’re signed.” And I was like, “No, no, no, it’s cool. I’m pretty sure there won’t be a problem.” And he goes, “Yeah, but it is gonna be a problem, you’re messin’ up my inventory.” And I’m like, “No, my man, trust me. I mean, I’m the Falcon, that’s me!” And he goes, “Yeah, right. You’re gonna buy those posters.” I said, “What?” He’s like, “You’re gonna buy all those posters or I’m gonna call the police.”

He rolls up all the posters and goes to the front of the store. And I had to buy like 60 Falcon posters that I signed in Michaels.

-Anthony Mackie getting in trouble for signing his posters at a Micheals  (x) 

Anthony Mackie is a gift to all mankind. 

(via bartdontlie)


and I understand your references just fine.

inspired by (x) and (x)

Ok, so I am not all caught up with Supernatural, but I have to rant a little bit.

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But I have to, because my parents are going to wake me up obscenely early tomorrow because we’re driving to Williamsburg…I hate their obsession with getting up BEFORE the ass crack of dawn.  Haaaate it.  I was going to do homework and write fic but I barely even finished getting my phone and camera and stuff ready to go,and I’ve gotta get at least a little sleep.  Grrr.


*thinks about something i need to do for school*



A poetic and artful umbrella, Komorebi is based on a Japanese expression that approximately translates to “sunshine filtering through foliage.”


I need to rant for a second.

So I never wanted a GPS.  In fact, I despise them.  They’re obnoxious and they frequently steer you completely wrong.  

Christmas 2012, my parents got me a GPS.  That they knew I did not want.  But it was a gift so I was gracious about getting it, even though they were well aware of my feelings and mostly got it as a gift for themselves because I was going up to Kentucky for a few weeks for school and they were worried.  

So I have this GPS that I do not want, but I use it when I go places out of the city, because ok yes, it does usually get me in the general vicinity of where I need to be.  I am not completely unreasonable- it’s been useful.  I’ve been able to find places to eat, get myself to grocery stores, all kinds of stuff like that.  It has its uses.  Am I fond of it, even so?  No.  Hell no.  I hate the damn thing; I use it only when I really need it.  And yet, I do really appreciate the ways it’s helped me…and loathe it for times like the night it led me all over Atlanta and had me turn right into the middle of what looked like a gang fight.  

We have a very complicated relationship.  If I had something like mapquest on my phone, I would pitch it out to sea in a heartbeat.  Except not.  because it was a gift.  But it would go in a box and never be touched ever. 

So that’s the setup for this, this GPS that I loathe and appreciate(kind of like a demon that I occasionally make deals with, I suppose) that I hardly ever use.  Mostly it lives in the backseat of my car, waiting for a trip.

So tonight as we’re getting stuff ready to leave on a trip tomorrow and I have a million and one other things to do, dad says “Did you update your GPS?”

And I tell him no, and that I have no intention of doing so.  And he proceeds to berate and harass me about updating it, saying that if I don’t want to do it he’ll do it himself.  

Ok.  That is not his fucking decision, and it’s not his business.  It is my goddamn computer and my goddamn GPS and if it does not matter to me that my map is not fucking state of the art, he should shut up.  Because it is not up to him.  It does not belong to him.   Sometimes I know he thinks it does, since he’s the only one in the family who loves the damn things, but you know, that doesn’t matter.  Because it doesn’t belong to him.  

I do not want to waste my fucking time updating a thing that I BARELY use when it has functioned moderately well so far and will not function any better just because it happens to know a certain road is closed.  It can always recalculate once you get there; happens all the time.  Even if it was updated, it would STILL happen all the time because these things are a goddamn menace.  

So he goes on and on and on and on until mom is also berating me about this and yelling at me to “just do it and stop arguing” and

I finally decide to do it, to shut them up, but I’m raging furious inside.

And then it can’t update, because there’s not enough room without a micro SD card.  Which none of us own.

And now I’m laughing so much, because me and this thing I hate have finally agreed on something.  Thanks, Crowley.  It looks like I’ve finally decided to name you.

Except, you know…Crowley is much cooler than you.  


A new religious statue in the town of Davidson, N.C., is unlike anything you might see in church.

The statue depicts Jesus as a vagrant sleeping on a park bench. St. Alban’s Episcopal Church installed the homeless Jesus statue on its property in the middle of an upscale neighborhood filled with well-kept townhomes.

Jesus is huddled under a blanket with his face and hands obscured; only the crucifixion wounds on his uncovered feet give him away.

The reaction was immediate. Some loved it; some didn’t.

"One woman from the neighborhood actually called police the first time she drove by," says David Boraks, editor of DavidsonNews.net. "She thought it was an actual homeless person."

That’s right. Somebody called the cops on Jesus.

"ooh!  a poor person in need of help!  i better make sure they get arrested!"  to me, that’s the issue that’s most troubling.  Apart from that, the statue, and the idea behind it, is one of the parts of Christianity that even a grouchy atheist like me has to admire…