‘The Writer,’ 1 of 3 surviving automata from the 18th century, is a programmable boy that uses quill and ink to write any 40 letters of custom text. This 240-year-old automaton uses all 6,000 of its parts to create just enough pressure for fluid, elegant writing, and is thought by some to be the first computer. Source
Black Lives Matter: Chicago
Awful Fantasy’s Awfulest Tweets of 2015
How could you not link the shirts!
This is true, someone is ACTUALLY selling Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer shirts and using the money past his hosting costs ($100) for the West Fund, an organization that funds abortions in SW Texas, to cover travel costs, procedure costs, and stay costs to lower income people!
Via cheezburger.com.
yeli:
This is it right here folks!!!
I got so scared but he stayed true
HOLY FUCK
Goddamnit, I NEVER reblog makeup looks but jesus christ I am loving the fuck out of this.
Mother of Navy Vet Shot at 30 Times by Police Begs For Justice
This video was posted by the mother of India Kager, who was shot 30 times by the police. One more unheard story of a black woman executed by the police for nothing. Moreover, for a really long time Mass Media didn’t have any information about this case.
In September India Kager, a 27-year-old Navy veteran from College Park, Maryland, was sitting with her boyfriend and 4-month-old son, Roman.
Perry was a “person of interest” in a homicide, according to the police. They additionally claim that they had “confidential information” that he “was going to” commit a “violent crime.” But that’s about all they’re willing to say at this time to justify the incident.
Kager had nothing to do with her boyfriends crimes – past or future.
However, officers began firing rounds that killed both Perry and Kager, indiscriminately. The baby, however, managed to survive – no thanks to the police who sprayed bullets wildly a the car.
Police didn’t explain anything and no justice for her daughter happened, so she is begging for it.
God Help you.
#sayhername
#indiakager
#blacklivesmatterHOW MANY MORE
five conversations between a waitress named maria and an angel, recently fallen
1. Maria hadn’t said anything when the woman came in, blood in her teeth and a purpling bruise on her cheekbone. She’d been dressed too warmly for the mild spring, a puffy overcoat that hid her arms, her whole body, all the way down to her knees. But Maria hadn’t said anything, not when the woman ducked into the diner’s bathroom, coming back with everything washed away but the dirt under her nails, not when when she wanted the table by the window, and a cup of coffee, just coffee. (Cream and sugar? Maria had asked, but the question seemed to confuse her.) Maria hadn’t said a word as the woman sat there, coffee untouched for hours, until it was almost closing.
She was still staring fixedly out the dark window, as though the coming and going of the truckers at the gas station next door were some code in need of deciphering.
Maria cleared her throat, making the woman startle. “We’re about to close the kitchen, did you want a fresh cup?”
“A fresh–oh. No, I don’t–don’t like the way it tastes.”
“Did you want to order something else?”
“No, no, it’s just–people are always ordering coffee. I thought it must taste…not like this.”
Maria was startled into laughing, and was gratified to see a tentative smile cross the strange woman’s face. “That might just be Jenny’s day-old roast. You probably ought to try Starbucks or something before handing down the final verdict,” Maria told her, smiling.
The woman had kind eyes. “I will.”
Maria looked at her for a second, then set the coffee pot down on the table. She slid into the booth across from her, and folded her hands together. “Look, it’s none of my business, but–if you’re in some trouble, I got a friend who works in Family Services, I’d be happy to call her for you.”
There was a flash of panic across the stranger’s face. “No, I–I don’t have any family,” she said carefully, looking at some point over Maria’s shoulder.
“Whoever gave you those bruises–”
“I fell.”
Maria’s heart ached. “Look…”
The woman frowned, her dark eyes searching Maria’s face as though trying to read the thoughts behind it. “No, I really did fall,” she insisted.
“Okay. Okay, just–I’m putting it out there. You should know there are options, you don’t have to stay. Look, I’ve got to get the dishwasher running, so…don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll walk out with you.”
When Maria came back to the table, the untouched coffee was still there. Underneath was a twenty dollar bill, the edges very slightly singed.
