WE WISH YOU EXTERMINATION
WE WISH YOU EXTERMINATION
WE WISH YOU EXTERMINATION
AND WOULD YOU LIKE SOME TEAThough I think the guy on the FB wall wins the prize with the line “Deck the halls with bits of Doctor fa la la la la EXTERMINATE!”
HOLY MOTHER OF BANANAS
…be a sadist. no matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them — in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
— Kurt Vonnegut
Going to run an experiment. This post will have 0 tags. I want to see how many people it can reach just through the dash alone. Reblog when you see please :)
FOR SCIENCE
SCIENCE
Scientific Attempt To Create Most Annoying Song Ever
An online poll conducted in the ’90s set Vitaly Komar, Alex Melamid and David Soldier on a quest to create the most annoying song ever. After gathering data about people’s least favorite music and lyrical subjects, they did the unthinkable: they combined them into a single monstrosity, specifically engineered to sound unpleasant to the maximum percentage of listeners.
Amazingly, this “most unwanted music” contains little dissonance — that would have been too easy. For the most part, they seem to have tried to assemble these elements in a listenable way.
Komar & Melamid and David Soldier’s list of undesirable elements included holiday music, bagpipes, pipe organ, a children’s chorus and the concept of children in general (really?), Wal-Mart, cowboys, political jingoism, George Stephanopoulos, Coca Cola, bossanova synths, banjo ferocity, harp glissandos, oompah-ing tubas and much, much more. It’s actually a fascinating listen, worthwhile for the opera rapping alone.
In a person’s life, they may have the occasion to meet someone who, upon that meeting, completely shifts the center of gravity in their universe. Some people say it happens when you meet your soul mate. Some say it sometimes happens when a mother discovers she’s pregnant, or a father holds his daughter for the first time.
But honestly it’s all the same thing. Its the moment when someone shoves themselves inside you so completely that it must rewrite your DNA to accommodate them. Or maybe you always had the spaces for them and you weren’t truly you until they got there, and you think, “Oh that’s what these holes were for.”
Most people don’t experience such a feeling until adulthood, and many never experience it all.
It happened to Dean Winchester when he was four years old, under the watchful eyes of his mother and father. They didn’t expect it from Dean, but they knew that sometimes it took first children a while to warm up to younger siblings. So they watched apprehensively as their four year old son cradled their newborn in his lap where he sat on Mary’s hospital bed.
He hadn’t said a word since John brought him in, just wide green eyes and a silent jerky nod when Mary asked if he wanted to hold the baby, hoping it would let her know how her firstborn was actually feeling.
Now he just looked down at the tightly wrapped baby burrito in his arms, frozen, staring and staring.
Then the baby burbled, cracking his fresh eyes open to meet Dean’s, and that was all it took to open the floodgates.
A grin broke out like the brightest sunrise on Dean’s freckled face and his eyes shot between Mary and the baby.
“Wha’s’is name?” Dean asked excitedly, question running into a single word as he lifted one finger to very, very gently touch a tiny button nose, giggling when the baby went cross-eyed.
“Sam,” Mary said, warmth flooding her face and body, even in her exhaustion. “Sammy.”
Dean hadn’t even looked so excited even last Christmas when Mary had bought him a brand new fireman’s outfit, or on his fourth birthday when John had allowed him to sit on his lap and put his hands over John’s on the steering wheel of the Impala while he drove. Now, he wiggled just slightly in his joy, trying and failing to keep still, as he looked back down at his baby brother.
“Sammy,” Dean cooed and the words started to tumble from his mouth. “‘m Dean. ‘m your big bru’ver, an’ ‘m gon’ be the best big bru’ver the world has e’er seen. ‘ll show you my toys an’ ‘ll show you how to ride my trike—‘s all shinny an’ red. You’ll like it, an’—an’ if people are e’er mean t’you… I’ll—” and he glanced up at his parents nervously before bending low to whisper the last part, as if they couldn’t hear him and wouldn’t get mad. “I’ll beat ‘em up.”
And not a single word the four year old told his newborn brother on that day was ever a lie.
Mary had always told her eldest son that angels were watching over him, but she never said those words to her youngest, because angel’s didn’t have to watch over Sam.
Because Dean always did.
Most people don’t experience such a feeling until adulthood, and many never experience it all…
But it happened to Dean Winchester when he was four years old.
