Kettlehead Comics

for people with unusual heads

They are making 7 Arabian nights movies. You know the casting department is already thinking

kiki-eternal:

dynastylnoire:

nabokovsshadows:

image

image

image

(via eliasgoliath)

coelasquid:

I can dig it.

(Source: mako)

kingdomheartsnyctophiliac:

WHY THE SUN SETS RED

(via kickingshoes)

tank-knows:

jessehimself:

Autum Ashante was accepted into the University of Connecticut at age 13.
Stephen R. Stafford II entered Morehouse College at the age 11 with three majors. 
Tony Hansberry II at age 14 developed a time reducing method for hysterectomies at Shands Hospital 
Honor them by sharing this post.

Fuck yeah!!!

tank-knows:

jessehimself:


Autum Ashante was accepted into the University of Connecticut at age 13.


Stephen R. Stafford II entered Morehouse College at the age 11 with three majors. 


Tony Hansberry II at age 14 developed a time reducing method for hysterectomies at Shands Hospital 

Honor them by sharing this post.

Fuck yeah!!!

(Source: rare-ethnic-images-and-truth, via cynicallonghair)

lackadaisycats:

prozdvoices:

said:

I think “who was phone” in your Viktor Vasko voice would be hilarious, don’t you agree?

image

Apologies to Tracy Butler.  Everything about this is CLEARLY anachronistic, especially the term MAKING OUT, but shh, shh, that’s okay.

Viktor and Rocky are characters from the webcomic Lackadaisy, and if you haven’t read it, you really should.

The original creepypasta can be read along here.

I’m not quite sure what I just listened to, but it’s hilarious.

svveden:

rnints:

svveden:

i promise u will not regret these 11 seconds

i have no regrets

neither did ron

(via britbau)

joekeatinge:


nympheline:
This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.
I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.
The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.
"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"
Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.
Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.
I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.
But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.
"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.
"No, I’m good," I said.
"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.
Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—
“Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.
Reader, I bought them all.

File under: Why I Love Independent Book Stores. 

joekeatinge:

nympheline:

This is my favourite bookstore and bookseller in the world. Bar none.

I used to get to Seattle every six months or so, and whenever I visited I always made it a priority to stop in BLMF and ask its keeper what he’d been reading lately. He possessed an inexhaustible memory, a comfortable lack of snobbery, and impeccable taste. The first book he recommended to me, upon listening gravely to my litany of at-the-moment authors (Barbara Kingsolver, James Clavell, Maeve Binchy, Neil Gaiman, Charles DeLint, Anthony Bourdain) was Tipping the Velvet. He also later landed me with Geek Love, Anno Dracula, half the Aubreyad, and more modern Literature-with-a-capital-L than I could carry home.

The next-to-last time I dropped in, I asked if he had any P. G. Wodehouse.

"I have zero Wodehouse," he said, "and here’s why…"

Turned out that some fiend had taken to creeping in every month or so expressly to inquire of any Wodehouse and, once led to the volumes, to buy it all. ALL. Didn’t matter the condition, the edition, or whether he had another just like it in his possession; the villain bought every single P. G. Wodehouse in stock, every single time.

Was he a fan more comprehensive, more truly fanatical than any other I’d heard of, let alone known? Was he virulently anti-Wodehouse, only purchasing the books to keep their wry poison from infecting the impressionable masses? The world may never know.

I didn’t get any Wodehouse then, and I didn’t really feel the lack. I found plenty of other treasures that trip. But here’s one reason why BLMF and its proprietor are my favourite of their kind: that was two years ago, you see. Maybe three. In all that interim, I never planted foot in that bookshop. Never called. Never wrote. And I’m one face out of hundreds of thousands, dear reader; one reader he saw twice a year for three years, then not again for another three.

But I walked in the shop last Friday. Nodded hello.

"Can I help you find anything?" he asked, lifting his head from the phone.

"No, I’m good," I said.

"Wait—hold on a second." He set the phone down, walked ‘round the towers of books balanced precariously on the desk, on the floor, and atop other, only slightly less precarious towers. He jerked his head conspiratorially toward the far end of the shop, led me carefully to a shelf way in the back, removed a tattered stack of mass market paperbacks and motioned me closer to see what they’d been hiding.

Fifteen pristine Wodehouses: crisp, heavy, and—

Hardcover,” he said, and waggled his eyebrows.

Reader, I bought them all.

File under: Why I Love Independent Book Stores. 

unculture:

the rock is fucking precious

(Source: jessicaisgray, via hooligancaptain)

How to Survive a trip to IKEA

kedreeva:

  • Never go alone- bring a partner. Travel in pairs
  • Before entering, ensure that someone not entering knows you are going in, and when you expect to be out
  • Before entering, determine the cause of your mission- your mission objective. Bookcase? Couch? Oven? Meatballs? Figure it out
  • Upon entering, locate The Path
  • Do not disengage from The Path until you have reached your mission destination. Many have been lost forever to the wilds of IKEA by not obeying this. Very few are ever located again by the sparse store employees.
  • Upon reaching your mission destination, you may disengage from The Path ONLY when accompanied by your partner (physical contact should be maintained- ie, holding hands, holding shirt sleeve, both holding an end of a rope, etc)
  • When you disengage from The Path to acquire the data for your mission objective (ie, the item number for the bookcase, couch, meatballs, etc), it becomes your partner’s responsibility to maintain visual contact with The Path. Much like weeping angel statues, The Path will move if not actively being watched. This will strand you and your partner in the wilds of IKEA, so ensure you choose a partner wisely.
  • Upon acquiring the mission objective data (ie the item number), navigate back to The Path. You may disengage physical contact with your partner once you have safely returned to The Path
  • Do not leave The Path again. It will naturally end at the warehouse/stock section. This is a long, huge hall with many branches.
  • At the entrance of the warehouse section, acquire a cart if necessary. Using your item coordinates, locate your mission objective. Do not leave the main hallway except for the branch where your item is located. Like The Path, the wilds of IKEA sometimes sneak up on travelers that wander the warehouse section
  • Once your item has been loaded, head to the check out section. Do not touch anything in the boxes along the way. They appear to be full of candles or stuffed animals or useful kitchenware; it is a ruse. They are carnivorous.
  • After checking out, exit to the loading area. Load your item, and leave.
  • Do not look in your rearview mirror as you leave. It shouldn’t pursue you if you don’t look back.

(via asofterbucky)

cleolinda:

cinematicnomad:

apparently e.l. james called former child star mara wilson (matilda) a “sad f**k” for critiquing the 50shades books a while ago and now there’s a feud. i love it.

(via thediminutivelannister)

(Source: silversolicitor, via bigasslemon)

nathanael-platier:

hylian-pudding:

by ミンメ [also on pixiv]
※Posted with the artist’s permission.

duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude

nathanael-platier:

hylian-pudding:

by ミンメ [also on pixiv]

※Posted with the artist’s permission.

duuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuude

(via skoodenfroodie)

charminglyantiquated:

a little love story about mermaids and tattoos

(via thediminutivelannister)