Story Time: I Taught My Little Cousin Her First Longer Word When She Was Very Young. I Taught Her To

Japanese tea bag maker Ocean-Teabag has been making waves by creating little parcels of aroma in the shape of marine animals. Luckily for us, their wide range of tea bags are available at online Japanese novelty retailer Village Vanguard, maker of such fine products as Space Tea and cat-shaped kitchen utensils.

Ocean-Teabag’s earliest designs included beautiful dolphin tea bags filled with blue mallow tea leaves. Steeping them turns your otherwise normal pot of water into a tranquil ocean. Proving to be a hit among tea lovers, Ocean-Teabag expanded their repertoire to many other sea creatures including the sea turtle (butterfly pea jasmine tea)…

the distinctive ocean sunfish (Japanese hojicha — roasted green tea)…

the graceful manta ray (tropical mango tea)…

and even a blood-thirsty shark (blended herb tea).

The newest addition to their robust series of marine creatures is a tea bag shaped like an innocuous sea cucumber. This little parcel is filled with jasmine tea, as well as a smidgen of sea cucumber powder to lend some authenticity. Ocean-Teabag warns that some people who have a sensitive tongue may find it tasting a little fishy.

The company also crafted a deep sea series that will satisfy even the most adventurous of tea drinkers out there. A few such examples are the anglerfish (earl grey tea)…

the creepy giant isopod (Eastern Beauty oolong tea)…

the horseshoe crab (white apricot tea)…

…and lastly the king of them all, the enormous giant oarfish. ( Delicious Assam tea of epic proportions! ) Just like its namesake, it measures a whopping 19 centimeters (7.5 inches). Drinking tea becomes an art when half of your tea bag hangs out of your cup.

 While the notion of turning your cup of tea into fish-inhabiting waters is not new, these tea bags will hopefully conjure up images of gentle ocean waves in your mind. 

WHERE TO FIND THE TEA

Reblog if Talyn is just as great as Joan

Interspecies lesbianism

everyone who reads this post will get some big spicy joy within 24 large minutes (hours)

I can’t stop laughing because…

like I don’t know how you can get more obvious than tweeting “I’m sure I’m bisexual,” but clearly The Sun isn’t convinced

Parasite and Girl

me daydreaming in class, not retaining anything

Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.

I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.

This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.

So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.

Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.

“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.

“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”

“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.

I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.

Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.

I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.

So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.

While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.

After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.

“I saw your snake,” I told him.

“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”

“He was sleeping.”

“Yes, he enjoys that.”

“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”

He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”

Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.

Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.

“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”

When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.

All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.

He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”

Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.

In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.

But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.

He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.

By hand.

With a fountain pen.

And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.

*googles ‘how to nominate reporter for Peabody Award’* x

Charities/organisations to avoid:

PETA: They’d rather spend their money on publicity campaigns than on the animals in their care. PETA killed 73.8% of the animals in their care in 2015 (x)

FCKH8: Is a for-profit company that exploits oppressed groups for money. They’re also wildly uninformed, and spread misogyny, cissexism and bi/panphobia, as well as stealing their posts/designs (x)

Autism Speaks: They spend most of their money on researching a way to eliminate autism, heighten the stigma against autism and don’t have a single autistic person on their board (x)

Please support other, better charities, and feel free to add any others you can think of to this.