Life From the Bad Seats

wow lyrics

"And your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking
And dad would dream of all the different ways to die
Each one a little more than he could dare to try…”

- “The King of the Carrot Flowers Pt. 1” by Neutral Milk Hotel 

We teach our sweet little girls
to be liars and fakers
from a young age:
No, I’m not hungry.
Wow, that feels great.
No, I don’t blame you.
Yes, I love you.
No, I’m fine.

Michelle K., We Raise Liars. (via anonimonse)

so, we raise human beings?

(via adastro)

adastro:

I’m a fairy who’s loves daisies and life

usher lyrics! usher lyrics!

adastro:

I’m a fairy who’s loves daisies and life

usher lyrics! usher lyrics!

This is no chain letter. This is no anxious warning. This creature will kill you and me, whether we reblog it or not. There is no retribution; there is no saving us. It’s singular black nipple, with its mystic fecundity, will nurture dozens of offspring, and it’s growing brood of hell-monkeys will conquer towns, cities, states, countries, worlds. Don’t shoot the messenger; save your ammo for your pathetic attempts to keep the hell-monkeys at bay. They’ll start with the children, eating our own precious children before our very eyes. Hell, they might just stop there! I’m sure Hades will let them back in to Hell with a mere sacrifice of forty young children. The breeder of this ghoulish primate, Nestor B. Kilgore IV, said the only way to stay the beast is to plunge your forefinger and middle finger into the foul demon’s nostrils and use a hooking technique to break the neck and spinal cord instantly. Of course, Mr. Kilgore IV is a heavyweight boxer and a professional weight lifter, and could do this with no problem. It will be much more difficult for us normal folk. I suggest gathering a bountiful cache of shotgun shells, containing both buck and slug shell variants. May the faith and might of the good Lord be with you. We can kill all Hell-monkeys through Christ who strengthens us. 

- Jayson A. Caballo
Senior Brigadier General
U.S. Marine Corps.

This is no chain letter. This is no anxious warning. This creature will kill you and me, whether we reblog it or not. There is no retribution; there is no saving us. It’s singular black nipple, with its mystic fecundity, will nurture dozens of offspring, and it’s growing brood of hell-monkeys will conquer towns, cities, states, countries, worlds. Don’t shoot the messenger; save your ammo for your pathetic attempts to keep the hell-monkeys at bay. They’ll start with the children, eating our own precious children before our very eyes. Hell, they might just stop there! I’m sure Hades will let them back in to Hell with a mere sacrifice of forty young children. The breeder of this ghoulish primate, Nestor B. Kilgore IV, said the only way to stay the beast is to plunge your forefinger and middle finger into the foul demon’s nostrils and use a hooking technique to break the neck and spinal cord instantly. Of course, Mr. Kilgore IV is a heavyweight boxer and a professional weight lifter, and could do this with no problem. It will be much more difficult for us normal folk. I suggest gathering a bountiful cache of shotgun shells, containing both buck and slug shell variants. May the faith and might of the good Lord be with you. We can kill all Hell-monkeys through Christ who strengthens us.

- Jayson A. Caballo

Senior Brigadier General

U.S. Marine Corps.

"Say, that’s no good!"
Robert G. Geist was my grandfather, and he got in a pretty gnarly automobile accident in Guam that got him discharged from the marine corps. He was sent home, and he then made a family that eventually spawned me. 
The accident killed one man and mashed up another fellow, so my grandpa was mighty lucky to only get two big slices on his arm and his leg. Say, the butterfly effect is a crazy thing. One little accident and I wouldn’t even be here.
Anyways, I thought this thing was fascinating. It’s a tangible, legible piece of my family history that makes WWII, my grandfather, and well, all of time more real. It’s just beyond everything.
Thanks,
Luke

"Say, that’s no good!"

Robert G. Geist was my grandfather, and he got in a pretty gnarly automobile accident in Guam that got him discharged from the marine corps. He was sent home, and he then made a family that eventually spawned me. 

The accident killed one man and mashed up another fellow, so my grandpa was mighty lucky to only get two big slices on his arm and his leg. Say, the butterfly effect is a crazy thing. One little accident and I wouldn’t even be here.

Anyways, I thought this thing was fascinating. It’s a tangible, legible piece of my family history that makes WWII, my grandfather, and well, all of time more real. It’s just beyond everything.

Thanks,

Luke

Grandma and Friends
(my grandma’s in the center)

Grandma and Friends

(my grandma’s in the center)

Matriarchal Lineage

Matriarchal Lineage

Senior Day, 1944

Senior Day, 1944