Parents: This can’t be true about you, you didn’t show any signs when you were younger!

Also parents: *would have destroyed your life if you’d shown any signs when you were younger*

Also parents: *aggressively ignored all signs you’ve ever shown*

also parents: *labeled any and all signs as personal failures of yours*









Say hello to mechanically separated chicken. It’s what all fast-food chicken is made from—things like chicken nuggets and patties. Also, the processed frozen chicken in the stores is made from it.

Basically, the entire chicken is smashed and pressed through a sieve—bones, eyes, guts, and all. it comes out looking like this.

There’s more: because it’s crawling with bacteria, it will be washed with ammonia, soaked in it, actually. Then, because it tastes gross, it will be reflavored artificially. Then, because it is weirdly pink, it will be dyed with artificial color.

But, hey, at least it tastes good, right?

High five, America!

oh my god

bitch that’s the tubby custard machine


im crying


“bitch that’s the tubby custard machine”

10,000 years from now on the dawn of a new civilization where we are all just brains in jars flying spaceships through the vast unknowable void, i will still be laughing my ass off at “bitch that’s the tubby custard machine”. this i vow.

i cannot believe this post is back on my dash

I can’t believe that someone actually tried to use a gif from Teletubbies to cry about the fast food industry.



Boozhoo (hello), my name is Ken, I am a disabled Ojibwe artist from northern Wisconsin. I am writing this post because I am having a hard time making ends meet and any donations I could possibly receive at this time would be greatly appreciated. Recent events have left my bank account depleted and my cupboards bare, I have some food but it will not last and I still do not know how I will cover all the utility bills.

I do have PayPal, that is really the best way to donate at this time, the email I use for that is: baapimakwa@gmail.com, or you can click here.

Miigwech (thank you) everyone. Working hard to at least get caught up and still coming up short, every little bit helps.

Miigwech all, still trying to plan a big shopping trip, there’s better food choices and prices if I can get to Duluth, MN, this means 4hrs of travel and a need for gas money and most likely having to buy a meal for my driver. Though this seems like a lot for just food shopping it makes sense as local options, especially on the reservation, or the tourist trap of a town next to it, include far more expensive and less healthy options. Any help is greatly appreciated, hoping to get all stocked up before the first big snowfall.



This is the FUCK TRUMP fairy god mother, ,,good luck and tidings will come to you but only if you comment FUCK TRUMP

Okay but you’re missing this best part!
This is the Texas woman,

Karen Fonseca, who was threatened by the local Sheriff, Troy Nehls, that she could be arrested for this bumper sticker. She responded with a bumper sticker that read, “Fuck  Sheriff

Troy Nehls

and Fuck you for voting for him”. Meanwhile, the “Fuck Trump” sticker sales in the county where she lives have sky rocketed. 
Please just read the whole story. 




Me: “How can I help you today, ma’am?”

Client: “Is e-mail internet”?

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Client: “Is e-mail on the internet? I have no internet, can I still read my e-mail?”

Me: “Well yes, you must be able to get online to view your e-mail.”

Client: “Oh, dear. I can’t see my e-mail.”

Me: “Well, let’s see. Can you open up Internet Explorer for me and tell me what you see?”

Client: “Open what?”

Me: “Your browser, can you open up your browser?”

Client: “My…my…?”

Me: “What you click on when you want to browse the internet?”

Client: “I don’t use anything, I just turn my computer on, and it’s there.”

Me: “Okay. Do you see the little blue ‘e’ icon on your desktop?”

Client: “You mean I have to start writing letters again?”

Me: “I’m…what, I’m sorry?”

Client: “I don’t have any pens at my desk. I just want my e-mail again.”

Me: “No, ma’am, your desktop, on your computer screen. Can you click on the little blue ‘e’ on your computer screen for me?”

Client: “Oh, this is too much work. I’m too upset. Just send me my e-mail. Can’t you send me my e-mail?”

Me: “We…okay, ma’am. Can you tell me what color the lights are on your router right now?”

Client: “My what?”

Me: “The little box with green or possibly a couple of red lights on it right now – it’s most likely near your computer?”

Client: “Lights and boxes, boxes and lights, just get my e-mail for me.

Me: “My test is showing that you should be able to get online right now. Can you tell me what you’re seeing on your computer screen?”

Client: “It’s been the same thing for the last two hours.”

Me: “An error message?”

Client: “No, just stars. It’s black and moving stars.”

Me: “…Do you see your mouse next to your keyboard?”

Client: “Yes.”

Me: “Move it for me.”

Client: “Move it?”

Me: “Yes. Move it.”

Client: “My e-mail!”

This post gave me a fucking ulcer.

You meet people like this at the library. People who have been coming in every day for YEARS to use the computers and monopolize your time with conversations like this, that seem to go out of their way to avoid listening to anything you try to teach them because they’d rather you just do it for them.

So one day, this tiny, frail little woman comes to the desk with a huge folder of papers under her arm. She says “I need to use one of the computers,” and I’m like “alright, I’ll set you up with a guest account.”

And then she says “I’ll also need you to show me how to use a computer. I’m 97 years old and I’ve never even touched one before, but I need to file my health information and they told me I needed to do it using this,” and she holds out a little scrap of paper with a url scrawled on it in a shaky hand.

And I’m just mentally like ‘oh no,’ but I say of course I can help her. So I sit her down and sign her in, and she stops me to ask basically what the mouse is, and I explain it, but I’m just thinking that this is going to take a million years. But I start doing a quick and dirty run down of the parts of the computer, the programs, the desktop, what a url is and what the Internet is, what a search engine is, what websites are, and so on.

She doesn’t interrupt or ask any questions or anything, and then I’m like ‘okay let’s go to this url’ and it’s an interactive, multi-page form that she needs to put all that info in her folder into and submit, and I’m just terrified as I’m explaining it that I’m going to spend all day with this woman.

But she’s just like “alright. I think I’ve got it.” And she must have had a secretary job back in the typewriter days, because she just *whips* through the first page of the form and submits and goes on to the next, and tells me she’ll find me if she needs me.

She came over once to tell me she needed an email address and wanted to know how to set one up – I told her about her options and she picked Gmail and went back to the computer and set it up all by herself, and got her information all filed properly in about an hour and a half – and she’d NEVER used a computer before in her LIFE.

When she was done, she came over to ask me how to turn it off and I showed her and she thanked me for being so patient, and I told her quite honestly that I’d NEVER seen a novice adult pick up using a computer so fast.

And she said “oh, but it’s so simple! And so useful! My grandkids made it sound so difficult, but I’m going to pick up my own computer tomorrow!”

And I think she must have, because I never saw her in the library again.

Anyway I hope I’m that quick when I’m 97.