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csinczi:

azigazanigazimzperx:

csinczi:

standardhiba:

hammertc:

Elhagytam a valamim

Nem én.

Időnként szembejönnek posztok, hogy valaki buszmegállóban felejtette a laptopját, hegedűjét, falábát srb. Az ember próbálja elképzelni, hogy működik ez. Nehéz.

Olyat még nem nagyon olvastam, hogy “részeg voltam, elhagytam”. Ez több dolgot is jelenthet.

  • Elkerültek a részeg elhagyók posztjai
  • Részegen az emberek nem hagynak el dolgokat
  • Ha mégis, nem írnak róla posztot
  • Ha mégis, nem írják bele, hogy részegen történt

nálam mindennek a teteje:
elhagyta a laptopját, rajta egy teljes regény EGYETLEN kézirata.
Kész. Duplán hülye.

Mondjuk, @csinczi a múltkor jókat mesélt, hogy miket hagynak el az emberek :D

jelen pillanatban épp valakinek a cipőjét keressük.

Hamupipoke?

az! aki a műlábában csempészte a heroint.

az Julius Caesar volt.

Jan 9

habkeinbock:

kave-elott-ne-szolj-hozzam:

kapufa6:

ampervadasz:

Légvédelmi sziréna (Unmute !)

Ez próba! Ez próba!

szirénázásból jeles!

Hát ez!:0

lejátszottam kíváncsiságból, hát a Gandalf meg a Mogyi tiszta idegbaj lettek tőle, itt keresték, hogy a) ki sír és hol, b) mi a fene baja van

Jan 7

gothiccharmschool:

bramblepatch:

wetwareproblem:

skyheartstar13:

wetwareproblem:

thievesguilding:

wetwareproblem:

thievesguilding:

wetwareproblem:

thievesguilding:

corvidobligation:

thievesguilding:

mickleburger:

thievesguilding:

thenightling:

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honestly if you want to take proper care of your goths you shouldn’t take them outside in hot weather at all, just winter and MAYBE late autumn/early spring if you live in a cool climate

people really should do this kind of research before getting goths at all but as long as they’re willing to learn and adapt i guess

there are breeds of goth suitable for warmer climes but you have to be very careful when looking for one and you cannot assume that your goth is one of them if you don’t know for sure what they are

even the warm-climate breeds still usually do better in their native locale’s winter temperatures though, and shouldn’t be left outside in the summer unattended or, at the bare minimum, they should be given plentiful shade, cold water, and appropriate music to keep them calm

Honestly, if you want something less fragile than a goth, you should be considering something like a punk anyway. There’s no need to expose goths to the heat, IMHO. Admittedly there’s differences you need to do research on, but punks are very rewarding. And for God’s sake, if anyone tells you ANY emo can handle the heat, run. They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.

goths aren’t fragile though? they’re not heat-tolerant but they’re extremely hardy in dark and stormy weather, metal concerts, and dramatic emotional episodes. just because they aren’t well-suited to one weather pattern doesn’t mean they can’t be extremely hardy and rewarding to keep under conditions they’re better suited to.

Forget the climate thing, there’s a more important husbandry issue here:

WHO THE FUCK PUT THEM OUT IN THE DAYTIME?

Direct sunlight is extremely harmful to goths! THey should never be outdoors before twilight!

Do your damn research, people.

you’re missing a key point though

goths need the opportunity to complain about sunlight, it’s vital to their wellbeing; as long as their time in it is carefully controlled and they’re given sufficient sunscreen and shade, it can be amazing and 100% necessary enrichment

Look at that picture. Look at it. Please tell me where the shade is, because I don’t see any. I see two goths wilting in direct sunlight. Just look at how flat their hair is! This is not even remotely acceptable care.

i never said the picture was a good example of goth husbandry, i think it’s sort of taken as a given that it’s not - nobody in this threat is endorsing it, op included

i’m just saying that it isn’t a black and white issue

Fair enough. I’ll concede that a properly-shaded porch or sunroom-type area can help them get the outdoor enrichment and complaining opportunities they need, without putting them at risk of direct sunlight or actually touching anything outdoors. But be careful not to overexpose them.

Aren’t there some varieties of goth that are built for sunlight, or is that me mistaking a similar species for goths?

You’re thinking of either New Romantics - unfortunately presumed extinct, you could tell them apart by their lack of Victorian plumage and occasional colouration - or Emos, which are the product of a crossbreeding with Shoegazers.

As mentioned above, emos don’t handle heat well, although they do better with moderate amounts of sun than purebred goths.

If it’s the ornate Victorian aesthetic you like but you want something that can keep up with a more active, diurnal lifestyle, you might consider a steampunk or steampunk cross? I know they’re somewhat out of fashion these days, but they can be just as endearingly dramatic as other goth breeds, and they thrive on daylight outings.

If you want want to give your goth outdoor enrichment, but don’t have an enclosure with shade, parasols are helpful. Also make sure the outdoor enrichment is appropriate! Graveyard picnics are ideal.

One last bit of advice: if the choice is between an enclosure or more closet space, goths prefer the latter.

Jan 3

What if Harry Potter, the chosen one, had turned out to be a squib, how do you think history would have turned out differently?

Anonymous

ink-splotch:

It was Mrs. Figg who suspected first.

She noticed many things, sitting on her side of her fence with her cats chasing butterflies and nuzzling her ankles, Mundungus and the other watchers dropping by for tea now and then.

Mrs. Figg noticed that Petunia was a nosy bit of work with insecurities hanging from her every harsh angle. She noticed when Dudley learned the word MINE– the whole neighborhood noticed that one. She noticed that Vernon glared at owls.

She noticed that when Petunia gave Harry a truly horrendous haircut one year, it grew back in at a normal rate. Harry was uneven and weird-looking for ages, hiding under beanies when he could.

When Mrs. Figg had Harry over for carefully miserable afternoons of babysitting, she noticed nothing moved that shouldn’t. He didn’t accidentally make flowers out of fallen leaves, or levitate anything during tantrums, or turn toys funny colors.

Mrs. Figg called up her mother, interrupting the wizarding bridge game she was winning against the nursing home staff, and asked her how she had known, decades back, that her youngest daughter was a squib.

When Albus Dumbledore received Mrs. Figg’s letter he wrote back a polite thank you and then went to talk with Minerva McGonagall, who inhaled sharply in horror when he told her the news.

Finally, McGonagall gave a gathered sigh. “I suppose we can ask one of the wizarding families to homeschool him,” she said. “We can’t have the Boy Who Lived not knowing about his own world.”  

“No, he’ll come to Hogwarts,” said Dumbledore.

“Hogwarts is not a place for–” Her voice fell. “–squibs, Albus.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Harry must be taught.”

“Be taught what, Albus?”

But Dumbledore just sighed and offered her a lemon drop.

Years later, the owls and the letters came to 4 Privet Drive. The Dursleys ran, dragging Harry with them, and the letters and one stubborn gamekeeper followed– none of this would change with a magicless Harry.

When Hagrid asked Harry in that little cabin on that little rock in the middle of the sea if weird things always happened around him, Harry couldn’t tell him about vanishing glass and setting captive snakes free, about ending up somehow on the school roof, or growing his hair out overnight.  

“Strange things always happen around you, don’ they?”

“Um,” said Harry, racking his brain. “Well… I live in a cupboard under the stairs…”

Harry could tell him about how snakes sometimes talked back, because that had never been Harry’s magic, but when he did Hagrid just blanched and changed the subject.

Hagrid held out hope, even against Dumbledore’s quiet warning explanations, until they made it to Ollivander’s Wands. Harry marveled at Diagon Alley, got his hands shaken in the Leaky, pressed his nose up against shop windows. Hagrid watched the scant boy– looked at James’s messy hair, Lily’s eyes, Harry’s own wandering gaze– and he wondered how this boy could be anything but magical.

In the wand shop, Ollivander said, “James Potter, yes… mahogany, eleven inches. Pliable. A powerful wand for Transfiguration.” He said, “And your mother, Lily…  strong in Charms work, ten and… yes, ten and a quarter, willow, swishy.”

Harry picked up stick after wooden stick. They remained just that– wood with bits of feather or scale or hair. Harry wondered if the creatures who gave these offerings were still alive– if they were given or taken. What did it do to your wand when they died? He waved a maplewood wand (unicorn hair, eleven inches) and a gust from the door opening blew some receipts off the counter.

“Well, said Ollivander. “I think that’s as close as we’re likely to get.”

He sent them out with the maplewood. Hagrid bought Harry a snowy owl and a fudge sundae and tried not make it too obvious that these were condolence gifts. The next day the Prophet’s headlines read: The Boy Who Lived– A Squib? Various magical medical experts weighed in on how it might have happened. Fingers were pointed at childhood trauma, at his upbringing, at his family lineage.

Harry still met Ron on the train– Ron was still smudge-nosed and Harry still bought enough candy to share. When Molly had helped him through the platform entrance, her voice had been a little softer, a little more pitying– but it was still better than the laughter that had been in his aunt and uncle’s voices when they dropped him here to find a platform they didn’t think existed.

Hermione Granger dropped by their compartment, looking for Neville’s toad, but got distracted when she spotted Harry. “I’ve read about you! In my books, and in the paper,” she said. “You’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’re a squib.”

Harry sank down in his seat. Ron hid Scabbers under a candy wrapper.

“Squibs have never been allowed in Hogwarts,” Hermione announced. “According to Hogwarts, A History, squibs try to sneak in now and then– the furthest anyone’s ever gotten is to the Sorting Hat before they got found out.” At eleven, Hermione still believed in expulsion being worse than death. Her voice was thrumming with sympathetic horror.

“But they already found out about me,” Harry said, alarmed.

“It’s alright, mate,” said Ron. “You’re Harry Potter. Oy, Granger,” he added. “What’s this Hat? Fred and George were trying to sell me some story about having to fight a mountain troll to get your House…”

Harry sat back and watched the countryside rush by. Yes, he was Harry Potter– his aunt’s useless sister’s useless child, the boy in the lumpy hand-me-down sweaters who named the spiders who lived in his cupboard. And here, in new world, he was apparently useless too.

When they got to Hogwarts, Harry clenched his fists and stood in line with the other first years. He barely twitched at the ghosts or Peeves, just stared ahead and thought about how far he would get before they turned him around and sent him back to Vernon and Petunia.

They opened the Great Hall doors. They called the first years one by one. Harry clenched his teeth and walked up to the Hat when they called his name.

As he turned to sit down on the stool, he really caught sight of the Hall for the first time– the hovering candles, the big wooden tables, the black robes that swallowed the light. Translucent ghosts gossiped with the students beside them. The paintings on the far walls– were they moving?

Harry’s jaw had unclenched, falling open. His fists curled open, curving around the stool’s seat as he leaned forward to stare. If this was it, if this was as far as he’d get in this world, then he wanted to drink it all in. The candles were floating, in mid-air.

The Hat dropped down over his eyes and blocked out the light.

Well, said the dry voice that had been hollering House placements all night. What do we have here?

Ron had been begging for not-Slytherin. Draco from the robes shop had been scornful of Hufflepuff, desperate in his disdain. Neville had begged for Hufflepuff, sure he was not brave enough for Gryffindor.

Please, thought Harry. Don’t send me back.

Keep reading

Jan 2

findx:

image

talkingbirdguy:

biggest-gaudiest-patronuses:

sqooper:

wallpatterns:

The other day I went to McDonald’s with my family and the guy who took my order was really loud and was basically like “HAPPY HOLIDAYS WHAT CAN I GET YOU” and I was like wow I can’t let this guy outmatch me so I yelled “I’LL TAKE A HAPPY MEAL WITH THE NUG NUGS IF I MAY” you know, like a natural well-adjusted epitome of adulthood 19 year old and he was like “CERTAINLY WOULD YOU LIKE THE MIGHTY KIDS MEAL INSTEAD WITH EXTRA FRIES” and I was so sleep deprived I essentially blacked out and apparently leaned over the counter like I was robbing the place, raised my eyebrow like a suave robin hood and said “HECK YES I WOULD GOOD SIR” and then I sat down and he yelled from across the store “WOULD YOU LIKE THE PURPLE OR BLUE SPIDER-MAN” and since purple is the more superior color that’s how I answered and long story short my parents think college changed me and that I’m now the poster child for being social and I’ve only been asked once why I’m not in a relationship yet but I know it’s gonna be brought up again and how do i tell my parents it’s because whenever I eat in the dining hall I spend the entire time playing bumper cars with the wheeley chairs and all I eat is pixie sticks and the last time I was in the library (where I’m supposed to work next semester, deAr GoD) I ripped my leggings in the bathroom pulling up my pants and I walked the entire 20 mins back to my dorm with my neon underwear peeking out from the holes like a 17th century harlot with a cocaine addiction and I’ve essentially been living off jars of peanut butter and the soundtrack to the bee movie for the past year

there’s more information in this post than there was in the library of alexandria

to be fair there’s more information on a laundry label than there is in the library of alexandria

To be fair, theres more information on a sticker with a picture of a star than there is in the library of Alexandria

to be fair, fuck you two

Facebook Karácsony 2018

csinczi:

monsieurpacinyuszi:

habkeinbock:

drszoszie:

helsinkiaznyugate:

topicoelho:

standardhiba:

3ar3:

szarazon-technon:

hungarianalien:

Kifejezetten vicces olyan munkatársak idilli,giccses,családi-gyerekes képeit nézegetni most Facebook-on akikről mindenki tudja munkában éppen kit dugott meg ,vagy kit szopott le…
Főleg amikor van olyan párocska akiknél mindegyik félrekefél. :D

statusz: bonyolult

Nem hisznek a monogamiaban 🤷🏻‍♂️

Én hiszek benne.
De megértem, hogy mások nem. Jó, ha az ember ismeri magát.

Jókat mosolygok amikor a facebookra feltöltenek volt csoporttársaim családi fotókat, hogy mennyire boldog családanyák, mert eszembe jut, hogy anno fősulin 50 euróért dugták őket a külföldi vendégek,diákok 😃

Szééép……

Uristen, emberek, akik mas emberekkel szexeltek!!!!


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Originally posted by weirdnessisgood

Ugye!

Már megint ez a mások életén csámcsogós, piedesztálról morálnyilakat szóró tumblirendőrség. Köpedelem.

fujfuj szex! a világ legrosszabb dolga!

balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora sana

3 könyv, amit tök jó hogy elolvastál 2018-ban

dogimed:

lordguppi:

standardhiba:

flowjunkie:

1,    Pierce Brown - Vörös ​lázadás és utána rögtön a teljes trilógia

2,    Barabás Albert László - A képlet

3,    Frank Herbert - A dűne

DŰNE!!!!
nem most, már rég, de akkora kedvenc, hogy még csak na.

Mások többnyire az első részt kedvelik legjobban én az utolsót, amiben alig van akció, tiszta filozofálgatás, de uh, az nagyon szuperplusszos. :)

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Originally posted by welcometoyouredoom

Melyik az “utolsó”?

ha erre a Chapterhouse-on kívül bármi más a válasz, mehet az ánfolló

20 Images Of Norwegian Architecture Plucked Straight From A Fairytale

culturenlifestyle:

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The Norwegian countryside is strewn with architecture that looks better suited to crown the pages of a fairytale book. More commonly known for its Vikings heritage and fjords, these photographs display a wide variety of architectural styles that have been used throughout the Middle Ages to the 19th century in Norway. Check out the stunning collection below.

Crooked and towering wooden churches beckoning like an old crone’s fingers, winding stone path weaving through a forest, hidden waterfalls and lonely wooden cabins overlooking a vast valley at its base are some of the outlandish homes and architectural designs we have featured in this series. Teetering Stave churches, eerie waterfalls cascading down like a creature with its own mind, wooden homes made in the typical Norwegian indigenous style called byggeskikk have none of the linearity or conformity that modern buildings do, and have whimsical elements that heighten its sense of magic.  

Each of these structures below have a particular way of being set into its own environment, standing out from the elements without obstructing nature. Most of the buildings and bridges and pathways have been built with stone and wood balance the scene it has been engineered upon.

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Barn In Valldal

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Renndølsetra

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Ancient Road Vindhellavegen

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Bridge Over Låtefossen Waterfall

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Kvednafossen Waterfall In Norway

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Old Farmhouses

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At The End Of The World, Tjome

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Natural Swimming Pool In The Forest

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Old House

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House In Norway

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Fjord Houses

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Old Village

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Fisherman Hut, Undredal

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Bridge In Norway

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Rogaland, Gullingen

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Lake Bondhus

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Small House In Norway

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Fairy House In Hunderfossen, Lillehammer

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Under The Aurora

h/t: boredpanda

kicsit sok rajtuk a PS-magic, de Norge <3

exhibition-of-vanishing-time:

amydoesntdoanything:

charminglyantiquated:

fun fact: once Freddie Mercury was visiting Hungary and he saw a cool building. this cool building.

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and he asked if he could buy it and they had to explain that they were dreadfully fond of him but that is our parliament, mr. mercury

freddie mercury for ruler of hungary

as a Hungarian: YES PLEASE

could be our queen