People describe shoebill storks as being scary or ugly birds and always use one image to make their point. When in every other photo they look like this

More like shoebill dork

African-American cowgirl Nellie Brown, and her horse. Circa 1900 - 1915.

I...tried to make a meme and got carried away and made A Thing that is like partially unfinished because i spent like 3 hours on it and then got tired.

I think this is mostly scientifically accurate but truth be told, there seems to be relatively little research on succession in regards to lawns specifically (as opposed to like, pastures). I am not exaggerating how bad they are for biodiversity though—recent research has referred to them as "ecological deserts."

Feel free to repost, no need for credit

imagine if you will, a fairly dry survival crafting game in which you live in a bunker and must periodically venture out to scavenge food, set up turrets for attacking monsters, etc

now, your computer inside the bunker has a game-inside-a-game on it which is a charming farming sim of undeniably greater quality and scope than the survival game you're playing. therefore, the object of the game becomes to keep your bunker secure so you can play the farming game more.

now, once you achieve the highest rating in the farming game, a secret shop inside it unlocks, and one of the novelty items you can purchase is a game console, giving you access to games-inside-a-game-inside-a-game. most of the games for it are typical mobile shovelware, but one of them is a highly polished, extremely brutal precision platformer with amazing level design and production values exceeding that of the survival game and farming sim combined.

it is only at this point that the purpose of this entire contrivance becomes clear: to create the most deranged speedrun community the world has ever seen.

Yesterday after mass I had an extensive conversation about milk and how enthusiastic I and my interlocutor are about consuming diary. I thought I would share this just to flex on the lactose intolerant

Did you know? Tumblr DOES have a post length limit. Strangely, though, it's based on how many blocks of text you have. Supposedly this implies that you can have any length post so long as it's one block of text? Very strange, will have to investigate further.

Don’t tell your daughter that when a boy is mean or rude to her it’s because he has a crush on her. Don’t teach her that abuse is a sign of love.

I love this

saw a post that was like "breakups are being forced to un-love someone" and my immediate reaction was well no wonder you're feeling like garbage. stop trying to un-love what you can't un-love and work on loving them right instead. brother and sister and fellow human being are all RIGHT THERE FOR THE TAKING and you're like "eueueueuuuh i must un-love this person" like wtf no you don't. i have never stopped loving anyone in my entire life and i wish them all well and they broke my heart a thousand times but it was theirs to break anyway and don't you get it don't you understand i am not going to un-love you when the only point of my loving you at all was that you were worthy of my love.

it's such a great time to be making art of any kind

““Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real.” “Does it hurt?” asked the Rabbit. “Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real, you don’t mind being hurt.” “Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” he asked, “or bit by bit?” “It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out, and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.””

— The Velveteen Rabbit

The San Francisco Examiner, California, February 25, 1935