Police K9 jumps car to take out shooter
U GO PUPPERS
i think that french horn is out of tune, it looks a little flat.
what if we are reincarnated when we die and when we’re babies we still remember who we used to be and that’s why we cry so much as babies, because of how our old lives are gone ..and the older we get we start to forget who we used to be in a previous life.
#And the calm and quiet babies who don’t cry are people who had really bad lives and are just grateful for a second chance
Hydra, my three-headed corn snake
WHAT A BABY WHAT A THREE BABIES
i love you hydra
My jealousy of you burns with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns
I don’t even watch Doctor Who, but you have no idea how heavily invested I am in seeing this man in the role.
talking in an irish accent is so HARD how do irish people do it all the time??? very impressive
Because to them it’s not an accent, it’s the way they learned to speak.
what? ha ha i dont think thats true
chillin on a Saturday night
Calm down jojo
you’re right, I am looking a little stiff here, I should try to relax
You call that “chillin”?
Everyone knows the best way to relax is with a good book and a warm drink
I dunno, man,
sometimes I like just relaxing on my laptop
get on my level boys
So today I found out these are what Americans called ‘Smarties’
But these are Smarties
Those American ‘Smarties’ are Fizzers
Wake up America
What the fuck are fizzers
You’re both wrong those things are Rockets
Open your eyes America and the UK
I thought Smarties were made in Canada. I’m so confused.
The candy companies are fucking with us.
You sit at the restaurant with your young son, he says he is hungry. You agree to get him dinner. You open up to the kids menu, your child is far to young for adult food. Chicken nugger stares at you from the page. You don’t understand. Your palms get sweaty and your son complains. He says he is hungry. Your mind strains, searching for an answer in a world of sweer potato and french fried. You try to order the chicken nugger, but you cannot. The words cannot escape your lips. Your son is hungry, he complains. The waitress stares at you, her head a spinning chicken nugger, her arms swinging french fried. Your son cries the tears of a chicken nugger-less child. In your mind you scream. It is raining sweer potato now, you have french fried engraved on your left temple and you do not understand. Your son weeps in the corner, he is starving. Starving for the chicken nugger.