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                            These Memes Of Clay From The 'Bachelor In Paradise' Wedding Are Too Funny
                        
                    

                    
                

            
        
    
        
            
                

                    

                        
                    

                    
                    

                        
                            Clay & Angela On 'Bachelor In Paradise' Became A Meme & It's The Ultimate Side Eye Moment
                        
                    

                    
                

            
        
    
    






    

    
    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            









    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        bogleech:

lynati:

movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…


I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it
: bogleech:

lynati:

movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…


I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it

        

            
            

                
                
                    bogleech:

lynati:

movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…


I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it
: bogleech:

lynati:

movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…


I hate that I hesitated to reblog this just because I expect people to think it’s pretentious or melodramatic when it’s seriously real as fuck and I’ve witnessed it

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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        flicker-serthes:

sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin:


wortlby2:

germanamericanslavic:
Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894

“When a man hits a target, they call 
him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did 
like that much.” - Annie Oakley




Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! 


Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman.

When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL.

This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS).

Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included:

Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge.

Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces.

Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through.

She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself.

Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters.

She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her.

After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life.

She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.
: Suihisonian
 CHANNEL
flicker-serthes:

sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin:


wortlby2:

germanamericanslavic:
Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894

“When a man hits a target, they call 
him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did 
like that much.” - Annie Oakley




Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! 


Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman.

When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL.

This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS).

Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included:

Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge.

Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces.

Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through.

She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself.

Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters.

She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her.

After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life.

She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.

        

            
            

                
                
                    flicker-serthes:

sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin:


wortlby2:

germanamericanslavic:
Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894

“When a man hits a target, they call 
him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did 
like that much.” - Annie Oakley




Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! 


Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman.

When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL.

This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS).

Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included:

Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge.

Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces.

Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through.

She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself.

Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters.

She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her.

After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life.

She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.
: Suihisonian
 CHANNEL
flicker-serthes:

sebastianmichaelisthedevilwithin:


wortlby2:

germanamericanslavic:
Colorized footage of the legendary Annie Oakley speed shooting with her Winchester rifle, November 1, 1894

“When a man hits a target, they call 
him a marksman. When I hit a target, they call it a trick. Never did 
like that much.” - Annie Oakley




Idk who Annie Oakley is, but she’s so cool! 


Annie Oakley was. BEAST of a marksman.

When she was fifteen, she went head-to-head in a shooting contest with a prize of $100, against a travelling exhibition marksman (Frank Butler). She beat him handily, and won the $100 (equivalent to over $2000 today). Please note that it was a shot-for-shot match, and he lost on the TWENTY-FIFTH clay pigeon (so it was a moving target, too). Twenty-five shots in a row, Annie hit them ALL.

This, understandably, resulted in Frank, who drank his respect women juice, to be like “Wow that is super hot and I’m in love.” They ended up getting married pretty soon after that, but didn’t have any kids (but IMAGINE IF THEY DID. A FAMILY OF SHARPSHOOTERS).

Some of her “trick” shooting (in other words, absolute badass nearly impossible shots given the sights on guns at the time and such) included:

Splitting a playing card clean in half from thirty paces while it was place on its edge.

Taking off the burning end of a cigarette placed in her husband’s mouth, from thirty+ paces.

Having someone throw a DIME into the air, and shooting it clean through.

She was lauded by Chief Sitting Bull for her marksmanship when he saw her blow out a candle with one shot, without damaging the wick or the candle itself.

Into her sixties, she continued breaking records as well as being a vocal women’s rights activist. She, in her later years, shot 100 clay pigeons in a row from 15 meters.

She died in 1915, and her husband was so consumed by grief that he stopped eating and died 18 days later because he couldn’t stand to be apart from her.

After her death it was discovered that her ENTIRE fortune (a tidy amount) had been secretly given to several charities, women’s rights groups, and her family in the last few months of her life.

She was legendary, and received numerous titles to go along with her abilities, but my favorite is definitely Annie Oakley, Little Sureshot of the West.

                    
                    

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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         : votgs lady-feral
 "The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing
 the class into two groups.
 All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely
 on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on
 its quality.
 His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in
 his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the "quantity" group: 50
 pounds of pots rated an "A", 40 pounds a "B", and so on
 Those being graded on "quality", however, needed to produce only
 one pot albeit a perfect one to get an "A"
 Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of
 highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for
 quantity
 It seems that while the "quantity" group was busily churning out piles
 of work-and learning from their mistakes the "quality" group had
 sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show
 for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay."
 Art and Fear- David Bayles and Ted Orland (via qweety)
 Perfection is intimidating. I think most artists blocks come from the fear of
 creating something imperfect.
 (via buttastic)
 putting it even more simply: just make shit. eventually itl be good shit.
 maybe most of it will just be shit but you can't make good shit if you're not
 making a lot of shit.
 GET EXCITED AND MAKE THINGS.
 (via aintgotnoladytronblues)
 Kind of important. Ive spent way too much of my life thinking about the
 perfect things I could make without actually making the damned things.
 26,336 notes
 
        

            
            

                
                
                     : votgs lady-feral
 "The ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing
 the class into two groups.
 All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely
 on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on
 its quality.
 His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in
 his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the "quantity" group: 50
 pounds of pots rated an "A", 40 pounds a "B", and so on
 Those being graded on "quality", however, needed to produce only
 one pot albeit a perfect one to get an "A"
 Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of
 highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for
 quantity
 It seems that while the "quantity" group was busily churning out piles
 of work-and learning from their mistakes the "quality" group had
 sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show
 for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay."
 Art and Fear- David Bayles and Ted Orland (via qweety)
 Perfection is intimidating. I think most artists blocks come from the fear of
 creating something imperfect.
 (via buttastic)
 putting it even more simply: just make shit. eventually itl be good shit.
 maybe most of it will just be shit but you can't make good shit if you're not
 making a lot of shit.
 GET EXCITED AND MAKE THINGS.
 (via aintgotnoladytronblues)
 Kind of important. Ive spent way too much of my life thinking about the
 perfect things I could make without actually making the damned things.
 26,336 notes
 
                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
Save

    



        

    

    
    

        

            









    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        why-i-love-comics:

Nightwing Annual #2 - “The Very Friendly Owl” (2019)written by Dan Jurgensart by Travis Moore: Like I used
 to be."
 THIS WAS
 THE BEST
 THANKSGIVING
 EVER
 WE'D LOVE
 TO HAVE YOU
 STAY, HONEY
 I KINDA
 DON'T WANNA
 LEAVE
 BUT YOU HAVE TO
 MOVE ON TO THE NEXT
 PERFORMANCE
 I'M
 SURE THE
 CIRCUS WILL
 BE BACK IN
 TOWN NEXT
 YEAR.
 WHEN IT IS,
 OUR HOME is
 YOUR HOME.
 ు

 PROMISE?
 OF
 COURSE, I DO,
 SWEETIE
 I'M AFRAID NOT,
 RICHARD. IT WAS
 OUR DAUGHTER'S
 FAVORITE
 VExy FuOLY
 OMe
 SHE'S
 WAITING FOR
 THE DAY WHEN
 SHE CAN PASS IT
 ON TO SOMEONE
 SPECIAL
 THE BOOK
 WAS GREAT.
 CAN I
 КЕЁР IT?
 "КАУ.
 ViExY FROAL
 T've been thinking
 about them a lot,
 Dr. Haas.
 My parents were
 killed before we
 got to go back
 "They're long dead
 now I'm sure, but
 I wish I'd seen
 them again.
 "They were kind
 and decent.
 Even more
 important, they
 were family."
 WELL
 DONE
 IT MAУ TАKE
 YEARS, BUT WE
 ARE PERFECTLY
 POSITIONED FOR
 THE DAY...

 .WHEN
 RICHARD
 GRAYSON 1S
 OURS.
 "WAYNE WILL
 NEVER LET GO OF
 YOU IF YOU STAY
 IN GOTHAM.
 YOU WANT ME
 TO LEAVE?
 MY ONLY GOAL IS
 YOUR HEALTH AND
 HAPPINESS.
 PUT ASIDE
 THE IDEA OF
 RECOVERINGA
 LIFE YOU CAN'T
 REMEMBER...
 THERE'S LITTLE TO
 KEEP YOU HERE AND
 YOUR FRUSTRATION
 IS OBVIOUS.
 ...AND FOCUS
 ON BUILDINGA
 NEW LIFE.
 SO, WHY NOT
 START IN A PLACE
 THAT DOES MEAN
 SOMETHING?
 SOMEPLACE
 LIKE...
 МАУВЕ
 THIS WILL HELP
 YOU CONNECT
 WITH HAPPIER
 TIMES.
 ...BLÜDHAVEN
 IS
 THAT--P!
 I ALSO
 HAD IT AS
 A CHILD.
 KVERY FAADIY
 OWL
 WOW
 THANK
 YOU!
 THE
 IT'S
 JUST LIKE I
 REMEMBER
 IT!
 BUT, uh...
 DON'T YOU THINK
 I'M A LITTLE OLD
 FOR IT?

 NO ONE IS
 EVER TOO OLD
 TO LET THE BEST
 MOMENTS OF THEIR
 CHILDHOOD BE
 THEIR GUIDE.
 YOU CAN THANK
 ME BY CREATING A
 VIBRANT NEW LIFE
 FOR YOURSELF
 IF I KNOW
 WAYNE, HE HAS
 CONTACTS ON
 STAFF
 GOODBYE,
 RICHARD.
 I'LL BE IN
 TOUCH
 YOU WERE
 LISTENING?
 IT'LL BE
 EASIER FOR YOU
 TO DISAPPEAR
 IF YOU DON'T
 SIGN OUT.
 I OWE YOU
 MORE THAN
 I CAN EVER
 REPAY, DR.
 HAAS
 THANK
 YOU.
 OF
 COURSE
 YOUR DRUG REGIMEN
 AND PSYCHOLOGICAL
 MANIPULATION BURIED
 GRAYSON'S MEMORY
 AND LEFT HIM RIGHT
 WHERE WE WANT
 HIM
 WELL DONE,
 DOCTOR.
 THERE'S
 MORE TO BE
 DONE, OF
 COURSE
 BUT
 THE DICK
 GRAYSON OF
 THE PAST...

 IS GONE
 FOREVER.
 "HE'S RICHARD
 GRAYSON NOW, A FRESH
 LUMP OF CLAY, WAITING
 TO BE MOLDED INTO
 WHATEVER WE WANT
 "NOTIFY
 СОВВ.
 Blüdhaven
 45 mi
 LET HIM KNOW THAT
 THE TIME TO MOVE IS
 ALMOST HERE...
 ..AND THAT
 HIS GREAT-
 GRANDSON WILL
 SOON BE HIS."
why-i-love-comics:

Nightwing Annual #2 - “The Very Friendly Owl” (2019)written by Dan Jurgensart by Travis Moore
        

            
            

                
                
                    why-i-love-comics:

Nightwing Annual #2 - “The Very Friendly Owl” (2019)written by Dan Jurgensart by Travis Moore: Like I used
 to be."
 THIS WAS
 THE BEST
 THANKSGIVING
 EVER
 WE'D LOVE
 TO HAVE YOU
 STAY, HONEY
 I KINDA
 DON'T WANNA
 LEAVE
 BUT YOU HAVE TO
 MOVE ON TO THE NEXT
 PERFORMANCE
 I'M
 SURE THE
 CIRCUS WILL
 BE BACK IN
 TOWN NEXT
 YEAR.
 WHEN IT IS,
 OUR HOME is
 YOUR HOME.
 ు

 PROMISE?
 OF
 COURSE, I DO,
 SWEETIE
 I'M AFRAID NOT,
 RICHARD. IT WAS
 OUR DAUGHTER'S
 FAVORITE
 VExy FuOLY
 OMe
 SHE'S
 WAITING FOR
 THE DAY WHEN
 SHE CAN PASS IT
 ON TO SOMEONE
 SPECIAL
 THE BOOK
 WAS GREAT.
 CAN I
 КЕЁР IT?
 "КАУ.
 ViExY FROAL
 T've been thinking
 about them a lot,
 Dr. Haas.
 My parents were
 killed before we
 got to go back
 "They're long dead
 now I'm sure, but
 I wish I'd seen
 them again.
 "They were kind
 and decent.
 Even more
 important, they
 were family."
 WELL
 DONE
 IT MAУ TАKE
 YEARS, BUT WE
 ARE PERFECTLY
 POSITIONED FOR
 THE DAY...

 .WHEN
 RICHARD
 GRAYSON 1S
 OURS.
 "WAYNE WILL
 NEVER LET GO OF
 YOU IF YOU STAY
 IN GOTHAM.
 YOU WANT ME
 TO LEAVE?
 MY ONLY GOAL IS
 YOUR HEALTH AND
 HAPPINESS.
 PUT ASIDE
 THE IDEA OF
 RECOVERINGA
 LIFE YOU CAN'T
 REMEMBER...
 THERE'S LITTLE TO
 KEEP YOU HERE AND
 YOUR FRUSTRATION
 IS OBVIOUS.
 ...AND FOCUS
 ON BUILDINGA
 NEW LIFE.
 SO, WHY NOT
 START IN A PLACE
 THAT DOES MEAN
 SOMETHING?
 SOMEPLACE
 LIKE...
 МАУВЕ
 THIS WILL HELP
 YOU CONNECT
 WITH HAPPIER
 TIMES.
 ...BLÜDHAVEN
 IS
 THAT--P!
 I ALSO
 HAD IT AS
 A CHILD.
 KVERY FAADIY
 OWL
 WOW
 THANK
 YOU!
 THE
 IT'S
 JUST LIKE I
 REMEMBER
 IT!
 BUT, uh...
 DON'T YOU THINK
 I'M A LITTLE OLD
 FOR IT?

 NO ONE IS
 EVER TOO OLD
 TO LET THE BEST
 MOMENTS OF THEIR
 CHILDHOOD BE
 THEIR GUIDE.
 YOU CAN THANK
 ME BY CREATING A
 VIBRANT NEW LIFE
 FOR YOURSELF
 IF I KNOW
 WAYNE, HE HAS
 CONTACTS ON
 STAFF
 GOODBYE,
 RICHARD.
 I'LL BE IN
 TOUCH
 YOU WERE
 LISTENING?
 IT'LL BE
 EASIER FOR YOU
 TO DISAPPEAR
 IF YOU DON'T
 SIGN OUT.
 I OWE YOU
 MORE THAN
 I CAN EVER
 REPAY, DR.
 HAAS
 THANK
 YOU.
 OF
 COURSE
 YOUR DRUG REGIMEN
 AND PSYCHOLOGICAL
 MANIPULATION BURIED
 GRAYSON'S MEMORY
 AND LEFT HIM RIGHT
 WHERE WE WANT
 HIM
 WELL DONE,
 DOCTOR.
 THERE'S
 MORE TO BE
 DONE, OF
 COURSE
 BUT
 THE DICK
 GRAYSON OF
 THE PAST...

 IS GONE
 FOREVER.
 "HE'S RICHARD
 GRAYSON NOW, A FRESH
 LUMP OF CLAY, WAITING
 TO BE MOLDED INTO
 WHATEVER WE WANT
 "NOTIFY
 СОВВ.
 Blüdhaven
 45 mi
 LET HIM KNOW THAT
 THE TIME TO MOVE IS
 ALMOST HERE...
 ..AND THAT
 HIS GREAT-
 GRANDSON WILL
 SOON BE HIS."
why-i-love-comics:

Nightwing Annual #2 - “The Very Friendly Owl” (2019)written by Dan Jurgensart by Travis Moore
                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
Save

    



        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            








        

    

    
    

        

            









    

        
        
        
        
        
        
        
    

    

        lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…
: Cood Caerings
 Colaring
 in the
 lines:
 Colors
 make
 Sense:
 No white
 Spaces:
 CEZAN
 EI
 ashabl
 Markers
 C)
lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…

        

            
            

                
                
                    lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…
: Cood Caerings
 Colaring
 in the
 lines:
 Colors
 make
 Sense:
 No white
 Spaces:
 CEZAN
 EI
 ashabl
 Markers
 C)
lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.He liked to make all kinds;Lions and tigers,Chickens and cows,Trains and boats;And he took out his box of crayonsAnd began to draw.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make flowers.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make beautiful onesWith his pink and orange and blue crayons.But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And it was red, with a green stem.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at his teacher’s flowerThen he looked at his own flower.He liked his flower better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just turned his paper over,And made a flower like the teacher’s.It was red, with a green stem.
On another dayThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make something with clay.”“Good!” thought the little boy;He liked clay.He could make all kinds of things with clay:Snakes and snowmen,Elephants and mice,Cars and trucksAnd he began to pull and pinchHis ball of clay.
But the teacher said, “Wait!”“It is not time to begin!”And she waited until everyone looked ready.“Now,” said the teacher,“We are going to make a dish.”“Good!” thought the little boy,He liked to make dishes.And he began to make someThat were all shapes and sizes.
But the teacher said “Wait!”“And I will show you how.”And she showed everyone how to makeOne deep dish.“There,” said the teacher,“Now you may begin.”
The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish;Then he looked at his own.He liked his better than the teacher’sBut he did not say this.He just rolled his clay into a big ball againAnd made a dish like the teacher’s.It was a deep dish.
And pretty soonThe little boy learned to wait,And to watchAnd to make things just like the teacher.And pretty soonHe didn’t make things of his own anymore.
Then it happenedThat the little boy and his familyMoved to another house,In another city,And the little boyHad to go to another school.
The teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” thought the little boy.And he waited for the teacherTo tell what to do.But the teacher didn’t say anything.She just walked around the room.
When she came to the little boyShe asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?”“Yes,” said the little boy.“What are we going to make?”“I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher.“How shall I make it?” asked the little boy.“Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher.“And any color?” asked the little boy.“Any color,” said the teacher.And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.
~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

…

                    
                
            

            
                
                
lynati:
movemequotes:

Once a little boy went to school.One morningThe teacher said:“Today we are going to make a picture.”“Good!” though...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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        peter-pantomime:
comparativelysuperlative:

prokopetz:

thesparkofrevolution:


blacktyranitar:

thesparkofrevolution:

jakovu:

dama3:

tastefullyoffensive:
Babylonian era problems. (photo via tbc34)
old school hate mail


Imagine how pissed you have to be to engrave a rock


Ok but there was this guy called Ea-nasir who was a total crook and would actually cheat people ought of good copper and sell them shit instead. The amount of correspondences complaining to and about this guy are HILARIOUS.


Are you telling me we know about a specific guy who lived 5000 years ago, by name, because he was a huge asshole


More like 4000 years ago but yes. Ea-nasir and his dodgy business deals.


And we haven’t even touched on the true hilarity of the situation yet. Consider two additional facts:
He wasn’t just into copper trading. There are letters complaining about Ea-nasir’s business practices with respect to everything from kitchenwares to real estate speculation to second-hand clothing. The guy was everywhere.
The majority of the surviving correspondences regarding Ea-nasir were recovered from one particular room in a building that is believed to have been Ea-nasir’s own house.
Like, these are clay tablets. They’re bulky, fragile, and difficult to store. They typically weren’t kept long-term unless they contained financial records or other vital information (which is why we have huge reams of financial data about ancient Babylon in spite of how little we know about the actual culture: most of the surviving tablets are commercial inventories, bills of sale, etc.).
But this guy, this Ea-nasir, he kept all of his angry letters - hundreds of them - and meticulously filed and preserved them in a dedicated room in his house. What kind of guy does that?
[ source ]

Okay, but imagine from the other guy’s point of view. You send angry letters about how Ea-nasir shipped you half a ton of subpar copper, and then 3800 years later—


History: you are without a doubt the worst business man ive ever heard of
Ea-nasir: 
: o the Ningal
 ssful trading
 rsian Gulf
 Complaint about delivery
 of the wrong grade of copper
 About 1750 BC (Old Babylonian
 period) from Ur
 ME 131236
 ian period)
peter-pantomime:
comparativelysuperlative:

prokopetz:

thesparkofrevolution:


blacktyranitar:

thesparkofrevolution:

jakovu:

dama3:

tastefullyoffensive:
Babylonian era problems. (photo via tbc34)
old school hate mail


Imagine how pissed you have to be to engrave a rock


Ok but there was this guy called Ea-nasir who was a total crook and would actually cheat people ought of good copper and sell them shit instead. The amount of correspondences complaining to and about this guy are HILARIOUS.


Are you telling me we know about a specific guy who lived 5000 years ago, by name, because he was a huge asshole


More like 4000 years ago but yes. Ea-nasir and his dodgy business deals.


And we haven’t even touched on the true hilarity of the situation yet. Consider two additional facts:
He wasn’t just into copper trading. There are letters complaining about Ea-nasir’s business practices with respect to everything from kitchenwares to real estate speculation to second-hand clothing. The guy was everywhere.
The majority of the surviving correspondences regarding Ea-nasir were recovered from one particular room in a building that is believed to have been Ea-nasir’s own house.
Like, these are clay tablets. They’re bulky, fragile, and difficult to store. They typically weren’t kept long-term unless they contained financial records or other vital information (which is why we have huge reams of financial data about ancient Babylon in spite of how little we know about the actual culture: most of the surviving tablets are commercial inventories, bills of sale, etc.).
But this guy, this Ea-nasir, he kept all of his angry letters - hundreds of them - and meticulously filed and preserved them in a dedicated room in his house. What kind of guy does that?
[ source ]

Okay, but imagine from the other guy’s point of view. You send angry letters about how Ea-nasir shipped you half a ton of subpar copper, and then 3800 years later—


History: you are without a doubt the worst business man ive ever heard of
Ea-nasir: 

        

            
            

                
                
                    peter-pantomime:
comparativelysuperlative:

prokopetz:

thesparkofrevolution:


blacktyranitar:

thesparkofrevolution:

jakovu:

dama3:

tastefullyoffensive:
Babylonian era problems. (photo via tbc34)
old school hate mail


Imagine how pissed you have to be to engrave a rock


Ok but there was this guy called Ea-nasir who was a total crook and would actually cheat people ought of good copper and sell them shit instead. The amount of correspondences complaining to and about this guy are HILARIOUS.


Are you telling me we know about a specific guy who lived 5000 years ago, by name, because he was a huge asshole


More like 4000 years ago but yes. Ea-nasir and his dodgy business deals.


And we haven’t even touched on the true hilarity of the situation yet. Consider two additional facts:
He wasn’t just into copper trading. There are letters complaining about Ea-nasir’s business practices with respect to everything from kitchenwares to real estate speculation to second-hand clothing. The guy was everywhere.
The majority of the surviving correspondences regarding Ea-nasir were recovered from one particular room in a building that is believed to have been Ea-nasir’s own house.
Like, these are clay tablets. They’re bulky, fragile, and difficult to store. They typically weren’t kept long-term unless they contained financial records or other vital information (which is why we have huge reams of financial data about ancient Babylon in spite of how little we know about the actual culture: most of the surviving tablets are commercial inventories, bills of sale, etc.).
But this guy, this Ea-nasir, he kept all of his angry letters - hundreds of them - and meticulously filed and preserved them in a dedicated room in his house. What kind of guy does that?
[ source ]

Okay, but imagine from the other guy’s point of view. You send angry letters about how Ea-nasir shipped you half a ton of subpar copper, and then 3800 years later—


History: you are without a doubt the worst business man ive ever heard of
Ea-nasir: 
: o the Ningal
 ssful trading
 rsian Gulf
 Complaint about delivery
 of the wrong grade of copper
 About 1750 BC (Old Babylonian
 period) from Ur
 ME 131236
 ian period)
peter-pantomime:
comparativelysuperlative:

prokopetz:

thesparkofrevolution:


blacktyranitar:

thesparkofrevolution:

jakovu:

dama3:

tastefullyoffensive:
Babylonian era problems. (photo via tbc34)
old school hate mail


Imagine how pissed you have to be to engrave a rock


Ok but there was this guy called Ea-nasir who was a total crook and would actually cheat people ought of good copper and sell them shit instead. The amount of correspondences complaining to and about this guy are HILARIOUS.


Are you telling me we know about a specific guy who lived 5000 years ago, by name, because he was a huge asshole


More like 4000 years ago but yes. Ea-nasir and his dodgy business deals.


And we haven’t even touched on the true hilarity of the situation yet. Consider two additional facts:
He wasn’t just into copper trading. There are letters complaining about Ea-nasir’s business practices with respect to everything from kitchenwares to real estate speculation to second-hand clothing. The guy was everywhere.
The majority of the surviving correspondences regarding Ea-nasir were recovered from one particular room in a building that is believed to have been Ea-nasir’s own house.
Like, these are clay tablets. They’re bulky, fragile, and difficult to store. They typically weren’t kept long-term unless they contained financial records or other vital information (which is why we have huge reams of financial data about ancient Babylon in spite of how little we know about the actual culture: most of the surviving tablets are commercial inventories, bills of sale, etc.).
But this guy, this Ea-nasir, he kept all of his angry letters - hundreds of them - and meticulously filed and preserved them in a dedicated room in his house. What kind of guy does that?
[ source ]

Okay, but imagine from the other guy’s point of view. You send angry letters about how Ea-nasir shipped you half a ton of subpar copper, and then 3800 years later—


History: you are without a doubt the worst business man ive ever heard of
Ea-nasir: 

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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        did-you-kno:

There are pencils that turn into 
plants when you’re done using them. 


The ‘Sprout Pencil’ is the first sustainable pencil in the world that can be planted after use.


“We have chosen the seeds for our pencils with great care, and they germinate quickly: i.e. within 1-3 weeks, depending on the seed variety. Most plants can be grown both indoors and outdoors.” 
It’s made of natural materials: the body is cedar wood, and the “lead” is a mixture of clay and graphite.
Sprout pencils are available in 22 varieties, including sunflower, mint, lavender, sage, forget-me-not, cherry tomato, sweet pea, cilantro, and wild strawberry.
What to do
“When the Sprout Pencil has become too short to write with, it is ready to be planted. Follow the simple instructions below and see your Sprout pencil sprout.”
They are also available in the colored pencil variety, which makes me oh-so-happy! 
Source
: did you know?
 There are pencils that turn into
 plants when you're done using them
 Their erasers are replaced with seed
 capsules, allowing you to stick them
 into soil and sprout yourself a new
 plant once they're too short
 to write with.
 PHOTO: SPROUTWORLD
 DIDYOUKNOWBLOG.COM
did-you-kno:

There are pencils that turn into 
plants when you’re done using them. 


The ‘Sprout Pencil’ is the first sustainable pencil in the world that can be planted after use.


“We have chosen the seeds for our pencils with great care, and they germinate quickly: i.e. within 1-3 weeks, depending on the seed variety. Most plants can be grown both indoors and outdoors.” 
It’s made of natural materials: the body is cedar wood, and the “lead” is a mixture of clay and graphite.
Sprout pencils are available in 22 varieties, including sunflower, mint, lavender, sage, forget-me-not, cherry tomato, sweet pea, cilantro, and wild strawberry.
What to do
“When the Sprout Pencil has become too short to write with, it is ready to be planted. Follow the simple instructions below and see your Sprout pencil sprout.”
They are also available in the colored pencil variety, which makes me oh-so-happy! 
Source

        

            
            

                
                
                    did-you-kno:

There are pencils that turn into 
plants when you’re done using them. 


The ‘Sprout Pencil’ is the first sustainable pencil in the world that can be planted after use.


“We have chosen the seeds for our pencils with great care, and they germinate quickly: i.e. within 1-3 weeks, depending on the seed variety. Most plants can be grown both indoors and outdoors.” 
It’s made of natural materials: the body is cedar wood, and the “lead” is a mixture of clay and graphite.
Sprout pencils are available in 22 varieties, including sunflower, mint, lavender, sage, forget-me-not, cherry tomato, sweet pea, cilantro, and wild strawberry.
What to do
“When the Sprout Pencil has become too short to write with, it is ready to be planted. Follow the simple instructions below and see your Sprout pencil sprout.”
They are also available in the colored pencil variety, which makes me oh-so-happy! 
Source
: did you know?
 There are pencils that turn into
 plants when you're done using them
 Their erasers are replaced with seed
 capsules, allowing you to stick them
 into soil and sprout yourself a new
 plant once they're too short
 to write with.
 PHOTO: SPROUTWORLD
 DIDYOUKNOWBLOG.COM
did-you-kno:

There are pencils that turn into 
plants when you’re done using them. 


The ‘Sprout Pencil’ is the first sustainable pencil in the world that can be planted after use.


“We have chosen the seeds for our pencils with great care, and they germinate quickly: i.e. within 1-3 weeks, depending on the seed variety. Most plants can be grown both indoors and outdoors.” 
It’s made of natural materials: the body is cedar wood, and the “lead” is a mixture of clay and graphite.
Sprout pencils are available in 22 varieties, including sunflower, mint, lavender, sage, forget-me-not, cherry tomato, sweet pea, cilantro, and wild strawberry.
What to do
“When the Sprout Pencil has become too short to write with, it is ready to be planted. Follow the simple instructions below and see your Sprout pencil sprout.”
They are also available in the colored pencil variety, which makes me oh-so-happy! 
Source

                    
                
            

            
                
                
did-you-kno:

There are pencils that turn into 
plants when you’re done using them. 


The ‘Sprout Pencil’ is the first sustainable penci...

                
            
            
        

    

    

        
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