Most guinea pigs spend their days simply being impossibly cute and eating as many vegetables and as much hay as they possibly can. Pulguinha the Steampunk Guinea Pig does all of those things while wearing an awesome pair of brass and leather wings. We hope she sometimes gets to hang out with a guinea pig wearing scale-mail armor as well.
Pulguinha’s fantastic harness was created by Silvia Ferreira’s SkyPirate Creations, Porto, Portugal-based makers of alternative clothing, leather and other crafts.
Collection of baby otters to cheer your day!
Yes. That was a sea otter baby with a pacifier. We are done here, Internet.
It’s worked for white people, I figured I might as well give it a shot.
GET THIS GUY TO DISNEY WORLD DAMN IT
I want you to go man!
if this was a white girl this would have had the notes 3 weeks ago
People are sending him racist messages telling him it’s not gonna happen and he doesn’t belong in Disney World over this post. So we’re gonna reblog it even more.
I remember this guy! Wow, it’s still only a little bit over half. Rebloggan’!
I don’t normally do these ‘reblog if’ things, but hell, if it annoys racists, why not.
That’s kinda where I stand on things. I mostly ignore them, but kid, YOU’RE GOIN’ TO DISNEY WORLD.
If you’re just tuning in to this story, then you may wish to read the first part, “The Mysterious Flushing Noise”, which was posted last night. http://walnetto.tumblr.com/post/90219614538
"So, what happened to his pants?" I asked mom this morning.
"Oh. I found them this morning. He so kindly decided to roll them up and put them on my turtle. My clean turtle. My clean turtle I spent the entire day scrubbing."
Earlier in the day we had found her prized turtle-shaped planter from years ago. He smelled a little funky thanks to a mix of soil and moisture so we soaked him in bleach and scrubbed him down a few times.
"He put his POOPY PANTS on my CLEAN TURTLE. Stunk up the basement and then this morning he WASHED his POOPY PANTS on my TURTLE."
Dad was in the kitchen and I needed to get the whole story. Presented below is the story from his perspective:
"So last night, I was just getting to my exit when I felt this rumbling in my gut. It was like cramps and I thought, ‘Oh man, this is gonna be a big fart.’ so I let it rip, but then I felt liquid coming out and I knew something was wrong. So, I pulled the car over onto the shoulder, and yup. I pooped. Now, I wasn’t going to keep driving with poop in my pants because I’d get it all over the seats, so I hopped down the ravine, dropped my pants and ditched my underwear. Somewhere over by the side of the road, there’s a pair of briefs hanging out. Anyway. I didn’t have anything to wipe with, so I grabbed one of the garbage bags I had in the car, and kinda made myself this plastic diaper and them put my pants on, and that’s how I came home. And then the next thing I know, mom was climbing up the stairs with this rock-climbing hammer read to kill me."
Its stories like these that you can’t make up.
You just live through them and then post them to the internet so others can share the insanity you live with.
Stay safe folks, and think before you fart.
So it’s 11:30 at night. Dad had already left for work and it was just me and mom in the house packing. I’d found my old tap shoes and was performing a lovely rendition of “I Never Really Learned How To Dance In These Things, I Just Make Believe It Sounds Like I Did” in my underwear as is apt to happen on a Saturday night.
I was in the middle of some combination of toe and heel maneuvers when suddenly the giant pipe rumbles to life with a flush of the upstairs toilet. We pause.
I’m standing in my undies and tap shoes. Mom had just put her jeans in the washer. Neither one of us is two floors up flushing a toilet.
"Who the fuck flushed the toilet?!" mom asked in a whispered tone.
"I. Have. No. Idea." I reply as countless scenarios of dead relatives coming back from the grave run through my brain.
We creep around to the stairs and its at this point that I realized there are greater concerns than the astral plane. Mom reaches for a yard stick. Intruder. Why didn’t I think intruder?
I listen carefully at the stairs.
There’s a distinct lack of dog. There was no barking. No growling. No “Halt! Who goes there?!” that is a certainty with three dogs on patrol.
Mom returned from around the corner.
"Stay down here." she hissed, cautiously climbing the stairs, still no pants, but with her newly acquired hammer.
I listen as she makes a military sweep of the main floor and heads for the upstairs.
"Shit. She needs backup." I mutter. "I’ll be backup. Yeah." I grab the yardstick.
I start to creep up the stairs when suddenly yelling erupts.
I rush down the hall to the landing as words start to come together.
"… uckin tell us you’re here! We were in the basement!"
"I was wondering why you were creeping up on me with a hammer."
The second voice is of course that of my father. And it only takes a wafting moment in the stairwell to realize what he’s doing home.
"Did you crap your pants!?" I yell up.
"YES HE DID." replies mom, still waving the hammer.
"HAHA! It was fate man! FATE! I called you this afternoon and told you to call off! Fate just bit you in the shitty ass!"
"Wait, did they send you home?"
"No! I haven’t been to work yet! I nearly got there and I had to turn back! I just farted and suddenly realized that was the wrong consistency!"
Only my father can attempt to describe the consistency of farting.
He trots down the stairs and out the door as mom releases an aerosol assault on his stench cloud.
"Wait. Did he leave his pants up there?!"
"Well he locked his door!"
The man must has ESP or in his case, it’s more likely ESPN. Only moments later, he came running back up the stairs.
"Did you leave your pants in there?"
"Well, I’m not now. But I did. I gotta go to work."
And poopy pants in hand, he vanished into the night.
The case of the mysterious flusher solved once and for all.
BEE! BLUE BEE! NOW SAY IT REALLY FAST!
Xylocopa caerulea “Blue Carpenter bee”
HOLY SHIT THEY’RE BLUE
Blue carpenter bees are the best
… COBALT THIS NEEDS YOUR IMMEDIATE ATTENTION
dragons don’t ever really leave their princesses
(and their princesses never really want them to go)