Small town culture is knowing that there are Old Folks with strange nicknames but never knowing the stories behind them.
Of course, I made the mistake of asking why everyone calls this one guy Brickaday and it turns out that he worked at a brickyard for 40 years, stealing exactly one brick every day and making no particular efforts to conceal the theft. Nobody thought anything of it until years later he was discovered to have built three houses.
His boss is said to have shrugged and made some remarks about the importance of coming up with a plan and sticking to it.
I‘m trying to arrange my face into an appropriate approximation of silent bafflement and failing miserably.
i appreciate brickaday
chaotic good
My grandpa once told me he worked with a guy called Scrappy at General Motors back in the 50s. Every few days he would wheelbarrow out metal shavings and the foreman was convinced he was stealing things and hiding them in the scrap metal to get it out of the factory. But every time they’d go through the scrap they’d find nothing. He was stealing the wheelbarrows.
One of my late grandfather’s friends was called Salami because he used to steal salami and cured meats so I’m seeing a pattern here
Btw if I say things like “by god” or “good lord” in posts please be aware I don’t mean it in a catholic way I mean it in a 1950s scientist reacting in horror after they create an evil creature in the lab set in the distant future year of 2005
io che nonostante sia atea dica “grazie agli dei” e simili perché si io non credo in niente ma miliardi di persone hanno religioni e dei differenti ed io non voglio far sentire escluso nessuno
im frankly lucky the above reblog is about how theyre an atheist because there is nothing more terrifying than saying something slightly blasphemous and seeing a paragraph of italian in your replies
unrequited love for siblings is the saddest thing you could ever portray on its own but over the garden wall said what if the kid is like the sweetest most kindhearted five year old you could imagine and he loves his brooding wistful bitch of an older brother sooo so much and enough to offer up his life in exchange for his brothers when his older brother saw him this whole time as just an annoying step sibling at best and a nuisance at worst and you cant be too mad cause hes also a kid and then when he finally figures it all out it saves them both, the decision to leave lethargy and the rot of melancholy behind and take the love he already has as proof the world is worth it after all and aaa a a. aaaaaa. aaaaaaa. aaa. what a sweet story. what a lovely thing.
hey. don’t cry. crush two cloves of garlic into a pot with a dollop of olive oil and stir until golden then add one can of crushed tomatoes a bit of balsamic vinegar half a tablespoon of brown sugar half a cup of grated parmesan cheese and stir for a few minutes adding a handful of fresh spinach until wilted and mix in pasta of your choice ok?
my singing voice is good for showers and mornings in the kitchen and drunken nights and lullabies for babies who need sleep and im okay with this
i think it’s silly to be ashamed of your art because it’s not in a museum and of your voice because it’s not selling out stadiums. there will always be people who enjoy and appreciate what you can do.
Idk why but this hit me really hard and I’ve been staring at it for a couple minutes.
