How could I forget this little gem earlier?
I passed a pill bug that was stuck on its back, and without thinking, I bent over and flipped him. If it could talk, it would have probably thanked me, but I felt really good about it anyway. That’s why I think I should be the next president of the United States.
The name's Tim. Nice to meet you, maybe.
I play guitar, sing silly songs, write stuff, draw shitty pictures and make people on the Internet mad on a professional level. I drink a lot of tea and write letters to pen pals. I also think about death a lot.
I’m not gonna do it for my current girlfriend, but can someone out there please name their next girlfriend’s vagina “The Magic Conch” and whisper questions to it in my place please?
A picture usually says a thousand words but this one just says “I fucking hate post-2004 Spongebob with a passion man goddamn”.
Me in yo girl while you at work
I don’t see how you can hate from outside of the Salty Spitoon.
You can’t even get in.
“Welcome to the Punk Spitoon, how punk are ya?”
“I ate a bowl of punk for breakfast.”
“Psh, yeah, so?”
“Without any punk.”
“Uhh, right this way.”
As I hold my grandfather’s hand while he lay on his death bed, tears forming in my eyes and trickling down my cheeks, I hear him make a short-breathed gasp, as if he were trying to speak. He hadn’t spoken in days. The rest of the family was sure he would go peacefully: That he had accepted death, and even welcomed it. There was no more he had to say, and his time was done. But something convinced me otherwise, and until that moment, I had patiently awaited a sign from my grandfather. That sign was finally here.
He tried to say my name. He didn’t forget, but it was so difficult for him to say anything. Finally, he took a deep breath and whispered for me to come closer. I obliged eagerly and sadly, knowing that my grandfather was going to die soon. Leaning in close to his mouth, my heart beating out of my chest, I asked him what he wanted to tell me. After a few choked coughs, he whispered, very slowly into my ear and taking desperate breaths between each word, “Ravioli… ravioli… give me the… formuoli…”
And then he died.
Always remember, P.O.O.P.!
P - What the fuck did
O - you just fucking
O - say about me
P - you little bitch?
ekatva asked: What do we need to do to get out of the kelp forest?
Now, I know what you’re thinking: The answer is “nothing”, right? Well, yes, that’s true, but it’s not that simple. The “kelp forest” you mentioned represents obstacles, and all of the problems in your life. And, of course, you want to get out of this kelp forest, and return to the great things that lie outside of it. But, like Squidward, the harder you try, the more futile the task of escaping becomes. Sometimes, when you want to move forward, all you have to do is be patient, wait, take it easy and just groove on with life instead of trying to take everything under your control, or, as the Magic Conch put it, just do…
“Nothing.”
He poisoned our malt liquor, burned all our kush, and delivered stank ass hoes to our houses!
People who don’t think that “Band Geeks” is the absolute greatest Spongebob episode
food…
water…
atmosphere…
That’s a wrap, people. Everyone go home. We’re shutting down the Internet.
Girl, in the beginning, you and I were like old Spongebob episodes, but now we’re like new Spongebob episodes. So I’m breaking up with you.
