It is pitch black outside and someone is mowing their lawn
power move
Update: the someone is my father
does he have a flashlight
“dad did you have a flashlight?”
“no”
“how did you see?”
“moon.”
sounds like a dad to me
Idk all the dads I know have multiple flashlights and brag about how many lumens their flashlights have and hey look this one has a strobe light mode but this one turns into an emergency light (aka it turns red and has a stand) but this one has three strobe modes, two dimness levels, and the back is hard enough to be used as a bluntforceweapon here put this in your purse in case of emergency I know I just gave you a flashlight but that was a pen light meant for small things and the other one is a flood light meant for wide areas this one also turns into a knife and has a screwdriver attachment and yeah I know you have that multi tool I bought you last week but that tool only had a small light on the end barely enough lumens to see by what if you need to light up the entire universeIjust bought this pack of twelveflashlights and each one has enough lumens to outshinethesun have you seenithere let me turn it on for you and shine it down the street so you can see how bright it is you can see clear across the city and would be able to see into the next one if there weren’t so many buildings let’s go to the beach r i g h t n o w so I can shine this down the horizon I swear you can see into the next galaxy at least…
reblog and tag whether your dad is a Flashlight Dad or a Moon Dad
i know it’s not ghost related but petition for ryan and shane to go to 657 boulevard, westfield, nj and do a little dance that’s so obnoxious it forces the watcher to out himself and they end up actually solving a case.
Tumblr Blaze is very good because tumblr correctly deduced that if they ran a real advertising service using targeted demographics we’d have burnt this site to the ground, but ALSO correctly deduced that we would be overjoyed to collectively pay large amounts of money to spread shitposts onto completely random dashes in a delighted flurry of slightly malicious mischief. You really do gotta hand it to em on this one, A+ problem solving.
I also like it when they’re like hey what’s up or something personal/natural instead of the welcome to wherever how can I serve you bit.
I also like it when they are sitting down or listening to music they clearly enjoy
There is something so nourishing about walking into a place of business and immediately thinking “huh, I wouldn’t have guessed this place would be playing this kind of music” only to see an employee absolutely head-banging along because today is their day to pick the CD and they are living
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?!There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin?Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
