Paulette: I blew it, Elle. My snap was all over the place.
Fogell: Hey Guys! Sup
Seth: Fogell, this ID says that you're 25 years old. Why wouldn't you just put 21, man?
Fogell: Seth, Seth, Seth. Listen up, ass-face: every day, hundreds of kids go into the liquor store with fake IDs, and every single one says they're 21. Pssh, how many 21 year olds do you think there are in this town? It's called fucking strategy, all right?
To you it's just a gum wrapper
First posted 2011
The spring I turned ten I started collecting stuff. Some stuff was given to me. Some stuff I thought was cool and other stuff I thought I might use someday. For instance, I had what was once the wooden handle of a hammer. The broken end could be sharpen to a point and used to kill vampires in the event of an attack. In a pinch you could use it to stab a werewolf in the foot, at least that would give you time to get away (I was still on the lookout for a silver bullet.)
When mid-summer rolled around, I had almost two shoe boxes full of stuff. Gum wrappers, feathers, sticks, seriously misspelled notes, rocks, and do dads of all kinds. After a morning of playing with my friends, I headed home to empty my pockets to make room for what the afternoon might bring. I went straight to my room, bent down next to my bed, extended my arm under to get one of the boxes. I felt nothing... so I take a look.... my shoe boxes are gone! gone. gone. gone. As in nothing under the bed. No boxes. No dust. Not the lone sock I had my eye on ( the mate was in my drawer/pairs of socks were like gold in our house) I'd been robbed.
I raced downstairs to my mom, she was sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. I was crying hysterically... some--one---my shoe---bo--xes are GON--NE...she took me by the shoulders and firmly said "I cleaned your room and threw out all the boxes, who keeps gum wrappers and sticks?" My eyes widened in shock , I threw myself to the floor and began to scream. I do! I keep gum wrappers and sticks! How could you? Do have any idea what it takes to get a shoe box? We don't buy shoes in boxes!!!! That's when it hit her. She sat on the floor next to me, put her arms around me and with tears in her eyes said "I'm so sorry I didn't realize what those things meant to you." She calmed me down and assured me I could start a new collection (and she would never ever touch my stuff again) she would even go with me to get more shoe boxes. Two important lessons were learned that day.
* One: One girls trash might be her treasure. Who are you to judge?
* Two: Love means you say you're sorry. Then you dig for shoe boxes out of the trash behind Nickels Department Store.
All images pinterest
I need these shoes.
|Shoes live here|
But seriously folks, an executive order is no joke. No matter what Jon Meachman says.
“We make fun of the executive orders and that is in fact something that, you know, you never really heard Lincoln and FDR say, ‘I’m going to rebuild America on an executive order. You know, it’s not something that resonates off the tongue.”
Well, Jon, there's this:
Franklin Delano Roosevelt issued more executive orders than any president in American history – both in raw numbers and in annual averages – and relied extensively on the presidential tool to implement New Deal reforms during the Great Depression.
As for Lincoln’s reluctance to “rebuild America on an executive order,” let’s not forget that Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation – which was an executive order. via**
I hate it when my foot falls asleep during the day cause that means
it's going to be up all night.
it's going to be up all night.
You bet your ass it is.
If you want to debate it, Check it.
Go visit Kylli Sparre
After years of training to become a professional ballet dancer, she realized it wasn’t the path for her and instead channeled passion for dance into photography and image manipulation.
There are always two people in every picture: the photographer and the viewer.
I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy there’s somebody on my bed.”