Getting There

democratsaresexier:

kileyrae:

theatlantic:

Hawaii Trolls Arizona’s Presidential Birth Certificate-Seeking Secretary of State

Hawaii is apparently so sick of people asking for proof of President Obama’s birth, that they’ve turned the tables on Arizona’s secretary of state, demanding that he’s the one who has to prove he deserves to see it.

Ken Bennett (pictured) has made headlines in the last few days for suggesting that Obama may not be on the ballot in Arizona this November without some solid proof that the President was actually born in Hawaii. Bennett, who says he’s just trying satisfy questions raised by his state’s citizens, has made several phone calls and written inquiries to Hawaii’s health department asking for “verification,” but has yet to get his answer, mostly because state officials are giving him the run around. Which is a nice way of saying he’s being clowned.

Talking Points Memo got ahold of some of the emails and they reveal some epic trolling on the part of Hawaii’s Deputy Attorney General Jill Nagamine. After Bennett sent an itemized list of all the information he wants verified, Nagamine responded with an even longer list of Hawaii statutes that spell out how they don’t give that information to just anyone and asking under what authority does Bennett thinks he’s entitled to the information.

Read more at The Atlantic Wire. [Image: AP]

Hawaii, America salutes you.

You go Hawaii!

(via aquapunk)

I wanted a rainbow cake, but I accidentally Rasta-ed instead.

(Source: kagamine)

To celebrate completing my last finals today and me graduating college, I have given up my life as an art student to become IRONMAN.

merrycalliope:

(via Find Kayla)

Kayla Bolin - Missing since 5/7/12

Kayla Bolin, Age 14. Disappeared from Lodi, CA the morning of May 7. Last reported time of verbal communication was 3:39 AM the morning of her disappearance. Kayla is 5’0”, 105 pounds, with brown hair and eyes. She may be in the company of a Hispanic male named “Gabriel” (age 17, 5’7”, 130 pounds, with brown hair) and is presumed to be traveling to Southern California, Los Angeles/Ontario area. Please contact the Lodi Police department with any information at: (209)333-6725 (Case #: 12-3578)

(via batchix)

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
Maybe we were too much alike.

I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
____________ _________ _________ _________

To Whomever Gets My Dog:

Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”

He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
loved me.

If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight - every night - from me.

Thank you,

Paul Mallory
____________ _________ _________ _______

I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

“Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.

The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.

“C’mere boy.”

He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
face into his scruff and hugged him.

“It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.

“So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.

“Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”

(Source: stephaniekilbury, via adriofthedead)

kaymac192:

fear-the-storm:

ask-the-exterminator-beats:

mynamewastakendamn:

kassiinovaa:

fuckthingsup:

puckleberrylover:

I didnt have to hesitate for a moment to reblog this after I read it.

OWNED

Actually just cried :/

I cried

[I wish I had a big sibling to help me along like this when I was growing up.]

(i wish the same thing….hell, wish my parents helped me out with it more then they did.  they hid the fact that i have it from me.)

Already reblogged, but the person replying is a hero to me. He is an example.

(Source: sl-0th, via widdlez)

The Arlington (TX) Police and Fire Departments and the Texas-based nonprofit a Wish with Wings joined forces to realize the dream of a young cancer patient who wanted nothing more than to become Batman for a day.

Officers and firefighters, assisted by the Mayor’s Office, organized various comic-inspired crimes around the city requiring the ass-kicking skills of a caped crusader.

Accompanied by police and Big Batman, 7-year-old Kye, who suffers from leukemia, roamed the streets of Arlington as Little Batman, mopping up an attempted bank robbery by the Joker, and putting the kibosh on a city hall bomb planted by the Riddler.

At the end of a long day of crime fighting, Kye was awarded the Key to the City by Assistant Police Chief James Hawthorne.

(via City Helps Fulfill Sick Kid’s Dream Of Becoming Batman For A Day)

(via tennantsbluebox)

So I had this adventure dream a few nights ago. I think I was influenced by Legend of Korra, but whatever it was awesome!

This is the chick that “rescued”/ recruited me for some war/ rebellion that was gonna go down in my dream. This is the best that I can remember of her. This was right after we got back to safety in her hut/headquarters, because some douches were chasing after us to either get to me or to just stop us in general. 

So yeeeah, slight Korra influence.

I think I’ll try to do these more often, or keep a dream journal. 

maid-en-china:

Maid-en-China:

It’s true, I am Chinese and I was born this way.

At a young age I began to notice this difference. I was attracted to neither boys nor girls. In middle school, I liked math, and in college, I did my homework all night long. 

Being Chinese is not a choice, it is genetic. There are risks to being Chinese because society cannot accept the union between a human and a textbook. I have Chinese friends who didn’t need sex because they could foreplay instruments and get screwed by O Chem instead. Now, they don’t have a social life and is shunned by others. 

But fear not, life will get better. I grew up as a Chinese and I am proud of it (just look at my user name). There is the LGBTC (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Chinese) community to help you be comfortable with your Chinese orientation. 

1,338,299,512 people came out as Chinese. You are not alone.  

(Source: equiuszahhak, via aquapunk)