Untitled


thefrogman:

By Franzi [tumblr]

thefrogman:

By Franzi [tumblr]

Source: floccinaucinihilipilificationa

breelifts:

socialjusticekoolaid:

Protesters from across St Louis turned up and turned out for the first St Louis County Council Meeting since Mike Brown’s Death. (Part I)

The St Louis County Council wasn’t as bad as Ferguson’s Council, but still very few answers and virtually no accountability from the folks who unleashed unholy hell on the residents of Ferguson, following Brown’s murder. #staywoke #farfromover

KEEP POSTING I NEED TO KNOW! DONT STOP POSTING ABOUT THIS. IT IS NOT OVER!

Source: socialjusticekoolaid

kittydoom:

exgynocraticgrrl:

Breaking The Male Code: After Steubenville, A Call To Action

 (Left to Right): Peter Buffett, Jimmie Briggs, Joe Ehrmann, Tony Porter,
 Dave Zirin and Moderator Eve Ensler.

MIC DROP

Source: exgynocraticgrrl

Source: englishmajorinrepair

vanguard1219:

uvsiren:

Discworld

Discworld Death is best Death.

Source: uvsiren

c-adaverine:

Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan on November 16, 1581

Ilya Repin

This painting depicts the historical 16th century story of Ivan the Terrible mortally wounding his son in Ivan in a fit of rage. By far the most psychologically intense of Repin’s paintings, the Emperor’s face is fraught with terror, as his son lay quietly dying in his arms, blood dripping down the side of his face.

So horribly moving.

Source: c-adaverine

guidedbygandalf:

nateswinehart:

Being good to each other is so important, guys.

This is so relevant to my feelings lately, guys.

For my Interpersonal Studies Class :)

Source: nateswinehart

ninjasexfarty:

Important, always-relevant comic done by the wonderful Ursa Eyer.

Source: ninjasexfarty

huffingtonpost:

Jon Stewart’s Priceless Response To Fox News On Ferguson

Jon Stewart is back from vacation, and he’s not wasting any time going after one of his favorite targets: Fox News.

Watch his the full brilliant 10  minute monologue on racism and Ferguson  here. 

Source: huffingtonpost

whosthewhatnow:


O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            The arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

whosthewhatnow:

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
                         But O heart! heart! heart!
                            O the bleeding drops of red,
                               Where on the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
                         Here Captain! dear father!
                            The arm beneath your head!
                               It is some dream that on the deck,
                                 You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
                         Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
                            But I with mournful tread,
                               Walk the deck my Captain lies,
                                  Fallen cold and dead.