Hamster Demands Butter and Salt for Corn
An Indonesian hamster named Wiko has staged a non-violent protest that’s quickly garnered worldwide support. The #OccupyCorn movement expresses outrage that Wiko be served plain old corn, without any of the fixins that make it so delicious — chief among them, butter and salt.
“Maybe the fat cats on Wall Street can afford butter and salt, but where does that leave Wiko?” asked a protester at a rally in Jakarta.
Sources close to the situation say that Wiko refuses to eat the corn until his demands are met.
Via Widi R. D. Darmadi.
(via npr)
It was a good birthday. And by good I mean great. And by great I mean wonderful. And by wonderful I mean filled with joy. (Taken with Instagram at Los Angeles County Arboretum and Botanic Garden)
spending my last few hours as a teenager holed up in my room reading pages and pages and pages of social and literary theory.
Panting, filling the night air with gasps as she fights for breath, pine needles stuck in sandals, toes wet from the grass, face warm from the blood ripping through her veins.
“It sucks when, even in my attempt to release aggression, I just end up feeling even more defeated and beaten.”
But then without pause or pretension, these words were tossed to her, unexpected and simple:
“Maybe that’s the point.”
That time
I thought I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his hand in this,
as well as friends.
Still, I was bent,
and my laughter,
as the poet said,
was nowhere to be found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
“It’s not the weight you carry
but how you carry it -
books, bricks, grief -
it’s all in the way
you embrace it, balance it, carry it
when you cannot, and would not,
put it down.”
So I went practicing.
Have you noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and again,
out of my startled mouth?
How I linger
to admire, admire, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled -
roses in the wind,
the sea geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which there is no reply?
A dramatic Shakespearean response to every situation
- When something bad happens: True is it that we have seen better days.
- When something REALLY bad happens: O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! Most lamentable day. Most woeful day That ever, ever I did yet behold! O day, O day, O day! O hateful day! Never was seen so black a day as this.O woeful day! O woeful day!
- When people say that something is wrong because the Bible says so: The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose.
- When my girlfriend abandons me for food: FRAILTY, THY NAME IS WOMAN!
- When someone doesn't thank me for holding the door open for them: BLOW, BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND! THOU ART NOT SO UNKIND AS MAN'S INGRATITUDE!
- When I burn something while cooking: MY CAKE IS DOUGH!
- When human stupidity frustrates me: LORD, WHAT FOOLS THESE MORTALS BE!
- When someone says I'm going to hell for my sins: NYMPH, IN THY ORISONS BE ALL MY SINS REMEMBER'D.
- When I'm broke: My pride fell with my fortunes
- When someone turns the light on after a period of darkness and blinding light ensues: OH, SHE DOTH TEACH THE TORCHES TO BURN BRIGHT!
- When someone disagrees with me: THERE ARE MORE THINGS IN HEAVEN AND EARTH, HORATIO, THEN ARE DREAMT OF IN YOUR PHILOSOPHY.
- When I argue with my girlfriend: The course of true love never did run smooth.
- When I'm embarrassed: MUST I HOLD A CANDLE TO MY SHAMES?!
- Someone says "Good Night": Good Night, Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
- When I'm doing the laundry: OUT, damned spot!
The burdens become lighter with every sheet that goes up
engineering a fortress, a protection;
a home held together by hair ties and drawers.
And perhaps it’s not much of a fortress.
but it’s a bower: sacred and separate.
.
It doesn’t take much for a fort to fall,
so before we build,
we let go the heaviness. The contrast of life.
The obligations, the expectations.
.
And in here I can hear the faint reminder:
You are still a prism,
Light flowing in, colors pouring out.
Filling and refracting.
Even when it seems theres no room
for anything to shine in me.
Even when I can’t see the source.
.
The light finds me here,
wrapped in blankets,
drowning in pillows.
And it teaches me:
Nothing is assured.
This fort will fall.
You will have to go outside.
These blankets will come down.
.
But even when the heaviness seeps in,
—forcing its way through the sheets,
resting its head on my pillow—
the light will always come too.
Seeking me out, waiting to fill me.
.
Even in a fort.
Especially in a fort.
Grateful.
Ruthless Trust | Brennan Manning
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction.
For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead. He delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us.
On him we have set our hope that he will deliver us again.
