Like hell is Jack going to stand by and let the other skeletons have all the fun!
THIS IS THE BEST
He should be their ruler
Well, he is the skeleton king
Correction, he is the pumpkin king. But he could totally have an alliance with the skeleton king.
The pumpkin army joins the skeleton war.
This is the Buckley Family. The children’s names were Susan and John. As a Halloween joke, all the kids in the neighborhood were going to get a dummy and pretend to chop its head off. The Buckley children thought it would be hilarious to actually murder their mother, so when the kids walked up the the door, they got an axe and slaughtered her. Once everyone figured out what they had really done, they called the police, but the kids were long gone by then. The only picture of them was this photo, taken by a trick or treater. The mothers body was later found half eaten.
Someone make this a Supernatural episode
This week on “Why Kids Are Fucked Up”
I’m not sure I believe this, given the exposure time required on those old cameras. And the fact someone would’ve had to take the picture for them in that long time frame, and be ok with the decapitated mother.
This circulates every year and it’s not real and I really don’t feel like finding the sources but it’s fake stop this nonsense
What the fuck was wrong with men in the 60’s?
advertising is important as it’s the historian’s best resource for identifying the values of an era. but yeah, these were fucked. the 60s was generally as fucked as the 50s. people forget that.
It literally says ‘men are better than women’ in bold type, what the fuck. I knew this was a thing, but that is a lack of subtlety I couldn’t have written into a spoof…
This is the generation that spawned most of our parents… People our parents’ age run Washington. Starting to make sense?
When you look to the past, the struggles of the present become a great deal more clear.
Hey Everyone, just an FYI…. This is not over. This is not exclusive to “our parents generation”
Oh hey look, a Hardee’s ad
That time Peter Parker was trained by Natasha Romanoff.
It’s a spider thing
It’s a spider thing
Don’t you love how Peter can do it with his calves but Natasha has to use her inner thighs. This whole equality thing is great.
Thighs are stronger than calves, and you can get a tighter grip, as well as have a higher chance of breaking things. Peter was intending to disarm, Natasha was ready to kill. Natasha is a trained assassin, and Peter is a student who works for a newspaper.
Given their backgrounds and experiences, it would be UNequal to have Peter using skills and disarming tactics that Natasha was trained to do so.
So yes, this whole equality thing is great.
This post is brilliant.
also peter has bALLS OK you dont want to SLAM YOUR FUCKING TESTICLES into someons fucking SKULL
Reblogging for last comment. Laughing for 3257865 years
"I used to be a beat cop a long time ago.
And I’d get called out on domestic disputes all the time, hundreds probably over the years.
But there was this one guy, this one piece of shit, that I will never forget. Gordy, he looked like Bo Svenson, you remember him? Walking Tall? You don’t remember? Anyway, big boy. 270, 280. But his wife, whatever she was, his lady…was real small. Like a bird. Wrists like little branches. Anyway, my partner and I got called out there every weekend, and one of us would pull her aside and say “come on, tonight’s the night we press charges.” And this wasn’t one of those deep-down he-loves-me set-ups — we get a lot of those — but not this. This girl was scared. She wasn’t going to cross him, no way, no how. Nothing we could do but pass her off to the EMT’s, put him in a car and drive him downtown, throw him in the drunk tank. He sleeps it off, next morning out he goes. Back home.
But one night, my partner’s out sick, and it’s just me. And the call comes in and it’s the usual crap. Broke her nose in the shower kind of thing. So I cuff him, put him in the car and away we go. Only that night, we’re driving into town, and this sideways asshole is in my back seat humming “Danny Boy.” And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel him down, and I put my revolver in his mouth, and I told him, “This is it. This is how it ends.” And he’s crying, going to the bathroom all over himself, swearing to God he’s going to leave her alone. Screaming … as much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told him to be quiet. Cause I needed to think about what I was going to do here. And of course he got quiet. Goes still. And real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. And we just stood there for a while, me acting like I’m thinking things over, and Prince Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in his pants. And after a few minutes I took the gun out of his mouth, and I say, “So help me if you touch her again I will such-and-such and such-and-such and blah blah blah blah blah”.
Just trying to do the right thing. But two weeks later he killed her. Of course. Caved her head in with the base of a Waring blender. We got there, there was so much blood you could taste the metal. The moral of the story is: I chose a half measure, when I should have gone all the way. I’ll never make that mistake again.
No More Half Measures Walter.”