even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Brand New - Out Of Range
"Am I a torn up tattered worn out piece of fabric not suitable to stitch or repair? Cause I’d like to be tightly braided gold and silver bracelets
the type you’d like to wear round your wrist.”
no regrets pancakes.
keep an eye out for this poem coming up.
Wizard’s Beer Pong
These are the rules we came up with:
Typical Beer Pong Rules apply. However, the winner is not necessarily the person/team who sinks their last cup, but rather the person/team who has the most points at the end of the game.
You don’t have to shoot through a hoop to clear a cup, but you do need to shoot through a hoop to score points. Middle hoop is worth 10, side hoops are worth 20 (and you have to land a cup too, not JUST get it through a hoop).
The person/team that clears their last cup gets a 40 point bonus (a bit like catching the snitch).
Have fun kids. Don’t quiddich and drive.
another Friday spent being lame.
My grandpa flaunts a gold tooth when he smiles
like I dare you to take something from between my lips.
His tooth shines from the light of the TV screen
when my family watches Telemundo during dinnertime.
While I practice my Spanish,
grandpa unhinges the English from his mouth, at least for a little while.
This is how we both learn how to be Panamanian-American.
Through television and food.
He tells us of our ancestors.
How they raised maize and yucca from the earth,
hands, steeped in indigenous soil.
How as warriors, we drank cacao and water bitter from the gourd,
a medicine sacred to the gods.
Between growing up in Colon, Panama and a tour in the US ARMY,
grandpa is a proud, old soldier, marching through a never-ending war.
At 66, we are scared that another stroke could do what no war ever could
and cut him to the ground.
like Aunt Maritsa didn’t lose both her legs to diabetes last year,
like half our neighborhood doesn’t look like the emergency ward of a hospital,
like he hasn’t seen the pictures, how it is impossible to tell the difference
between a road-side bomb victim and someone who forgot to take their insulin.
Grandpa keeps at least two twelve-packs of soda in the fridge at all times.
Sunny Delight, Tampico, Hi-C, a jug of Kool-Aid in the back.
Dr. Pepper lines our refrigerator door like a vest of dynamite.
An arsenal of ways for us to self-detonate.
It is how you learn to drink growing up in a country,
where soda is cheaper than clean water,
where hunger is a canal carved deep into your belly,
where the only options for work are the docks and the ARMY
because your country is as occupied by Coca-Cola as it is by the US military.
When you must march to the call of whatever feeds family first,
you drink whatever fits conveniently in your hands.
I understand, grandpa.
But don’t you know we are still at war with a country that wants us dead?
How us children of Panama and America learn early
to walk softly and carry a big stick
like ARMY assault rifle in one hand,
Coca-Cola bottle in the other.
Our country wasn’t enough,
they are colonizing our bodies, our taste buds.
It isn’t a coincidence that the military and beverage companies call us their target audience,
our black and brown bodies marching to the center of their crosshairs.
At home, a Coca-Cola commercial followed by a US ARMY commercial
flickers across my grandfather’s tooth
and they both shine like the discharge of a gun.
I learned to drink like grandpa,
like Colon, Panama.
I learned to drink like 14 billion dollars
spent on soft drink advertising last year.
The threat of diabetes is as common in our family
as hard work, obedience and discipline.
It is as common as Coca-Cola in our refrigerator.
And we drink until the glass is empty.
We ain’t never learned how to pull maize from the soil
but we did learn to pull the tab of a Coke can.
Don’t it sound like the linchpin of a grenade?
Both explode under pressure.
Ain’t we just time bombs then?
We march until they cut the legs out from under us.
Ain’t we perfect soldiers?
- poem Gabriel Cortez
film directed by Jamie DeWolf
Such a powerful poem. I can relate.
i’ve done it
i’ve finally found the one picture that completely describes my entire life
me. right now. post 10-hour library session.
everyone stop what you’re doing right now
i’m sorry can we just look at this
they puT FUDGE IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS ALREADY AMAZING CREATION
I think I may cry..
THIS ONE HAS LITTLE PEACE SIGNS MADE OF FUDGE AND CARAMEL COOKIES IN IT
fairly certain this isn’t actually new but it’s still FUCKING AWESOME
Well, he was sorta asking for it, dressing in such flammable clothing.
if he didnt want to get set on fire, he should have stayed indoors
He was probably drinking that night, alcohol makes you susceptible to fire.
If it’s a legitimate inferno, the male body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.
God I love you, Internet.
Why didn’t he stop, drop, and roll? He should have stopped, dropped, and rolled. He must have secretly wanted it.
If you read the article, eyewitnesses said the man had purchased a lighter earlier that same day. Dude probably set himself on fire and lied about it. Typical.
He should have relaxed and enjoyed it. After all it was just a bit of kindling cuddling
We need to start educating people about wearing fire-safe clothing and carrying extinguishers with them at all times. For their own safety.
Everytime i see this, the comments keep getting better
whoever wrote this line needs to receive a medal
I will reblog this until my fingers bleed
Seth Myers wrote that line, that’s why he’s smiling.