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The Quick and The Hungry

20-something asexual college gal living it up in the northwestern USA (despite my URL I am sadly niether Danish nor a dinosaur). On this blog are the things I find important; if I'm stepping on any toes, please let me know.

WELCOME.
Jul 19 '14

hypotheticalyiff:

peetamellarkeys:

birdthenerd:

I have never reblogged something so fast in my life

it’s exactly what you think it is

Jul 19 '14

mulders:

girls don’t like boys girls like aliens and dana scully

Jul 18 '14

thetvmouse:

Brought together by their mutual frustration with literally everyone, Rose and Nine lean on each other, hold hands, tease mercilessly, and charge into danger. The costume designers could not have picked a better week to dress Billie Piper like a late 90s pop star. Her updo sings the song of how done she is with you. Rose asks the right questions. She won’t put up with people who aren’t interested in lending a hand. And when she doesn’t do what the Doctor says, he likes it, because nobody tells Rose Tyler not to stand up against oppression.

(via Doctor Who Review: “The Long Game”—Looks Like It’s Just You and Me)

Jul 18 '14
picturesquegrave:

My brother works in a syrups/confectionary lab and sent me a picture of the latest accident last night. Pressurized berry concentrate never looked so murderous

picturesquegrave:

My brother works in a syrups/confectionary lab and sent me a picture of the latest accident last night. Pressurized berry concentrate never looked so murderous

Jul 18 '14
"It’s not our job to toughen our children up to face a cruel and heartless world. It’s our job to raise children who will make the world a little less cruel and heartless."
L.R. Knost   (via elige)

(Source: dailydoseofstuf)

Jul 18 '14

mercurialmalcontent:

elanorpam:

thranduilkingofsmirkwood:

mirabilelectu:

mistlethalia:

But! But but but!

Sam DOES follow, just not right away. Sam lives a long, prosperous, ridiculously happy life in Hobbiton with Rosie, with whom he has many children. He was mayor of Hobbiton SEVEN times until he retired at age 96, oversaw the establishment of the Shire as its own independent land, and was personally given the Star of the Dunedain by King Elessar as a gesture of friendship and love. But when Rosie passed away on Mid-Year’s day, Sam rode out from Bag End on September 22nd for the last time and finally followed Frodo to Valinor as the third and last Ringbearer to do so at the grand old age of 104.

He did exactly as Frodo asked him to. He was whole, and happy, and he enjoyed and did more than he could have ever imagined when he was a humble gardener listening in for tales of the Elves. And when he had lived out his life in peace and absolute happiness he earned his reward and followed Frodo home.

DON’T TOUCH ME OH MY ERU. 

Samwise Gamgee: Best character in the whole goddamn LoTR continuum.

Jul 18 '14

dirtydarwin:

brute-reason:

Still Not a Joke — Good Awareness Campaign From Just Detention International

What if your kid went to jail for trying pot, something that is very probable if your kid is black and living in a state like Texas. Does that mean they deserve to be raped? Does that mean that they should live in conditions that go against all human rights?

Most prison rapes are committed by prison staff. Even if you are heartless and do not care about the prisoners, remember that these prison staff rapists go home to their nice houses in the outside world. Remember that they are your neighbors, maybe they even have babysat your children. Remember that as long as some victims are dehumanized and ignored, many perpetrators will never be caught. And yes, these perpetrators do pose a threat to you and your family. Prison rape, rape in generalis everybody’s problem. And definitely not a fucking joke. 

(Source: brutereason)

Jul 18 '14

veggiestraw:

Youre as annoying as an app that turns sideways when you lie down

Jul 17 '14

Toad Words

ursulavernon:

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.

            It used to be a problem.

            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up with parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.

            So I got frogs. It happens.

            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”

            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.

            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.

            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.

I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.

            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.

            Toads are masters of it.

            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.

            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.

            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.

            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.

            But I can make more.

            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.

            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.  

            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.

            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)

            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.

            My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.

            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…

Jul 17 '14
vizardjeffhog:

diloolie:

dethbysquirl:

weresquirrel:

transiences:andywooo:animeasuka:wafflesforstephanie:yosb:





welcome to harvard: linguistics 101

Is this reality?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

yo the word fucking is actually really interesting because it’s one of american english’s only infixes

YES THIS IS ACTUALLY REALLY COOL MY AP ENGLISH TEACHER WENT ON A 5-MINUTE RANT ABOUT “FUCK” AND HOW IT’S THE ONLY WORD YOU CAN INSERT INTO OTHER WORDS 
I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THE WORD “FUCK” OKAY

This is actually really cool because technically “fuck” can’t even be an infix, as it’s a meaningful free morpheme and those can’t be used as grammatical morphemes (also in English infixes only exist in fossilized form) but the use of “fuck” for inflectional word formation is actually fascinating
As I see it, the more and more frequent use of a word as a suffix implies that it’s undergoing semantic bleaching
Soon, possibly not during our generation’s or our children’s or grandchildren’s lifespan, the word “fuck” may eventually lose its meaning and become a grammatical intensifying suffix or possibly the only actual inflix in the English language
and if you don’t think that’s at least kinda cool then I feel sorry for you son because linguistics is an amazing field of study and gdi I love the English language

Reblogging again for the commentary from the wonderful weresquirrel

FUCK YES

Needs that commentary on here tbh.

vizardjeffhog:

diloolie:

dethbysquirl:

weresquirrel:

transiences:andywooo:animeasuka:wafflesforstephanie:yosb:

welcome to harvard: linguistics 101

Is this reality?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

yo the word fucking is actually really interesting because it’s one of american english’s only infixes

YES THIS IS ACTUALLY REALLY COOL MY AP ENGLISH TEACHER WENT ON A 5-MINUTE RANT ABOUT “FUCK” AND HOW IT’S THE ONLY WORD YOU CAN INSERT INTO OTHER WORDS 

I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT THE WORD “FUCK” OKAY

This is actually really cool because technically “fuck” can’t even be an infix, as it’s a meaningful free morpheme and those can’t be used as grammatical morphemes (also in English infixes only exist in fossilized form) but the use of “fuck” for inflectional word formation is actually fascinating

As I see it, the more and more frequent use of a word as a suffix implies that it’s undergoing semantic bleaching

Soon, possibly not during our generation’s or our children’s or grandchildren’s lifespan, the word “fuck” may eventually lose its meaning and become a grammatical intensifying suffix or possibly the only actual inflix in the English language

and if you don’t think that’s at least kinda cool then I feel sorry for you son because linguistics is an amazing field of study and gdi I love the English language

Reblogging again for the commentary from the wonderful weresquirrel

FUCK YES

Needs that commentary on here tbh.