i am crying
#eurovision song contest #the most wonderful time of the year#sometimes I wonder just how little I would know of europe’s geography and political alliances #it it wasn’t for eurovision voting #like it’s nice to know some things will never change #greece will always get 12 points from cyprus and cyprus will always get 12 points from greece #finland sweden norway and denmark always give high points to each other #every ex-sovjet country gives points to russia #balkan countries support each other #everyone hates france for making everyone listen to french all evening #and the UK will never end higher than last or next to last
I WANT TO PLAY
I WANT TO PLAY THIS.
I like this game. WE SHALL PLAY.
GAME ON YOU GUYS
GAME ON
My group at school played this today. Grievous bodily harm may have occurred.
(Source: halliebadger)
Via "Everyone thought I was mental!" "Imagine that."
WHAT IN THE NAME OF DERP JUST HAPPENED!?
i’m not a part of this fandom but benedict’s face is fucking hilarious here
why hasn’t this got like 827827272726738917623728 notes
(Source: peevess)
Via "Everyone thought I was mental!" "Imagine that."
REBLOG IF YOU WOULD ATTEND A TUMBLR USER CONVENTION.
We’d wear t-shirts with our urls on it.
And we could party together.
expressive peregrine falcons
(photos by sdwildgene)
Thespian falcon.
#to fly or not to fly—that is the question #whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the gusts and winds of outrageous fortune #or to take wing against a sea of fish and by opposing eat them
TO FLY - TO SWEEP,
NO MORE; AND BY A SWEEP TO SAY WE END
THE HEARTACHE AND THE THOUSAND NATURAL FLOCKS
THAT FISH IS HEIR TO: ‘TIS A CONSUMMATION
DEVOUTLY TO BE WISHED. TO FLY, TO SWEEP;
TO SWEEP, PERCHANCE TO DREAM - AY, THERE’S THE GRUB:
FOR IN THAT SWEEP OF DEATH WHAT STREAMS MAY COMEwhen we have molted off these mortal feathers,
must give us pause. there’s the respect
that makes calamity of so long meals.
for who would bear the winters and famines of time?
th’poacher’s wrong, the large bird’s contumely,
the pangs of despised love, the daylight’s delay,
the insolence of prey, and the spurns that
patient merit of th’unworthy take,
when he himself might his quietus make
with a bare bird claw? who would fardels bear
to squawk and caw under a weary life,
but that the dread of something after food,
the unrelenting hunger, from whose clutches
no hunter returns, puzzles the will.
and makes us rather bear those ills we have
than fly to others we know not of?
thus hunger does make fools of us all.
Via [Title of Tumblr]




