The artwork of Sue de Beer is so fucking metal.
(Special thanks to Keri Bleed).
Si vives en Madrid, donde el otoño prácticamente no existe, la llegada del invierno es algo así como un bolazo de nieve en el ojo después de un día veraniego. Pero hay ciudades cuyos meses más fríos hacen que los de Madrid parezcan unas vacaciones en Acapulco. Hablo de Detroit, por ejemplo, donde el invierno pasado unos chavales que jugaban a hockey en un sótano abandonado dieron con esto en el hueco de un ascensor.
Disfrutad del frío y mirad al suelo cuando caminéis.

“Okay, seriously. Not funny. Who deflated my dog?”
Via.
Esto tenéis que leerlo.
1945 Letter from Kurt Vonnegut to his family from a repatriation camp, in which he informs them of his capture and survival

(via yimmyayo)
“¡Y ahora me gustaría contar con la colaboración de un miembro de NUESTRO PÚBLICO! ¡Ou yeah!”
(via obsidianobelisk)
Manchester (via yvynyl, mediaeater)
“It is VERY IMPORTANT to remember that animals raised for slaughter are kept in tightly controlled environments with their health and diet carefully maintained. Humans are not. Thus not only is the meat of each person of varying quality, but people are also subject to an enormous range of diseases, infections, chemical imbalances, and poisonous bad habits, all typically increasing with age. Also as an animal ages, the meat loses its tenderness, becoming tough and stringy. No farm animal is ever allowed to age for thirty years. Six to thirteen months old is a more common slaughtering point. You will obviously want a youthful but mature physically fit human in apparently good health. A certain amount of fat is desirable as “marbling” to add a juicy, flavorful quality to the meat. We personally prefer firm caucasian females in their early twenties. These are “ripe”. But tastes vary, and it is a very large herd.”
Handy tips from the Church of Euthanasia.
Scary, by XKCD.

Siento el post anti-virch. Pero es que la foto y el texto eran estupendos.
This is what happened during our last standoff. You think they’d have learned, considering I’m as nimble as a cat when it comes to catching mice, but apparently they’re back for more. Bring it (sans poop and half nibbled-through boxes of cheese-its, please).