Anonymous asked:
please elaborate on how you got a substitute teacher to quit within one day. I'm genuinely curious.

mysticmoonhigh:

mamalovebone:

all right everyone sit down, shut up and listen closely because I’m about to tell y’all the tale of Ms. Mormino.

Seventh grade is a time most people don’t look back on fondly. I know I sure don’t—I tend to regard that era as nothing more than an unpleasant, acne-filled haze of fall out boy and poor attempts at pseudo-zooey deschanel fashions. But enough about me. Let’s talk about my math teacher. 

Ms. Isom. Poor old Ms. Isom. Well in her 60’s, always plagued with some illness or injury, she was hardly ever even at school. Since many of her absences were the result of short-notice incidents—“falling down the stairs” was popularly cited— it wasn’t all that uncommon to not have a substitute on hand. Being a smartass honors class, we’d gotten away with several successful evasions of administration, walking cavalierly into class  to pass the next 48 minutes doing just about nothing. Hell, for good measure, we’d sometimes even toss in a friendly “hey, Ms. Isom!” if any administrators were anywhere within earshot. So incredibly anti-establishment, you could basically call it another Project Mayhem, except instead of Brad Pitt and Ed Norton concocting homemade bombs, it was a bunch of tweenyboppers with iPhone 3’s and Justin Bieber 2009 haircuts. 

 We got pretty accustomed to our own little self-governing system that rolled around every second period, so we naturally weren’t exactly thrilled when administration caught on to our little Anarchy Act and strictly enforced the presence of a substitute every day. 

Most of our subs weren’t terrible—most were friendly, gave us participation grades, and didn’t object to the independent attitude of our class (which, mind you, only had about ten students in it) 

That is, until Ms. Mormino came along. 

Four feet, ten inches of raw, undiluted evil, Ms. Mormino walked into class with a scowl on her face and a chip on her shoulder. When the girl behind me sneezed, Ms. Mormino’s immediate response was “NO INAPPROPRIATE NOISES!” 

 Although we all suppressed our laughter, we all knew from that moment on that, try as she might with her despotism and her draconian anti-sneeze policy, Ms. Mormino didn’t stand a chance. 

 The arguable beginning of the end for Ms. Mormino’s all-too-brief reign of terror was the moment I asked for a calculator; mine was broken. Mormino asserted that I could only borrow a calculator if I loaned her something of mine; at that moment, the girl next to me chimed in, saying she, too, needed a calculator. “I have a folder I can give you,” I offered. “I have a highlighter,” added the other girl. 

 At that moment, a puberty-creaking voice from the back of the room piped up. 

Max. 

We all know certain people have certain gifts. Michelangelo saw angels in every block of marble and devoted his life to setting them free; Einstein had a mind which saw the potential of the entire universe; F. Scott Fitzgerald wove intricate tales of decadence and depravity. Max, however, had a different kind of gift: he could make anything—anything at all—into a “that’s what she said” joke. More on that later, though. 

Max pried off a Nike sneaker and held it proudly in the air, like a coveted trophy. 

"I have a shoe." 

Tottering in one-shoe-one-sock, Max dumped the sneaker on Ms. Mormino’s desk, retrieved a calculator, then tottered back to his own desk, a sort of smirk playing on his face. And, as to be expected—the rest of us quickly followed suit. 

 A small pile of shoes on her desk, Ms. Mormino grit her teeth and glared at us as we all sat back down, quietly victorious, a calculator in each of our hands. It wasn’t long, however, until we all began to silently plot our next act of minor mayhem. 

"Can I go to the bathroom?" asked Tyler, who, despite being in seventh grade, was approaching his sixteenth birthday. In a combination of verism and admiration of Tyler’s devil-may-care boldness, we unequivocally accepted him as our leader. For reasons unknown, Ms. Mormino denied his request. Tyler, much like his Fight Club namesake, heeded no rules but his own and left anyway—Ms. Mormino, furious, locked the door behind him and smugly insisted that "administration will take care of him." 

Tyler, however, was not one to be caught, and stayed close by, appearing in the window of the door whenever Ms. Mormino wasn’t looking. Waving, smiling, laughing, making faces and obscene gestures, Tyler had us all in stitches, but cleverly avoided Ms. Mormino’s sight—when she asked us what was so funny, we all refused to give Tyler away. 

A girl asked to go to the bathroom, stating she “really really really” needed to go. Ms. Mormino, again, denied her request. Ms. Mormino, however, seemed to be uninformed about the side door—leading right outside, always locked from the outside but always open from the inside. 

"Well, I’ll go myself," the girl responded, and took off, hurdling three desks and darting out the door. Right behind her, two other students took off, pursuing freedom. The door slammed behind all three students, and they were gone. 

 Six of us were left. Among us, importantly, was Chris. 

Chris was thirteen, but looked half his age; scrawny, wiry, he probably measured in at about four-foot-three, but no taller. “Late Bloomer” are words that come to mind. 

Despite his diminutive size, Chris possessed the gall of someone like Tyler.

"I have to use the bathroom," said Chris, standing. 

 ”Do you think I’m going to allow you to go to the bathroom?” snapped Ms. Mormino. 

 ”It’s an emergency!” Chris pleaded. 

"Sit down," Ms. Mormino growled. 

Meanwhile, the entire class borders on hysteria. We have tears in our eyes, almost suffocating from choking back laughter. 

"It’s an emergency," repeated Chris, but it sounded more like a warning.

"Sit."

Silence. Silence, Silence and more silence, until we all began to notice a dark stain on Chris’s khakis. The stain grew. And grew. And grew.

 Fists at his sides, stoicism in his face, and a cold, proud, triumphant glint in his eye, Chris locked eye contact with Ms. Mormino. 

And pissed right in his pants. 

The entire class erupted into a laugh only comparable to the detonation of a bomb. 

We laughed so hard for the next five, ten, fifteen minutes straight that Ms. Mormino gave up. Surrendering, putting her head on her desk, she waited until the hysteria finally subsided. 

Finally looking up, defeated, pathetic, Ms. Mormino glared at us all and wailed: 

 ”This is too much, this is too hard, too hard, Jesus Christ, this is too much for me!” 

 A lone voice sounded from the back of the room. Guess whose it was.

"That’s what she said."

Ms. Mormino officially retired from teaching that afternoon.

FUCKING READ IT IT’S WORTH IT






This created my personal headcanon that Steve is awkward as fuck with babies and holding one makes him ridiculously uncomfortable. it’s like, “It’s so tiny what do I do with it? Don’t crush it, don’t crush it, don’t crush. Oh God, it’s crying, what did I do? I must’ve done something. I broke it. My patriotism does nothing. Do I sing to it? Do I recite the Bill of Rights? I don’t even think I know the entire Bill of Rights. Wow, today is horrible.” 

(Source: jessiepinkman)




claracivry:

Who the hell is Bucky?




allthebeautifulthings9828:

Guys, look. They finally made a baby stroller for wheelchair-bound mothers. This is so important.



teal-deer:

Babe did you fall from heaven bc you seem to be a chaotic ever shifting sphere of eyes & wings making a sound not of this earth and I’m kind of hoping God sent you because this is terrifying



officialheinzdoofenshmirtz:

darkwingsnark:

officialheinzdoofenshmirtz:

you have 10 seconds to think of a way to make the average vampire movie fresh and new and exciting again

A vampire going through the daily struggles of trying to hide his ever lasting boner— as rigor mortis is an unkind friend. 

JE SUS




“I am incredibly passionate about my life, I am absolutely unable to hide any emotion. If I wrote a book, I’d have to call it ‘P is for Passion’. I don’t go in for anything halfway. My feelings about things are instant, on the spot. And my heart is always, always on my sleeve.” - Kate Winslet

mia-redworth:

How can people see Emma Watson being verbally attacked online and threatened with hacked nudes being released by men because of her speech on gender equality and still think we don’t need feminism. It’s not women who make men out to be some evil creatures, you guys do that well enough on your own.



logicnotwelcome:

ofdarklands:


browneyedcunt:


jillstrif:




Kell fell asleep on the couch one night so we gave him a pillow and a blanket Which we made out of kleenex because we always have those around on our coffee table for when we watch feely stuff


MY HEART


doesn’t even go with my blog but i can’t scroll past this without regretting not reblogging it.


#how does a cat with a kleenex pillow ‘not go with your blog’#what the fuck are you doing with your life


Dawwwwwww

perksofbeingagoat:

perksofbeingagoat:

HEY GUYS REMEMBER HER?? WENDY DAVIS IS THE MOST FUCKING BADASS WOMAN WE HAVE IN TEXAS. REMEMBER HOW SHE STOOD FOR FUCKING 10 HOURS FOR THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN ACROSS THE STATE??? YEAH THIS BADASS RIGHT HERE IS NOW RUNNING FOR GOVERNOR AND I’M SO FUCKING EXCITED YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
IF YOU WANNA HELP HERE YOU CAN DONATE TO HER CAMPAIGN HERE.  
Texas is in desperate need of her. 

like really. lets get this woman in office and start changing things around here. 

STILL A FUCKING THING THAT SHOULD BE REBLOGGED ALL THE TIME 

princess-of-lore:

mycheekyfinn:

official-nasa:

monilip:

dont-stop-runninggg:

knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit

wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad 

That was deep

philosophy is wondering if that means ketchup is a smoothie

That was deeper.

common sense is knowing that ketchup isn’t a damn smoothie you nasty

(Source: whattt-fucking-ever)




thescienceofjohnlock:

I don’t think I’m ever gonna get to 30,000 followers, so this is a ‘nearly’ giveaway (you never know maybe by the time it’s over I’ll get there).

Prizes:

1-The official BBC Sherlock soft touch note book and three Sherlock quote pencils.

2-The complete Granada Sherlock Holmes with the awesome Jeremy Brett.

3-The official BBC ‘Higher Functioning Sociopath’ mug.

4-Robert Downey Junior and Jude Law’s Sherlock Holmes DVDs.

5-The Holmes Sutra book. Not what you’re thinking. The Holmes Sutra is presented (by a crazed fan) as: (a) a compilation of one hundred and sixty mantras (aphorisms/slogans/sayings - call them what you will) - some original, some canonical, some based on various print/media adaptations - aimed to make Sherlock Holmes (and his fans) smile, and (b) a test of the readers’ Holmes Mania Quotient (HMQ)- based on the resulting HMQ score, the particular condition/stage of Holmes Mania would be determined, with possibilities of a cure.’

6-The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes DVD.

7-My edits as nine magnets and 2 prints of fan art (not mine).

All DVDs are region 2 and used (I’m not that rich).

RULES:

There will be three winners. Winners will be chosen by random number generator.

Winner one can pick 3 numbers, winner two and three can pick 2 numbers.

You must be following me and have an open ask. NO GIVEAWAY BLOGS I will check.

Winners will be notified when the giveaway ends on 21st Oct. If you don’t reply in 48 hours another winner will be picked.

I will ship internationally but I won’t pay insurance or customs fees.

Reblogs and likes count.



noordinaryelf:

This maybe the best thing ever


(Source: benedictinblue)




taiey:

"Some women like pretty girls" said the prettiest girl in Westeros to the other prettiest girl in Westeros.

(Source: rooneymara)