Lend me Your Eyes

rezllen:

madameocotillo:

billhitchert:

I FUCKING GIVE UP

oH MY FUCK

literally crying from laughing

ohmytheon:

karatam:

nightosphering:

postapocalypticfashion:

When Aisha Tyler was selected to be the presenter for the 2012 Ubisoft E3 press conference, she received an unprecedented flood of hate from trolls who complained about the fact that she knew nothing about gaming. Too bad haters didn’t do their homework first, because as it turns out Aisha Tyler knows more about gaming that all of us put together. Her Facebook response was awesome and predictably went viral. In case you missed it, here’s her masterpiece. Haters, take note.

Dear Gamers

I play.

I’ve played since I was a little kid. 

Since I begged my dad to buy me a Nintendo LCD Donkey Kong, Jr.

Since I blew through three weeks’ allowance playing Defender at the laundromat.

Since you were a twinge in the left side of your daddy’s underoos.

I’ve been a gamer since I made friends with a girl in the 5th grade just to get at her Atari.

Since I missed the bus playing Galaga after school.

Since I missed the start of Return of the Jedi playing Tempest in the theater lobby.

You think you know. You don’t know.

I’ve been a gamer since before you could read.

Since I aced midterms after staying up all night playing Evil Tetris.

Since I became dorm champ at Leisure Suit Larry.

Since I double-wielded on Time Crisis 3 at Fuddrucker’s.

I was a voice in not one, but two major video game titles.

I hosted the Reach Beta tutorial.

I was a Gears of War superfan panelist at ComicCon.

I hosted the Ubisoft presser at E3 2012.

I didn’t do any of it for the money. 

For most I got paid next to nothing, and for some, less than that.

I did it because I love video games.

Because I’ve dreamt since I was a kid of being in one of the games I love.

How many games have you done voices for?

How many cons have you repped at?

Your buddy’s Unreal Tournament garage deathmatch doesn’t count.

I go to E3 each year because I love video games.

Because new titles still get me high.

Because I still love getting swag.

Love wearing my gamer pride on my sleeve.

People ask me what console I play.

Motherfucker, ALL of them.

I get invited to E3 because real gamers know I’m a gamer.

I don’t do it for the money.

I have plenty of money.

I don’t do it for the fame.

Fuck fame.

I do it because I love video games.

I don’t give out my gamertag because I don’t want a mess of noob jackholes lining up

to assassinate me on XBL. 

I don’t give a shit what you think about my gamerscore.

I don’t play to prove a point. 

I don’t play to be the best.

I play because I love it.

I play.

I’ve been playing my whole life. 

I’m not ashamed of it.

I don’t apologize for it.

It’s who I am.

To the core.

I’m a gamer.

So to all the haters out there who claim I don’t play;

To the GAF dicks, 

Gamespot trolls, 

To every illiterate racist douchebag on Youtube:

Flame away. Go nuts.

Post every jackass comment your heart desires.

I’ll still be playing when your mom’s kicked you out of her basement

and you have to sell your old-ass console

and get a real job.

For now, I say to you respectfully,

and I mean this from the bottom of my heart,

GFYS.

#distant sound of a mic being dropped

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_burn_centers_in_the_United_States

areyoutryingtodeduceme:

ladyofdisney:

roachpatrol:

avatarjk137:

nooby-banana:

thesanityclause:

rinnysega:

vashappeninstyles:

the19thhistory:

areyoutryingtodeduceme:

I remember my first eagle ceremony when I turned nine. The first eagle you get is always declawed, which I always thought was pretty inhumane, but it was a good way to ease into caring for the birds. My eagle (named Baldy, because I wasn’t a terribly clever child) was already quite old when I received him (he was a rescue eagle, luckily) but I did have him until I was 16. I don’t know if I was more excited about getting my drivers license that year, or my new eagle! You should have seen the party we had when I got him, too! Grilled hot dogs and fire works and lemonade…. obviously I named my beautiful new eagle Freedom. He’s too big to keep inside anymore, unfortunately, but we’ve got a pretty comfortable roost for him on our apartment’s balcony.

Ah, yes, the eagle ceremony! My Justice and I remember his quite well. (They had just come out with telepathic link transplants when I got him, which is how I know he remembers it.) Our celebration was quite modest, compared to Freedom’s—apple pie under a cloudless summer sky as we signed our Declaration of Interdependence. I still have the inked and talon-pierced document hanging on my wall.

what is this 

Get out Canada

I was so scared during my pet eagle ceremony I almost threw up. But Stonewall Jackson and I have been best friends ever since. My dad and grandfather built a really massive roost behind the house for my eagle and my sisters’ eagles. Stonewall always waits for me when I get home from class since schools are getting so over protective and strict these days and won’t allow eagles indoors. Which just goes to show how much we’re bubble wrapping kids today. Back in the day, if you couldn’t handle a few stitches because you pissed off the wrong kid’s eagle, you had to just man up and learn your lesson!

Ooo, I never miss a chance to tell this story! I had a rather unusual first eagle ceremony. The traditional giant American flag that you wave around to summon your eagle had been severely damaged the week prior (a ceremony that had not gone according to plan, but the child only suffered minor talon wounds. The flag took the brunt of the attack).  Anyway, I couldn’t use the normal flag so we had to search ALL OVER for one suitable for eagle summoning. Unfortunately the stripes weren’t the correct shade of patriotic red so everyone was worried an eagle wouldn’t show up at all.  I had to stand in the middle of that wheat field, the wind creating amber waves out of it, shaking that flag in the air for over three hours.  Everyone was just about to give up when suddenly Patriot appeared out of nowhere!  He came to me so quickly it was like he was apologizing for being late.  And we’ve been together ever since.

Some people think it’s excessive to have two eagles.  But what can I say, I’m a two eagles kind of guy.  Well, I can say, “You must be a terrorist to call me out over my excesses,” but I digress.  We don’t have many open fields around here, so I got Liberty by waving my flag atop a decommissioned WWII aircraft carrier.  I was kicking a couple of boxes of tea into the harbor for good measure, and there she was.  I loved her so much I repeated the process a year later and got young Colbert here.  It’s hard work, raising two eagles, but I have two shoulders, after all.  Besides, I know that the secret to happy and healthy eagles is plenty of Bud Light.

Oh man, the eagle ceremony. I was a weird fucking kid, okay, so I was totally sure that the eagle ceremony wasn’t just going to net me my eagle and deepen the mystical bond between a citizen and their country, I thought I was going to get to turn into an eagle too. So me and my mom and my dad and my little brother are all standing in the old civil war battleground, surrounded by the ghosts of our fallen soldiers, and all and the problem here — it’s not usually a problem because I make sure to shave my beard off twice a day, three times on sundays — was that I am, actually, born on the fourth of July. So it wasn’t just one eagle that showed up, it was pretty much every big old patriotic warbird in Missouri, all flapping around confused and pissed off, their innate senses of direction completely fucked up by the way firecracker babies warp America’s natural system of ley lines. And I was six, so grabbed the flag and ran with it over my shoulders, rippling in the wind, thinking it was going to turn into wings for me and I would go be an eagle with all the other eagles. Instead I just got mobbed by a freaked-out mess of nationalistic avians who all weighed more than I did. I lost half my nose and my whole left arm and spent most of fourth grade in reconstructive surgery getting machine guns welded on to the shattered remains of my ulna. Completely missed my little brother’s eagle ceremony, which I will always regret, but it was all worth it to have met Columbia. I never did turn into an eagle on the outside, but I like to think those long hours in the hospital, feeding her rubbing alcohol and my own blood, have made me an eagle in my heart. 

I remember my first eagle ceremony like it was yesterday, There was a huge storm that day and my parents tried to make me wait a few days until the storm subsided. But I was not waiting to get my eagle. So I stood out in the field closest to my house. Thunder rumbling, lightening cracking, and hurricane force winds, but I stood my ground. I was getting me eagle that day if it killed me. I raised the giant american flag as high in the air I could and began waving. The flag was hard to hold with all of the wind, and water the flag was soaking up. It was getting harder to hold by the minute and the storm was getting worse and worse. I was beginning to loose hope that my eagle would ever come. Then as the lightening flashed and the thunder boomed its loudest and its brightest, I saw Bravery flying towards me. So strong, young, and majestic. We both braved the storm to find each other and to this day we are best friends. 

wait did I make a meme when did this happen

(Source: oliviahopeful)

the-science-of-destruction:

frost-giants-and-fries:

I like the gradient of leg-openness

from prim and proper to FUCK IT I’M ROBERT DOWNEY JR

Thank God Tom wasn’t there

i need to stop looking at tumblr while i’m in class, it makes it hard to half pay attention when all my attention is on trying not to laugh