1. louiseweird: wiishu: “It’s pretty swell!” Yeeah…. So i drew Edd Gould…I felt like i somehow needed to show my appreciation to him for what he has created and for the many times his animations has made me laugh.I am so sad i didn’t know Edd, he seemed like such a great guy!I know i should have made something like this earlier, but i didn’t want to be all sappy~I also drew him super happy~ Cause he seemed like that to me! u vu)/   You made him accurately adorable ;w; and he was very cheery on the inside but rarely this expressive I wish I could tell you the tale of the one time I remember really making him grin like this but it’d be too inappropriate xD

    louiseweird:

    wiishu:

    “It’s pretty swell!”


    Yeeah…. So i drew Edd Gould…
    I felt like i somehow needed to show my appreciation to him for what he has created and for the many times his animations has made me laugh.
    I am so sad i didn’t know Edd, he seemed like such a great guy!
    I know i should have made something like this earlier, but i didn’t want to be all sappy~
    I also drew him super happy~ Cause he seemed like that to me! u vu)/ 
     

    You made him accurately adorable ;w;

    and he was very cheery on the inside but rarely this expressive

    I wish I could tell you the tale of the one time I remember really making him grin like this but it’d be too inappropriate xD

  2. wonchopanimation: Mindfuck posted on Jack Mace’s Vokle.

    wonchopanimation:

    Mindfuck posted on Jack Mace’s Vokle.

  3. zizzlehatesyou: california-skinny: This is fucking amazing so I’m reblogging this, idgaf <3 I laughed pretty hard at this xD

    zizzlehatesyou:

    california-skinny:

    This is fucking amazing so I’m reblogging this, idgaf <3

    I laughed pretty hard at this xD

    (Source: christina-choe)

  4. lumpsgifs:

    I already gif’d the whole dance, but I really like this part so I figured I do another with just these two

  5. tavington:

    EVEN MORE STOLEN IMAGES, PLEASE RE-BLOG

    Please look at these images. This “stall” belongs to a Dealer who exhibited at London Expo this weekend.

    Images look familiar? They should. They’re all STOLEN.

    This guy claims to be the “genius” behind these works of art. Truth is, the majority, if not ALL of them, have been swiped from deviantART, printed on canvas and sold WITHOUT PERMISSION.

    This guy is a fraud, a plagiarist, a thief and liar. Why is he even allowed to exhibit at London Expo.

    We all need to gather proof that this guy isn’t all he claims to be. If you recognise ANY of these images. PLEASE SHARE OR COMMENT BELOW. A lot of these works are by American artists. We need to inform them and put a stop to this.

    Please, please share and let a team of us put this right. We need to gather a lot of solid evidence to get this guy thrown out.

    He didn’t have any business cards (no surprises there) but he’s exhibited and sold at London Expo many, many times.

    I intend to write a deviantART journal about this and spread the word myself. It would help greatly if you could share your photos here too and we can pool all our evidence in one place and compare photos.

    BY THE WAY, THE GUY IN THE FOURTH PHOTO IS THE MAIN STALL-HOLDER, I BELIEVE, HE WAS PUTTING ALL THE CANVASES OUT ON DISPLAY.

    Thank you all for reading.

  6. jackhoward: All the gifs

    jackhoward:

    All the gifs

    (Source: youwillneverbringusdown)

  7. (Source: whatsmyname-whatsmystation)

  8. delicioustrap: cherishubii: Payback.. Flawless.

    delicioustrap:

    cherishubii:

    Payback..

    Flawless.

  9. korrawatch:

    Holy crap, this is cool. 

    (Source: boywithoutbeard)

  10. childofsteel: A NYC Taxi driver wrote: I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboardbox filled with photos and glassware.‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drivethrough downtown?’‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.They must have been expecting her.I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.‘Nothing,’ I said‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

    childofsteel:

    A NYC Taxi driver wrote:


    I arrived at the address and honked the horn. After waiting a few minutes I honked again. Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.. ‘Just a minute’, answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor.
    After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940’s movie.
    By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets.
    There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard
    box filled with photos and glassware.
    ‘Would you carry my bag out to the car?’ she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman.
    She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
    She kept thanking me for my kindness. ‘It’s nothing’, I told her.. ‘I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.’
    ‘Oh, you’re such a good boy, she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, ‘Could you drive
    through downtown?’
    ‘It’s not the shortest way,’ I answered quickly..
    ‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.
    I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. ‘I don’t have any family left,’ she continued in a soft voice..’The doctor says I don’t have very long.’ I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
    ‘What route would you like me to take?’ I asked.
    For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
    We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
    Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
    As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, ‘I’m tired.Let’s go now’.
    We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
    Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move.
    They must have been expecting her.
    I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
    ‘How much do I owe you?’ She asked, reaching into her purse.
    ‘Nothing,’ I said
    ‘You have to make a living,’ she answered.
    ‘There are other passengers,’ I responded.
    Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.She held onto me tightly.
    ‘You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
    I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.. Behind me, a door shut.It was the sound of the closing of a life..
    I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day,I could hardly talk.What if that woman had gotten an angry driver,or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
    On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life.
    We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments.
    But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

    (Source: mishalmoorebloggyblog)

  11. [Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

    avatarsoundtracks:

    “Yeah, I forget the next few lines, but then it goes…

    SECRET TUNNEL, SECRET TUNNEL
    THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN
    SECRET SECRET SECRET SECRET TUNNEL — YEAH!”

    Download here. 

  12. slomozovo:

    New video! Learn some new techniques with HIDY 4!