shrimp are referred to as an abomination four times more than homosexuality is in the bible
macklemore is writing a song about shrimp rights as we speak
when i was in the third grade i thought i was a shrimp because i could swim
And I can’t change
Even if I’m fried
Even if I’m barbecued
This is what happened when I tried mixing the MST3K theme with Fatboy Slim’s “Rockafeller Skank”.
We got Hannibal…
Got Will Graham. That was my design.
Here is a Ziggy comic for every Best Picture nominee, from our #RiffTraxOscars live tweet
Please let this be an annual event. (Maybe next year could use “Mary Worth” or “Gil Thorp!”)
The only people that shouldn’t reblog this are rapists or abusers
Less than 20 minutes to the season premiere of “Hannibal.” The wait has been killing me… and then sautéing me.
Please fire me. Temptation is winning. I’m on the edge of taking part in the most scandalous affair EVER.
Will you please stop submitting to Please Fire Me, Olivia Pope?
we’re terribly sorry, but you can’t put your disobedient child in the stowaway luggage, you’re just going to have to carry on your wayward son
No he absolutely should not.
Super Dictionary it’s almost like you don’t know ANYTHING about Joker.
Very uncomfortable about what he’s doing with his hands… and why it looks like there’s a large bump under them. (It’s probably just a flap that’s not well-drawn, but yikes.)
She wanted you to know that Jordan Davis was an individual black person. That he was an upper-middle-class kid. That his ancestry was diverse. That he had blacks in his family. Mexicans in his family. Panamanians in his family. That his great-grandfather was white. That some of his ancestors had passed.
She wanted you to know that Jordan Davis was not from the “Gunshine State.” That he was from Atlanta—Douglasville, Georgia, to be exact—where black people have things, and there is great pride in this. She wanted the world to know that Jordan Davis had things. That he lived in a three-story home in a cul-de-sac. That most of the children there had two parents. That original owners still lived in the development. That she was only the third owner. That Jordan Davis had access to all the other activities that every other kid in the neighborhood did, that he had not been deprived by divorce.
And she wanted you to know that Jordan Davis had a father. That this was why he was living in Jacksonville, where he was killed. That she was battling a second round of breast cancer and Davis’s father said to her, “Let me raise him, you get well.” She wanted you to know that she never ever kept Davis from his father. That she never put Jordan in the middle of the divorce, because she had already been there herself as a child—placed as a go-between between her mother and father. She said that this had wreaked havoc on her as a young woman. That it had even wreaked havoc on her own marriage. That she had carried that pain into relationships, into marriage, and did not want to do the same. She wanted you to know that Davis’s father, Ron, is a good man.
She wanted you to know that what happened to Jordan in Jacksonville might not have happened in Atlanta, where black people enjoy some level of prestige and influence. That Jordan believed the level of consciousness in Jacksonville was not what it was in Atlanta, and that this ultimately played into why Jordan spoke up. That this ultimately played into why he was killed. I thought of Emmett Till, who was slaughtered for not comprehending the rules. For failing to distinguish Chicago, Illinois, from Money, Mississippi. For believing that there was one America, and it was his country.