Phil Hartman (September 24, 1948 – May 28, 1998)

talking with my boyfriend about the local cult and i’m curious

something something reblog for sample size

여어- 히싸씨부리 （ ɔ̸ᴉʇɐ͟N͞さんのツイート ）

[to the tune of be our guest] eat a dick, eat a dick, god you’re such a fucking prick, i’m taking paid time off because your presence makes me sick

"Just let me be there with you. Prove that I'm more than a mask."

Sara Mrad | Golden Monarch

Vintage Victorian lamps.

"Based on data gleaned from the nearly 10 million military dependents it insures, the U.S. Department of Defense has repeatedly called the evidence supporting ABA “weak,” noting there is no research to determine whether the small number of participants who show improvement — 15% — do so because of treatment or simply because a child has matured. After a year of the therapy, the department reported to Congress in 2019, 76% of 16,000 participating autistic children saw no change, and 9% worsened."

A story within a story where a mother sits her rowdy children down and tells them a story about a the world's sweetest, kindest mother who never lost her temper, never cursed and never yelled at her children, no matter how rowdy they could get. She would only gently, kindly told them to not do the dangerous things. One day she sweetly, kindly told her children to not go play at the riverbank, because it's dangerous and they might slip on the rocks, fall into the water, and die. Her children do not listen. They go play at the riverbank, where they slip on the rocks, fall into the water, and die.

And the sweet perfect mother of the story comes to the riverbank, sees that all her children drowned, and starts crying so bitterly that angels overhear her, and the angels say to each other, "she does not deserve this, this woman has never done anything wrong in her life, this should not have happened to her", and feeling great pity for her, bring her children back to life, and after that they always listened to their mother and lived happily ever after.

And the storyteller's children, who at this point are familiar with the concept that these stories are supposed to have some sort of a moral or lesson in them, interject to point out that their mother hasn't always done everything perfectly, she isn't always sweet, curses a lot, and as a matter of fact loses her shit at her kids all the time. She isn't like the mother of the story at all.

And their mother agrees: Her children are correct. She is not a perfect mother who has never done anything wrong. Angels will not have pity on her, and they will not bring her little shits back to life if they go to the river and die. So they better fucking not go get themselves killed in the first place.

the 5 love languages: song recommendations, parallel play, talking about The Character, offering to kill each other’s parents, gifting little trinkets

alright everyone, we’re picking ourselves up and going again. We’re putting ice on our split lips and busted knuckles. We’re doing our dishes and our laundry even if it stays hanging on the line for four days. We’re texting our friends back. We’re wiping the dust off our clothes. We’re booking and attending medical appointments. We’re taking the empty dishes out of our bedrooms. We’re sitting outside in the sunshine. We’re holding our heads up. We’re apologising to the people we’ve hurt. We’re forgiving ourselves.