With his unique gift for complex musical composition and lyrical wit, renowned composer Stephen Sondheim would be the perfect person to bring a GIF as multifaceted as Chimp Boat to life on the stage.
- 10 GIFs We’d Like To See Turned Into Broadway Musicals
Na, hat, aki ismer az tudja, hogy honapok ota kedvencem a Clickhole, ami minden nap ujabb eddig elerhetetlennek hitt csucsokat hodit meg es nem letezo kategoriakban halmoz rekordokat. Az a jo szerencse ert ma, hogy egy ujabb ilyen esemenynek voltam konnyezo-vihakolo szemtanuja :’+DDDD
still the funniest meatdog thing
(Source: fieldsofrope, via televisionsect)
when they tell you to let go and let god
nem jonnek ki a szavak a szamon…
Nagyon erdekes lesz megnezni 15 - 20 ev mulva a nep reakciojat, amikor kiderul, hogy Pataki Attila pontosan milyen betegsegtol kattant igy meg. Minden az addig az elborulasan elcelodo ujsagot celkeresztbe vesznek, hogy megkopkodjek es keresztre feszitsek. Akkor kene egy kameraval kifutni az utcara es az ilyen relativ moralitassal rendelkezo emberektol megkerdezni, hogy “Delelott nyilvanossagra hoztak, hogy Puskas Ferenc egy naci. On szerint el kene venni a dijait?” Tobb kort lehet azutan futni azokkal, akik meg erre ugranak ra.
Az egeszben szegeny Nyikovics Orsolyat sajnalom, akit 20 ev mulva evtizedekig tarto mergezessel, aljas, gyilkos szandekokkal fog meggyanusitani es megalazni a Pataki. De hat istenem, o ment most felesegul.
Kovetkezzen Csepregi Eva!
Köszi mindenki! Ezt már a gépről írom, most akart a helyemre ülni a valamilyen Éva celeb és egy ismerőse. De a 26C nem ugyanaz mint a 23C!
51+ festival / hivatalos (<- bombajo gif flyer nagyban. Kocsog tumblr 60 perce pocsolok ezzel.)
Csak utolag vettem eszre, hogy volt tegnap egy valoszinuleg baromi jo beszelgetes a Camp 14 szerzojevel, egy ezresert. Hat jo sajnalom, hogy kimaradt.
Ma megyek Itevonba reggae hamburgerezni (?), este pedig lesz egy ilyen szabadteri utcafeszt vagy micsoda, az egyik vasarlonegyedben Mjongdongban, sok sort es kocsmat igero flyerrel.
Hat nagyjabol ilyenek, majd nyomatok valami videot valamelyik nap.
Itt streameli valaki az Eszak-Koreai nemzeti televiziot.
Kibaszott felelmetes, egesz nap szobrok + napfelkelte.
Art should be on the side of humanity. I think it was Yevtushenko talking about Rimbaud, the Frenchman who went to Ethiopia and came back with all kinds of diseases. Yevtushenko said of him that a poet cannot become a slave trader. When Rimbaud became a slave trader, he stopped writing poetry. Poetry and slave trading cannot be bedfellows. That’s where I stand.
Paris Review - The Art of Fiction No. 139, Chinua Achebe
azt tudtátok, hogy trianon 1648-ban volt?
Fogalmam sincs, hogy tudták ezt innen elveszítni a törökök, Europa Universalisban tuti nyerő helyzet!
Starting with its founding by Osman in 1299, the Ottoman Empire was ruled for ten successive generations by capable and often brilliant leaders, culminating in the dazzling reign of Suleiman the Magnificent (1494-1566), who led the Empire to its cultural and geographic zenith. That changed when his son Mustafa was executed — by five professional executioners whose tongues had been slit and eardrums broken so that they would hear no secrets and could never speak of what they saw — and replaced by his wife’s favorite, Selim II. Selim was followed by a succession of mostly degenerate and weak leaders — many who murdered relatives to prevent rivalries — that left the Empire, by 1914, as the “sick man of Europe”:
"Suleiman had some three hundred concubines, as well as a promising young son and heir named Mustafa, when he was given a red-haired Russian girl named Ghowrem, who came to be known as Roxelana. She came into his harem as part of his share of the booty from a slave-gathering raid into what is now Poland, and she must have been a remarkable creature. (Not surprisingly, in light of the power she acquired in Constantinople, she eventually won a second new name: ‘the witch.’) Almost from the day of her arrival, Suleiman never slept with another woman. Eventually and amazingly, he did something that no sultan had done in centuries; he married. Their love story would have been one of the great ones if it hadn’t ended up taking the dynasty and the empire in such a sordid direction.
Mustafa gave every indication of developing into yet another mighty branch on the family tree. At an early age he showed himself a bold military leader adored by his troops, a capable provincial governor, and a popular hero. But he stood in the way of the son whom Roxelana had borne to (presumably) Suleiman, and so he was doomed. Working her wiles, Roxelana persuaded Suleiman that Mustafa was plotting against him. (He was doing nothing of the kind.) With his father looking on, Mustafa was overpowered and strangled by five professional executioners whose tongues had been slit and eardrums broken so that they would hear no secrets and could never speak of what they saw. And so when Suleiman died some years later, master of an empire of almost incredible size and power, he was succeeded by Roxelana’s son, Selim II. Nothing was ever the same again.
Selim the Sot was short and fat and a drunk. He never saw a battlefield and died after eight years on the throne by falling down and fracturing his skull in his marble bath. His son, Murad III, was also a drunk and an opium addict as well; during a reign of twenty years he sired 103 children and apparently did little else. His heir, Mahomet III, began his reign by ordering all of his many brothers, the youngest of them mere children, put to death, thereby introducing that custom into Ottoman royal culture. Having done so he followed his father in devoting the rest of his life to copulation. And so it went. Every sultan from Roxelana’s son forward was a monster of degeneracy or a repulsive weakling or both. The abruptness and permanence of the change, the sharpness of the contrast between the murdered Mustafa and his half-brother Selim II, has given rise to speculation that perhaps Roxelana’s son was not Suleiman’s son at all.
In the post-Suleiman empire, a new breed of craven sultans came to live in terror of being overthrown by rivals from within the dynasty. Appalling new traditions emerged, to be observed whenever one of them died. All the women of the deceased sultan would be moved to a distant place and kept in even deeper solitude for the rest of their miserable lives. Any who happened to be pregnant would be murdered (generally by being bundled in sacks and drowned), and the younger brothers and half-brothers of the new monarch (often a large number of men, boys, and infants) were murdered as well (generally by strangulation).
The rulers erected a windowless building called the Cage in which their heirs were confined from early childhood until they died or were put to death or, having been taught nothing about anything, were released to take their turns on the throne. The result was as inevitable as it was monstrous: an empire ruled year after year and finally century after century by utterly ignorant, utterly incompetent, sometimes half-imbecilic, half-mad men, some of whom spent decades in the Cage before their release and all of whom, after their release, were free to do absolutely anything they wanted, no matter how vicious, for as long as they remained alive. They commonly indulged their freedom to kill or maim anyone they wished to kill or maim for any reason — for playing the wrong music or for smoking, for example — or for no reason at all.”
Vedd meg ezt
a könyvet :D