#howyadoin
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"How ya doin'? Ladies, I am THE (neutered) man you've been waiting for all your life! I love long sunlit strolls around the yard, birdie watching, biscuit making, chewing the faces off my toys, and FOOD. Oh, how I LOVE food! We can be like Lady and the Tramp where we eat our FOOD together (and I'll happily finish the meal for you because I'm super helpful). Oh, I also love grooming my friends (here, me remove that food crumb off your lip). Did I mention I also love cuddling in bed? We can lay back underneath the sheets and dream about FOOD together. It'll be so romantic! 😻 my number is 555-" "BENNY!! We can't adopt any more cats!!" . . #catsarelife #funnycats #cattitude #catboy #howyadoin #sillykitty #fortheloveofcats #catmomlife #catfamily🐾 #mycatisthebest #catfood #greyandwhitecat #specialneedscat https://www.instagram.com/p/CqA4URGOWg0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#catsarelife#funnycats#cattitude#catboy#howyadoin#sillykitty#fortheloveofcats#catmomlife#catfamily🐾#mycatisthebest#catfood#greyandwhitecat#specialneedscat
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Everyone have a fire day 🔥🤞
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HEYO, TOM, AM I THE ITALIAN YOU LOOKIN' FOR?
#howyadoin#not cats#(but cats cast)#extemporize back chat#i should just start greeting people like this
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Okay, maybe I'm getting time again now for drawing some stuff that I wanna :>
It's just fun to imagine him being a fast-talking sleaze sometimes (w/ some of Hades lines of course)
#fnaf#fnaf fanart#springtrap#my art#laddersarts#pose redraws#“name is hades. lord of the dead. hi howyadoin?”
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oohhshitt
well this s prolly the most badway w'coulda been introduced
hi m cd
an m a lil high on endorphinss n dopamine but don worry bout that too much
howyadoin?
@unovanra
Cd- I've heard a lot about you- uhm
Where is my partner? I need to speak to them about- all of this
#????#irl pkmn#pokemon roleplay#pokeblog rp#pokereality#pkmn rp#pokemon#irl pokemon#rotumblr#pokemon unreality
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Llama Days
Because today I walked a llama back home, I have a new standard for all my coming days. Just minutes with the llama made this one a poem of kindly wonders, long-necked woolly praise.
I'd been raking leaves, bent forward, head down, eyes on my country acre, so that when I raised them and saw at my driveway's end a llama standing tall there, checking me out,
I was all stammer and gawk and disbelief until I thought of Leon, my neighbor half- a-mile away, whose land was mostly zoo, menagerie, whatever, I called him Doo-
little, the animal doctor himself, though Leon was no vet, just one big heart for anything that walked on paw, web, or hoof-- goat, peacock, sheep, horse, donkey, mink, hare, hart.
But llama? I'd never noticed one before, though no doubt my surprise at seeing him was matched by his at seeing me--or more than matched, he being lost, freedom become
a burden twice as bad as any bars, so much so panic struck and he turned back, high-stepping it onto the road, two-lane, tarred, and I saw the headline, "Llama killed by truck."
Dropping the rake, I raced to rescue him, who now stood frozen, straddling the centerline, looking this way and that; oh, too much room, too little clue. I had to herd him to Leon.
With slow approach and arms a traffic cop's, I eased him into action in the lane leading to llama-chow and fell into step beside him; well, sort of, his two to my one.
I talked him down the road, an unbroken string of chatter my invisible halter and rein: “Howyadoin? Where'd you think you were going? A little farther now, big guy. You'll be just fine.”
Luckily, no car came to make him bolt, though I almost wished for one, wanting someone to see us, like old friends out for a stroll, shoulder to shoulder in the morning sun.
Once we got close enough to what he knew, he was gone, down the right driveway this time, and I was left alone to wave goodbye: “You take care now.” His thanks silent. “You're welcome.”
I don't expect the llama to escape again. Leon 's repaired a fence, no doubt, or gate. So I know tomorrow I'll have to find my own, invent one, a facsimile, and I can't wait.
Already I see him coming like a dream, disguised as odd events, encounters, small dramas worth at least a laugh. Let “He walked his llama home” be my epitaph. I wish you lots of llamas.
By Philip Dacey
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I was looking for information on the Rt2 Rotary in Concord MA so I could show a friend. I used to have to drive on it for work and it is wild. Rt2 is a two lane divided (in parts) highway that ostensibly has a 55 mph speed limit, but being one of the major routes into Boston everyone drives 70+ on it. Anyway, I found this.
Note how they're not trying to eliminate the chaos. They know this is impossible. They have the slightly more realistic goal of organizing the chaos.
How will they do this? Maybe by rebuilding the Rotary? Maybe by changing the approaches so you don't go slinging into it at full tilt?
No. With paint.
As if paint will stop a Boston Driver from driving the way they know they have a God Given Right To Drive.
Old friends Séan and Randy meet up at the Dunkin' Donuts outside of Arlington, MA. Séan drives a beat to shit first gen Osyssey filled to the top with paint, dropcloths, ladders and brushes. There are paint stains all over the car and on the back is a Boston Red Sox’s license place surround, Red Sox stickers and a “MY KID WAS FUCKER OF THE MONTH AT CONCORD HIGH” Séan is not a painter by trade.
Randy drives a 1993 Nissan Hardbody pickup with a headache rack and that diamondplate lock box everyone had. The truck cab is full to the smokers windows with empty Dunkin cups, cigarette packets (Parliaments) and the back has an old tire, a waterlogged bag of cat litter and some frayed wire cable. Randy has been out of work for 15 years and nobody knows how he still has money for Dunkin.
“Séan! You old fucker! Howyadoin?”
“Fuckin terrible Randy. They’re changin my commute!” He takes a sip of his extra-large coffee "regulah" (coffee with cream and sugar is "regular" around Boston).
“Fuckinell. How?” Randy lights a cigarette.
“Get this: theyre tryin to make the Rout 2 rotary LESS CHAOTIC”
“Wha? Fuck me that’s nuts”
“I know right? I need my Dunkin, I need my cigs, and I need to be sliding around that rotary at 70mph.”
Randy nods, takes a drag. He sucks the cigarette down in two puffs and lights another.
#writing#I blacked out and this appeared#sometimes things just come out when I read something#Fucker Of The Month is pretty good though#Humans are Bostonian#boston#Boston posting
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send TRICKED for a scene from my muse's past in which they misled, tricked, or lied to someone
It's never been a longer walk up Fifth Avenue than this.
Hank slept on the coach, but even though the trip from Westchester back to the Big Apple gave him enough time to get a good few quality zees in, he still feels heavy and lethargic as he drags himself towards the Avengers Mansion. He's sure that at least part of it is down to the thick, rubber mask he's wearing, that he'd forgotten to take off after leaving the -
After - vacating the Xavier Mansion, premises.
It's not something he really needs to wear out and about. Why would he? What does he have to hide? He's Hank McCoy, the bouncing baby blue Beast, Avenger extraordinaire, howyadoin', want an autograph, watch me swing offa that chandelier - but he feels too tired to pull it off.
And maybe there's something about looking in glass, in looking in mirrors, in looking at the puddles left by last night's rainfall, and seeing actual, old Hank McCoy reflecting back at him, that makes him feel good.
Maybe there's something about seeing the face that met Jean Grey for the first time reflecting back at him that makes him feel like she's still here, in some way, in some fashion.
But all too soon, he reaches 890 Fifth Avenue, and even though the gates are as well maintained and as welcoming as ever, there's something about them that feels wrong at the moment. Maybe he feels a bit more X-Man than Avenger right now, but whatever it is, it throws him off enough that he doesn't realise the gates aren't opening and the defences are on the verge of triggering until he hears Jarvis' voice over the intercom.
" - I say again, sir, if you don't state your name and your business here, then I shall simply have to detain you until you feel more conversational - "
Hank lets out a heavy sigh and pulls off the rubber mask. Even without the sweat and the matted down fur, he looks like hell, his eyes sunken in and lacking their usual lustre as he stares into the camera. "Hey, Jarv. It's me."
He can practically feel Jarvis' jump of alarm, that momentary shock of good heavens, that's master Hank, how could I have been so foolish?! The gates swing open, and he walks down the path to the big ol' double doors he's gone bounding right through so many times that he's surprised the hinges have stayed on.
Jarvis is there, opening the doors and looking concerned in his way. It's not like Hank to look quite so small and see him move so slow, and he's right to be concerned, especially considering that the last thing he knew, Hank was MIA - on monitor duty the same night that a special alert had come in, direct from the President. And here he is, walking up the front lawn like someone's died.
His rubber gloved hands come out of his pockets and he offers them up, as if to say, well, give it to me, both barrels. Edwin Jarvis doesn't have the heart to give him even a single one, and instead, he just moves down the steps to hurry Hank inside, out of the cold.
"Master Beast, where have you been? I was worried sick!"
Hank gives him a humourless little smile. "Would you believe the moon?"
Jarvis tuts. If that's meant to be a joke, it's really not very funny at all, and Hank lowers his head, knowing he's screwed up, that he's going to get a talking to when Cap and Iron Man get back. If they had to get an earful from the President, then by god, Hank's going to get an earful from them.
"Sorry, Jarv. Not very funny, I know. Off my game a bit at the moment. I'll soon cheer up, don't you worry. Nothing can keep Mama McCoy's bouncing baby boy down for long."
It's a torrent of cliches and Jarvis feels like he should be calling someone, but he has the distinct impression that whoever he should be calling, Hank's been with them, and it hasn't exactly made things better, so what else is there to do? He decides to squeeze Hank's shoulders, in a rare show of physical concern, and the Beast brings his hands up to squeeze at Jarvis' wrists softly, thanking him for the concern.
"You are going to be all right, Master Beast?"
Hank forces out a laugh and starts to move up the stairs to his room.
"Me? 'Course I am, Jarv. Hank McCoy doesn't stay blue for long, you know that."
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*pops out of The Bushes(TM)*
hEYA cowcow howyadoin? :DDD
HI STRAWBERRYYY :D
Wait... Strawberry in The Bushes(TM)..... STRAWBERRY BUSH?? STRAWBERRY'S HOME??? :00 /j /lh /pos (strawberries (the fruit) come from bushes I think) (I'm hilarious)
I'm doing okay!! :D There was just a big storm at my house and the lightning was REALLY COOL hehe :D /gen /pos
I like storms :]
How about yee? How are you? :0
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Pixel! Howyadoin? :DD
I was gonna send some ai generated sasharcy but
Nooooo rip the sasharcies T^T
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we were just talking about two joels, so this post is about Hodgson, not McHale.
can't recall what event it was, but it was something like a big award show, & joel was wearing a tux. Or maybe it was a tuxedo t-shirt under a jacket. He is baby. But he comes onstage & it sounds like a big crowd because joel gets big applause. & he's all cute & chill bc he's a sweet babe, 'oh thank you guys, oh hi, howyadoin.' The applause simmers down & he goes, 'anyone here from cleaveland?' Many people in the crowd hoot & clap, of course. joel is like 'cool can I get a ride home?'🥺
SKLFJDSJFH ME 🤣 Oh, Joel, truly a man too pure for this cruel world.
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HELLO COWARDS HOWYADOIN
I made a (!!! Thing (??? with my babygirls, kinda like a little title page i guess, hope yall like it
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HOLA COBARDES CÓMOESTÁN
Hice una (!!! Cosa (??? con mis bebés, algo como una portadita, supongo; espero les guste
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Howyadoin?
You mean how are you?
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The other day I was working the register at the store I work at and you know you gotta be nice and ask howyadoin when someone approaches the counter.
Couple days ago I was talking with a former English teacher about how it's not technically right to say "I'm good" when you should say "I'm well".
Anyways so another lady came up to me and I do my thing and she says "good" and I'm thinking I'll converse a little and tell her:
"I just recently learned you shouldn't say 'good' and the right way to respond is 'well' instead.", and then some short explaining that I'm a foreigner and find that interesting.
Her response was a groan followed by: "What? Why? Is this another woke thing?"
I hope sooner than later we can all go back to just enjoying life.
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Also the other thing I forgot to mention now that I’m reminiscing about how good the 20th Anniversary Band of Brothers podcast was, was the idea that Frank John Hughes thought he actually had the role of Bill Guarnere, only to walk into some horrific conference room full of five-hundred “Bill Guarneres” all speaking in varying levels of a successful Philly accent because it’s one of the few characteristics they have to go on in their character package- It’s like a chaotically horrible episode of the Twilight Zone and I love it.
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This is just my way