all the sexy girls they want to kiss me brah
I’m becoming more silent these days. I’m speaking less and less in public. But my eyes, god damn, my eyes see everything.
- shrek's kid: dad... i'm... i'm gay
- shrek: well, better out than in, i always say, eh? heheheheh someBODY ONCE
WHY DO THEY ALWAYS SLICE THEIR PALM TO GET BLOOD. do you know how many nerve endings are in your hand?!?! why don’t they ever cut the back of their arm or their leg or something omfg
me everytime a character in a movie has to get a few drops of their blood for some ritual bullshit (via jtoday)
WHILE WE’RE AT IT, why do people try to cross those skinny bridges over lava/chasms/whatever by walking upright. IT’S CALLED CENTER OF GRAVITY. get on your hands and knees and crawl across that thing. HUG IT. SCOOT YOUR BUTT ACROSS. “but i look stupid!” lalalala but we’ll avoid that ~dramatic moment~ where you almost fall over and die because your damn fucking self wanted to look COOL
and stop yanking IV lines out of your arms the minute you wake up in the hospital
That is a broadsword, why are you fencing with it
There is a freaking door right there. Stop smashing through windows, damn it.
yes, mr. action hero, I am aware that running dramatically from the baddies at breakneck speed is important, but know what else is important? NOT GETTING SHOT. RUN IN A FUCKING ZIGZAG PATTERN ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT THE MOOKS WERE NOT COACHED IN MARKSMANSHIP BY THE IMPERIAL STORMTROOPERS.
Oh, hey, you there, sneaky hero-type breaking into any place for any reason? WEAR SOME FUCKING GLOVES. They’re called fingerprints, dumbass. You have them and you’re putting them all over the fucking place.
If something really fucking huge is falling on you, don’t FUCKING RUN ALONG THE LENGTH JUST TAKE LIKE TWO FUCKING STEPS TO THE SIDE
Winona Ryder in high school
"I was wearing an old Salvation Army-shop boy’s suit. I had a hall pass, so I went to the girl’s bathroom. I heard people saying "hey, faggot". They slammed my head into a locker. I fell to the ground and they started to kick the shit out of me. I had to have stitches. The school kick me out, not the bullies.
Years later, I went to a coffee shop in Petaluma, and I ran into one of the girls who’d kicked me, and she said “Winona, Winona, can I have your autograph?” and I said “Do you remember me? I went to Kenilworth. Remember how, in seventh grade, you beat up that kid?” and she said, “Kind of”, and I said “That was me. Go fuck yourself!”