Mace 🌙🔴

[Amiri King @AmiriKing]

My toddler loves Monsters Inc. especially Mike Wazowski.

Yesterday I was in Walmart and came across this cool t-shirt.

I immediately bought it, put it on in the car, and rushed home to show my toddler.

I hunted her down as soon as I came through the door.

She was sitting on the couch watching Hogi and eating Goldfish crackers.

I said, ‘Libby check out my cool new shirt!’

I was beaming. I just knew she was gonna think my shirt was the coolest shit ever.

She looked at me, looked at my shirt, scoffed, and yelled, ‘GO AWAY!’

Listen.

I don’t think we talk enough about what huge pieces of shit toddlers are.

That’s literally my TV you are watching.
I paid for those Goldfish crackers.
That’s my fucking couch.

I bought this cool t-shirt ONLY because of you.

And this is your response you f#ggot piece of sh!t??

You are wearing a shirt with a turtle on it that says, ‘Turtley Adorable’ you fuck!ng idiot.

You are broke.
Homeless.
Have poor life skills.
You can’t even fucking speak English.

You are basically a Somali immigrant only brighter in complexion and with much less forehead mass.

I’ll wipe my ass with this shirt.

Fuck this shirt.

Bitch nigga.

Your mom is fat.

[broc @brocdogg]

Hammer2

[Mariè @p8stie]

Girl with a prosthetic leg and cut marks feeding her boyfriend corn on Coney Island on America’s 250th birthday

[Greg the Sorcerer @gregthesorcerer]

That explains why these pesky things have been swarming me all day

[𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙜𝙖𝙗𝙚🏴 @g_abe2]

genuinely traindog came right when i needed him. i was depressed and disillusioned when he chugged along down the tracks and onto my timeline.

a lighthouse in a storm, a hand up from the cliff's edge, a glass of iced water in the desert

[katie @spongebobfan360]

wow.... is this real??

[ddk @dorkmammu_ddk]

denial

#jax

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

USA. A breakfast counter. The waitress recommended the biscuits and gravy, and when the plate arrived, I thought something had gone wrong in the kitchen.

I say this with shame. The dish looked like a construction site after rain. Pale mounds. Gray ladle-fall. Speckles I could not identify.

In my land, the eye eats first. A meal is arranged like a garden. This meal was arranged like weather.

"Is it… finished?" I asked, carefully.

"Honey, that's what it looks like."

The man beside me was already eating his. He did not look up. "Just try it."

I am a man who has charged hillsides at dawn. I raised the fork. I tried it.

I must now formally apologize to the biscuits, the gravy, the waitress, the kitchen, and the entire breakfast tradition of the American South.

It was magnificent. Warm. Peppered. The biscuit drank the gravy the way a field drinks rain — THAT is why it is shaped like that, you fool — and every mound I had insulted was a soft fold of comfort that my homeland, in eight hundred years, never once thought to invent.

"Well?" the waitress asked.

"I judged it," I confessed. "By its appearance. I am ashamed."

"Everybody does, hon."

Everybody does. A national dish that forgives you for doubting it. It expects the doubt. It waits for you on the other side of it.

Do not judge the gravy by its face. Judge yourself, for hesitating.

I order it every Saturday now. I no longer see the construction site. I see only the garden.

It was a garden the whole time. The eye must be trained.

[NOBUNAGA🇯🇵🏯_夏樹蒼依 @japan_nobunaga]

USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.

Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.

I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."

"They just come with the table, man."

They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.

This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.

I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.

"Did we…?"

"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."

Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.

My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."

Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.

I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.

Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.

I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.

Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.

[tives @tivetives]

there is no escape rope #backrooms #pokemonㅤㅤㅤ

[V1to @v1to_yt]

Todos vocês falharam com ele

[♰ 𓏼 eva / kenny @MlSSHALLOWEEN]

this has had me crying laughing every time i think about it

[Gustavo🫀 @gusfreireart]

It’s a real mess, but also beautiful in a way, no?
#backrooms

[Slippy @slippyslip4]

@AshStash__ I tried

[sodazane remastered @sodazane]

@AshStash__

[robert @filminquisitor]

i think this is my favorite shot. if not visually, then contextually

[Blumhouse @blumhouse]

Your therapist when you pull out the floor plan

[Arthur Berk 🌚🔥✝️ (MoonlitCross) @arthur_ber84872]

Why are you hiding, Clark?

-yOU aRe mAKing tOO MuCh nOIse -