officialunitedstates:





Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.
After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 
The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.
The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.
Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.
Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.
"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."
"No." 
I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

officialunitedstates:

Wednesday night was bingo night at the senior center closest to my home.  I used to go every week, sit at the table with Doreen and the gals, and try my best to pull out a victory.  I had terrible luck of course; I never won despite there being only a couple dozen old folks who I was competing against.

After a few months of these losses, I got fed up and decided that I was going to take control of this Bingo competition scam.  I knew that the only way to beat ‘em was to outlast ‘em. 

The first night I tried going around to every table and telling the ladies a really boring story about my cat.  I thought that would make them bored and fall asleep.  However, the exact opposite happened, and they were just happy someone was talking to them.  I don’t even have a cat.  But if I did its name would be Apples.

The second week I knew I had to take more drastic action if I was to win.  After a long look at the ten page Bingo Night rulebook, I noticed that there was no penalty for yelling Bingo if you didn’t have a Bingo.  This was my in.  After the 9th false Bingo yell I could tell the ladies were getting annoyed with me.  “Pay attention to the numbers!” Doreen yelled at me.  Go punch a rock, Doreen.

Slowly, one by one, the ladies got so aggravated with me slowing down the game that they started to leave.  My voice was hoarse.  I was getting tired of yelling Bingo but I knew I couldn’t give up now.  I was so close.

Doreen was the last lady sitting.  It was all down to this.  The woman who was reading the numbers had given up by now.  The janitor had come in to mop up the spilled punch and cookie crumbs.  It was just me and Doreen, just me and Doreen.  Whoever left first was the loser; whoever remained was going to get the title of Wednesday Night Bingo Winner. 

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"What??" she said, apparently unable to hear me.

"Give it up, Doreen," I yelled.  "You haven’t got a chance."

"No." 

I could see the look in her eyes, the fierce competitive spirit in her fluffy white hair.  I pulled out my sleeping bag and three Nintendo DS’s.  She pulled out her two knitting pointy things and a string of yarn.  We were both in it for the long haul.

2,931 notes 

officialunitedstates:

I was nervous, I admit.  It was our second date and I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.  I had even gone so far as to fill up my car with the second cheapest gasoline type.  I had no idea what it was or why anyone would ever buy it but I decided that no expense would be spared.
I had also baked some fresh muffins.  Those took me about six hours to make because I kept changing my mind on what flavor muffins I wanted.  At first, I wanted to make some with nuts but then I changed my mind after about ten minutes of them in the oven.  So, I put on my mitts I knitted the day before and took them out, promptly dug into the muffins with tweezers to remove each nut, and then decided to replace them with chocolate chips.  This worked well, until I remembered that I hadn’t asked her if she was allergic to chocolate or not and didn’t want her not to be able to have any.  So, I put on my mitts I had knitted the day before and took them out of the oven, got back out my tweezers and tried to remove the chocolate chips.  They were all melted and everything but eventually I managed to get them out with a straw.  I replaced them with bananas because I had never heard of anyone that was allergic to bananas and I thought that was a safe bet.  After about three hours of cooking at 100 degrees they seemed warm enough to be done. 
Her apartment was a short drive away.  I got out of the car like a gentleman and rang her doorbell instead of playing my Linkin Park song so loud that she could hear it from inside and know that I was there.   Her doorbell had a nice ring to it.  Like really nice.  I loved the notes and the rhythm to the chimes and everything.  It was nicely paced and not too rushed.  It really gave off a welcoming feel. 
She answered the door with a smile. 
"Hey, I really like your doorbell," I said.
She stepped out and glanced at it. 
"How much?" I asked.
She laughed right in my face.  I assured her I wasn’t joking.
"I can’t sell you my doorbell. How would you even get it out of my house? Isn’t it built into the wall?"
"That’s not important. I’m willing to go as high as $100."  I had seen half a season of Pawn Stars; I knew what I was doing.
"500." she countered.  She knew what she was doing, too.
"Meet me in the middle at 300?"
"350."
Dang, she was good.  She must have seen at least two seasons of Pawn Stars, maybe even three.  But I really wanted those bells. 
"Alright, I can do 350," I said as I went in for the handshake.
I spent the next hour and a half punching her wall to get her doorbells out.  Then I drove home and installed them.  I forgot about the date and the banana muffins completely.

officialunitedstates:

I was nervous, I admit.  It was our second date and I wanted everything to be as close to perfect as possible.  I had even gone so far as to fill up my car with the second cheapest gasoline type.  I had no idea what it was or why anyone would ever buy it but I decided that no expense would be spared.

I had also baked some fresh muffins.  Those took me about six hours to make because I kept changing my mind on what flavor muffins I wanted.  At first, I wanted to make some with nuts but then I changed my mind after about ten minutes of them in the oven.  So, I put on my mitts I knitted the day before and took them out, promptly dug into the muffins with tweezers to remove each nut, and then decided to replace them with chocolate chips.  This worked well, until I remembered that I hadn’t asked her if she was allergic to chocolate or not and didn’t want her not to be able to have any.  So, I put on my mitts I had knitted the day before and took them out of the oven, got back out my tweezers and tried to remove the chocolate chips.  They were all melted and everything but eventually I managed to get them out with a straw.  I replaced them with bananas because I had never heard of anyone that was allergic to bananas and I thought that was a safe bet.  After about three hours of cooking at 100 degrees they seemed warm enough to be done. 

Her apartment was a short drive away.  I got out of the car like a gentleman and rang her doorbell instead of playing my Linkin Park song so loud that she could hear it from inside and know that I was there.   Her doorbell had a nice ring to it.  Like really nice.  I loved the notes and the rhythm to the chimes and everything.  It was nicely paced and not too rushed.  It really gave off a welcoming feel. 

She answered the door with a smile. 

"Hey, I really like your doorbell," I said.

She stepped out and glanced at it. 

"How much?" I asked.

She laughed right in my face.  I assured her I wasn’t joking.

"I can’t sell you my doorbell. How would you even get it out of my house? Isn’t it built into the wall?"

"That’s not important. I’m willing to go as high as $100."  I had seen half a season of Pawn Stars; I knew what I was doing.

"500." she countered.  She knew what she was doing, too.

"Meet me in the middle at 300?"

"350."

Dang, she was good.  She must have seen at least two seasons of Pawn Stars, maybe even three.  But I really wanted those bells. 

"Alright, I can do 350," I said as I went in for the handshake.

I spent the next hour and a half punching her wall to get her doorbells out.  Then I drove home and installed them.  I forgot about the date and the banana muffins completely.

13,050 notes 

officialunitedstates:

"Look out at this sand.  If you shield your eyes from the horizon, your sense of perception is completely destroyed.  Is this sand ten feet away or miles away?" she asked me, still staring out into the dunes.
"I don’t know… I can’t tell."
"That’s right.  For all you know, it could be infinite.  With each step you take, each passing second of travel, you have no way to knowing how far you have gone, or how far you have to go."
I looked over to her.  She was still staring at the sea of sand, mesmerized with the complexity of something so simple.  I suppose I was too.
"Date a girl who reads books," she said, briefly taking her eyes off the sand to glance at me. 
"What’s that?" I asked, not quite understanding her.
"Date a girl who reads books.  For her, the world of books is as infinite as this sand." 
She picked some up and let it sift through her fingers.  I watched as the grains slid quietly off of her hand and back into their pasture. 
"Hey, do we have any water left?" I motioned at the backpack, a bit parched from the summer heat.
"No we’re all out," she said calmly, "The sand is our water.  Let us drink from it together."
"What the hell," I said.

officialunitedstates:

"Look out at this sand.  If you shield your eyes from the horizon, your sense of perception is completely destroyed.  Is this sand ten feet away or miles away?" she asked me, still staring out into the dunes.

"I don’t know… I can’t tell."

"That’s right.  For all you know, it could be infinite.  With each step you take, each passing second of travel, you have no way to knowing how far you have gone, or how far you have to go."

I looked over to her.  She was still staring at the sea of sand, mesmerized with the complexity of something so simple.  I suppose I was too.

"Date a girl who reads books," she said, briefly taking her eyes off the sand to glance at me. 

"What’s that?" I asked, not quite understanding her.

"Date a girl who reads books.  For her, the world of books is as infinite as this sand." 

She picked some up and let it sift through her fingers.  I watched as the grains slid quietly off of her hand and back into their pasture. 

"Hey, do we have any water left?" I motioned at the backpack, a bit parched from the summer heat.

"No we’re all out," she said calmly, "The sand is our water.  Let us drink from it together."

"What the hell," I said.

13,982 notes 

I’m an X-Man, if crying yourself to sleep is considered a mutant power.
Conan (via teamcoco)

470 notes 

phatticuss:

cumcream:

cumcream:

What did the cat say to the dog?

cats don’t talk

image

(Source: collxxn)

443,376 notes 

actualcrutchie:

glasses are so stupid. u wanted to lie on ur side??? fuck off. u wanted a hot drink???? u can’t see shit now bc ur glasses are fogged up. go out in the rain???? tough luck shithead. 

106,057 notes