adorkable24:

Dinner Date with Mommy (at California Noodle House)

I could use some ramen about now.

thumbcramps:

hi guys! this is a comic i made for a final in my comics in literature class. we had to do a research paper on a topic we’d discussed in class and then accompany it with a comic with a relevant subject. my paper was about hyper-sexualization of women in comic books, but i decided to broaden it out here as well as personalize it and make myself the subject and discuss something i’ve been subjected to in the convention circuit and on the internet as well as thousands of other women, as well as give a cue to thought about how the comic book industry as well as the video game industry and even just media in general (all of which are male dominated) push such ridiculous pressures onto girls and women.

also, it feels kind of silly to have to add this since i hope it’s obvious, but i am very aware that there are men that don’t subscribe to this attitude, and am incredibly grateful that these issues are brought to light to people other than the ones that are subjected to it. 

anyway haha i have literally been staring at this for 9 hours i don’t even know which direction is up anymore. thanks for reading!!!

Twenty years ago, I was visiting my family on the other side of town. My
brother had bought a house in the boonies, so trying to get a ride out there
was kind of difficult. The bus service was terrible as usual, and nobody else
I knew lived out there. So getting back and forth took hours sometimes, and
more often than not, I’d have to stay overnight because I was too tired to go
home.
My mother and my stepsister Carol-Ann were living with my brother
Robert. Mom was always sick back then. She was an alcoholic and her body
was falling apart on her. Carol-Ann took care of mom because we had no
luck with the nurses that were provided for her by Medicare.
But mom was rough on Carole-Ann. When my stepfather was alive, she and
Carole-Ann used to fight over him like two battleships fighting over a
strategic island in the middle of the ocean. For years, they stood toe to toe,
savagely slugging it out, but then he died and all they had left was each
other.
Mom thought I was visiting her, but the person I was really visiting was
Carole-Ann. We had a relationship that we had kept secret from her. We had
to because if mom had found out about us, the consequences would’ve been
dreadful. Mom did everything she could to sabotage my youngest brother’s
first marriage, and although she wasn’t ultimately responsible for him and
his first wife breaking up, she deserved the lion’s share of the credit. And it
was for that reason that my youngest brother and his second wife moved out
of state and across the country.
One day, Carole-Ann and I were taking a walk. A long walk. Mom had been
especially hard on her week long. Although Carole-Ann practiced Oriental
meditation daily and smoked a little pot from time to time, mom could
banish Carole-Ann’s calm with a wave of her hand and a few choice words.
As Carole-Ann and I walked down the street to the strip mall on the next
block, I told her what I thought.
I thought that she should move in with me. I thought that maybe we should
end this charade and move away. I thought Catalina might be a nice place to
live. I thought that maybe we should forget about our age difference (fifteen
years) and get married anyway.
I also thought that maybe Carole-Ann and I should make a video of
ourselves fucking each other’s brains out and leaving it somewhere where
mom could find it and increase her chances of having a fatal heart attack.
Carole-Ann then said, “How can you think of stuff like that? I was talking
to Yvonne (mom) last night and she said that you studied for the
priesthood?”
I stopped as if I walked into a brick wall and gave Carole-Ann a long blank
look. And then it came to me. Everything became so clear all of the sudden.
When I was in junior high, without any explanation, every Thursday for a
few months, a bus kidnapped me and took me to what I guess was a
Catholic institution with my mother‘s permission. This was beyond bizarre
to me because the closest thing we ever had to a religious observance in my
mom’s household was decorating a Christmas tree. Needless to say, I was
lost and confused and our teacher was about as passionless about teaching
us conscripts about Christ as DMV employees are about grading written
tests.
One day after I was brought home, mom slapped me across the face as soon
as I stepped in through the door and began shrieking at me at the top of her
voice. Somebody had called her from that Catholic institution and told her I
was failing miserably. I yelled back at her and asked her what about my
regular school? That was when mom pulled out an electrical cord from out
of nowhere and my whipping began. Thankfully, one of our neighbors
called the police and they intervened before too much of my blood was
spilled.
These days, mom would’ve been sent straight to jail and us kids would have
been put into foster care, but back then, the police were only interested in
keeping the noise down. But the police came, they restrained my mother and
asked me what the trouble was. I told them what was going on. Then one of
the police officers asked my mom the big question.
“Mrs. Evans, do you even have a Bible here?”
Mom said no.
The other police officer asked when was the last time she took me to church.
Mom said when she had me baptized.
Both police officers facepalmed themselves.
After the police left I went to my room and stayed there until it was time to
go to school again. The following Thursday, no bus came to spirit me away,
but the damage was already done. My grades were shattered and I had no
ambition left to do anything about them.
But it was only until Carole-Ann said what she had said that I realized what
my mom had intended for me growing up. She had lived a wild life before
marrying my father. She was born and raised in Hollywood on her parents‘
dude ranch (early Hollywood when it was still mostly orange groves and
before the favorite riding tail became Ventura Boulevard). Caesar Romero
and David Niven took her to movie premieres before she graduated high
school. She was a magician’s assistant, a Broadway dancer, a nude model
and a trophy wife. She lived it up.
One day, like the rest of us, she was going to have pay the piper for all the
fun and frolic that she had.But mom was going to pay for her’s in one lump
sum and I was the designated lump. I’ve seen it before. Somebody lives it
up and then grooms their kid for the priesthood or a nunnery so when it’s all
over for them, there’s somebody left to pray for their wasted soul.
I don’t think mom counted on me becoming an atheist though. And even if I
believed in her god, or any other god, there were plenty of other people who
deserved my prayers more.
Carole-Ann and I walked around for awhile longer. I bought her an ice
cream cone and then we returned to my brother’s house. Wearily, I decided
to stay the night.
Later that night, while I was sleeping on the couch in the living room,
Carole-Ann left her bedroom wearing only her grandmother’s sheer
nightgown. Carole-Ann usually wore that nightgown when she had
something in mind. She woke me up when she unlocked the front door and
stepped out for a quick smoke. After a few moments, she came back in,
flicking her spent cigarette into the darkness behind her before locking the
door behind her.
I watched her walk over to me. She had been drinking and I could smell the
odor of marijuana on her mingling with the Lady Stetson cologne she wore.
I didn’t approve of her drinking, it was bad for her, especially when she
tried to keep up with mom (nobody in their right mind would try to keep up
with mom). The pot was okay though. I was a complete teetotaler, but even I
knew about the therapeutic value of pot, and how a little pot made Carole’s
heavy burden a little lighter and Carole’s heart a little happier.
Carole-Ann stood walked behind the couch and stood there for a moment.
She then took a tin of Tiger’s Balm from out of her cleavage, opened it, and
rubbed a little on my bicep. She then slowly and sensually began to massage
my arm.
I was a little surprised by this. We had known each other for better than 25
years and she had never before given me so much as a simple backrub. We
weren’t strangers to each other’s touch by any means, but I was the one who
did usually all the massaging.
Carole had lived a rough life. She was always in pain. Her bones had been
broken time and again in automobile and motorcycle accidents. She had
been a member of a motorcycle gang and she had been injured in numerous
brawls. Carole-Ann was no stranger to full body casts.
When Carole-Ann and I first met, she badly needed a backrub to alleviate
her pain. Nobody was available to give her one, so I stepped up and you
could say I hit the ball out of the park. So for years afterwards, my job was
to fix Carole-Anne which was a precursor to me going to massage school
here in Las Vegas.
When Carole-Ann was done with the one arm, she asked me to turn over so
she could work on the other one. Again, I was surprised by her expertise.
While I watched her work, I briefly entertained the notion of her going to
massage school to get a degree and the two of us setting up shop together in
a whole other new city. When Carole was done with that arm, she cooed and
walked around to the front of the couch.
And that was when mom came rolling out of bedroom in her wheelchair and
demanded to know if there was any bourbon left? Carole-Ann got mom her
drink. Mom rolled back into her bedroom. But the mood was gone. Carole
went back into her bedroom with tears in her eyes.
I went home the next morning. Then it got busy at work and I wasn’t able to
visit for a long time. Then I got a phone call from mom at work. It was an
emergency. Carole-Ann had collapsed in the bathroom at my brother’s
house and now she was in the hospital.
I took a taxi straight from the casino to the hospital. Carole-Ann was in
intensive care. She was in a coma with a hideously distended abdomen. Her
pain had gotten much worse and she had been drinking alcohol and taking
excess amounts of Tylenol. Carole-Ann had destroyed her liver, either by
accident or design. Carole-Ann hung on for eight weeks and then died the
day after Easter.
Atheist that I am, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and pray
that I might find Carole-Ann beside me in bed.

historical-nonfiction:

Shizo Kanakuri disappeared while running the marathon in the 1912 Summer Olympics in Stockholm. He was listed as a missing person in Sweden for 50 years — until a journalist found him living quietly in southern Japan. Exhausted by the heat, he had paused at a spectator’s garden party to drink some orange juice and ended up staying for an hour. He ended up taking a train to a hotel, and sailed for Japan the next day, too ashamed to tell anyone he was returning.

There’s a happy ending: In 1966 Kanakuri returned to Stockholm and completed his run. His final time was 54 years, 8 months, 6 days, 8 hours, 32 minutes and 20.3 seconds — a record I doubt anyone is interested in challenging.

occultleader:

My power girl cosplay!

bunnyfood:

(via pleatedjeans:via)

planet-dont-panic:

catbuttcat:

catsmeowforme:

DONT DECLAW YOUR CATS

THIS IS MUTILATION AND IT IS WRONG, OKKKKKKK???

Declawing is definitely disgusting and cruel! Do not to this to your beautiful kitty!!!

Get the facts before you mutilate your cat and ruin their life (and possibly yours).

Love your companions more than your furniture or don’t bloody well get one!

poorwhitedyke:

startingfromhere:

tempus-edax:

Kat Dennings’ curves appreciation post

fuark

jugs *__*

tcned:

Rose and the Ninth Doctor - sketches of my favorite bits from Season 1

tastefullyoffensive:

[via]

I’ve been in and out of the hospital. I hope to be back soon. *HUGS*