Things you have an irrational hatred of

[Bammer]

when there's only some cereal left and it's only about half a bowl and it's mostly dust and you don't want that dust to enter the bowl so you have to do some kind of bag maneuvers

The dust is so good!

[knee tunes]

when there's only some cereal left and it's only about half a bowl and it's mostly dust and you don't want that dust to enter the bowl so you have to do some kind of bag maneuvers

The dust is so good!

Not rice krispies dust

That stuff is for the birds

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[spike]

when there's only some cereal left and it's only about half a bowl and it's mostly dust and you don't want that dust to enter the bowl so you have to do some kind of bag maneuvers

now imagine you're serving it to a two year old

[knee tunes]

when there's only some cereal left and it's only about half a bowl and it's mostly dust and you don't want that dust to enter the bowl so you have to do some kind of bag maneuvers

now imagine you're serving it to a two year old

[bodysnatcher]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

[dad]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

what is worse:

kiddos
rugrats
little people

[bodysnatcher]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

what is worse:

kiddos
rugrats
little people

kiddos is the most annoying by far
Little people the most offensive if it’s referring to a kid without dwarfism?

Rugrats reminds me the cartoon which was baller

[epilogue]

Great show

[bodysnatcher]

also, kids are baby goats, which are awesome and no way human children are on the same level of cool as a goat kid

[epilogue]

also, kids are baby goats, which are awesome and no way human children are on the same level of cool as a goat kid

Your best post of the year?

[epilogue]

Instagram stories

[Bammer]

also, kids are baby goats, which are awesome and no way human children are on the same level of cool as a goat kid

This post didn’t resonate with me like at all

[wease]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

Yep. The worst

[spike]

Time to hear everyone wish you a happy new year for like a month

[daft twat]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

Infuriating

I also instantly hate anyone who says “adulting.”

[lennytheweedwhacker]

when people refer to children as “kiddos”

Infuriating

I also instantly hate anyone who says “adulting.”

Kiddos doesn't bother me that much, but i'd never say it.

But yes, adulting is the absolute worst.

[epilogue]

I think I say kiddo a lot but I never say it to or about children.

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[lennytheweedwhacker]

I think I say kiddo a lot but I never say it to or about children.

Tree and Argo?