July242014
First Meeting (1992/2014)

(Source: koujakous, via marysuepoots)

July162014

bbcssherlock:

simplystormie:

prismatic-bell:

niall-ate-mynamee:

cinderellawaitinforherprince:

heyfunniest:

zeebsdarling:

anus:

renkris:

Gordon Ramsay doesn’t care about your gender, race, or creed. All he cares about is that you can cook.

The contestant, Christine, is blind, and he lets her know exactly what he thinks of her dish.

OMG I was preparing myself to be enraged by him making some horrible comment but now I’m crying in Starbucks GOD DAMMIT

Christ I am not okay with these fEELINGS

IM BAWLING

That’s so cute I wanna cry

Is there a Gordon Ramsay fan base on this site??? And where can i join???

Spoilers, she won. Her cookbook is on sale now.

Also, this is the very first apple pie she ever made.

Also, can we please take notice OF HOW HE DESCRIBES IT FOR HER? Ramsay was extremely conscious during the entire season that she would require different tactics than the other contestants; this was not the only time he became her eyes, nor the only time he did things like that scrape of the knife so she could actually have a sense of her work.

And if you really want to bawl like a baby? During final four or final three, I forget which, the remaining contestants got photos from home. Christine’s husband sent their wedding photo—which she had never seen. Ramsay paused before starting the challenge to describe to her not only her husband—the look of love and joy on his face—but also herself as a bride, so she could see in her mind how the two of them looked together on their wedding day.

It was extremely obvious nobody had ever thought to do that before.

This man should be a fucking icon not just for his cooking, but for how he treats those who are different. During the same season he asked a handsome young man, making conversation during auditions, if he had a girlfriend. The man responded that he was gay. Ramsay, without missing a beat: “I’m sorry. Have you got a boyfriend, then?” No drama, no “oh my GOSH! You’re GAY? TOKEN CHARACTER :DDDD” just a very quick, simple whoops-my-mistake and the corrected inquiry. And then he never brought it up again! It was just a thing he learned, getting to know a contestant.

Yes, he can be harsh on MasterChef and downright cruel on Hell’s Kitchen (although if you were a sous chef and you served me raw pork that was not pork tartare, I’d scream too). But he’s not an ogre; he’s a polite man with a gigantic heart who simply happens to take no shit from those who should know better.

I love him so much like at first I was scared of him now I just respect him

Gordon Ramsay is the absolute best.. No questions

July82014
youngbaebae:

luminous-lu:

fanficwriterghc:

youatemytailor:

imsuggestingcoconutsmigrate:

collidingdreamswithreality:

Reblog if you’re old enough to get this

Laughter.  Horrified laughter.

oh god you still haunt my dreams

That should not be as funny as it is.

Oh my goodness, I had erased this from my mind. I want my selective memory back!

omg

youngbaebae:

luminous-lu:

fanficwriterghc:

youatemytailor:

imsuggestingcoconutsmigrate:

collidingdreamswithreality:

Reblog if you’re old enough to get this

Laughter.  Horrified laughter.

oh god you still haunt my dreams

That should not be as funny as it is.

Oh my goodness, I had erased this from my mind. I want my selective memory back!

omg

(via sorry)

July72014
reuniclus:

IT KEEPS HAPPENING

reuniclus:

IT KEEPS HAPPENING

(Source: thelionsmayne, via pizza)

1PM

BBC Sherlock characters + their name meanings.

(Source: sir-mycroft, via bbcssherlock)

1PM

bbcssherlock:

astudyindetectives:

helelelicken:

sherlock & vicki

Sherlock’s face during this entire scene was priceless.

I am 110% certain that she is Moriarty

…. The last comment!! ^

(Source: gingerbbatch)

1PM

coolscar:

*every highschool student when the teacher doesn’t show up after 2 minutes* “you know there’s a rule where if the teacher’s not here after 15 minutes we can just leave”

(via pizza)

1PM

isaia:

samati:

skeletales:

This is unexpectedly not about make-up haha

reblogged before it was even finished.

SUPREME 

(via mirkwood-partydad)

July32014
madeline-carmen:

hudlionunshod:

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 usually never reblog long things, but this is worth reading, I swear.

My eagle was rather… Early for my ceremony. I was in the middle of the field, on the little stage, and as soon as I got up on the stage— WHAM!!Good ol’ Washington literally rammed into my face. Had to get a facial reconstruction, but it was worth it.
Needless to say, Washington is a snuggler. 

madeline-carmen:

hudlionunshod:

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 usually never reblog long things, but this is worth reading, I swear.

My eagle was rather… Early for my ceremony. I was in the middle of the field, on the little stage, and as soon as I got up on the stage— WHAM!!Good ol’ Washington literally rammed into my face. Had to get a facial reconstruction, but it was worth it.

Needless to say, Washington is a snuggler. 

(Source: actualsaame, via thehomosexualunit)

10PM

delaney-stark13:

unicornmunch:

dauntlessoldier:

4th of July posts

the last one killed me. … i can’t even .

I’m 100% sure that these are all posts from Steve Roger’s blog

(via thehomosexualunit)

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