Lorelai If She Didn’t Chicken Out In Chapter 9

your idiot.png

(idk if anybody already did this tho 😅)

got hit by the blade that cuts anything in twain, but it just passed through me and im not hurting?

what! the fuck.

can you kill us, the audience?

yea like this

rip sigmund freud you would have loved disaster of passion 😔

As a library worker, there’s something I want to say to you.

You do not have to apologize for the books you choose to read.

At all.  To anyone.  You owe nobody any explanations; you need no excuse or “good reason” to be reading the book.

You do not have to be ashamed for wanting to read “bad” books.  You wanna read Twilight?  We got Twilight.  Need a banal, cookie-cutter-plot mystery or thriller?  Those are always fun.  Our regulars check them out by the towering stack.  Ask Betty for recommendations; she’s read them all.  50 Shades of Oh Fucking No?  We’ve got it, we even got it in large print.  Have fun.  Check out the rest of our porn too.  Oh, and the sex manuals are a MUST if you want to “experiment” yourself.  Don’t be afraid to ask; they’re here for a reason.

Want to read a book written by a huge asshole everyone hates and agree was a monster?  Yeah, we have those.  No, we don’t think you’re an asshole for wanting to know what was actually written in there, or judging things for yourself.

You are not too old for Diary of a Wimpy Kid, The Babysitter’s Club, or Captain Underpants.  You are not too young for Sherlock Holmes.  There’s nothing wrong with a boy reading The Princess Academy or Sweet Valley High.  There’s nothing wrong with a girl being into The Hardy Boys or Artemis Fowl instead.

You do not have to pull the shame face and offer me an excuse when you check out your books.  I don’t care if I got so angry at that book I threw it against a wall when I read it: you have the right to read it, and enjoy it if it’s enjoyable for you.  THAT’S WHY THE LIBRARY HAS IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.  If we only stocked pure, unproblematic literature everyone approved of, by authors of unquestionable virtue, we wouldn’t have any books at all.  Or music.  Or movies.  It would be utterly fucking boring.  And it certainly wouldn’t be a library.

this website is too fucking easy you make a post about transgender gay sex or the skull and people black out and hit reblog

I plugged 3 consoles into one A/V port for maximum gaming.

What Comes After type beat

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy