Derpp. Derpp.

Stay off the grass on the dark side of the moon<3

Jack the Ripper claimed his first victim in 1888 - a prostitute in London’s East End know as ‘Polly’, though her real name was Mary Nichols. Her throat had been cut and there were various stab wounds to her stomach and genitals. About a month later, prostitute Annie Chapman was found disembowelled, her entrails laid across one shoulder. In a patter that was to prove horribly familiar, parts of the body, in this case the bladder, vagina, womb, and ovaries, were missing. The murders continued, each one more gruesome than the last; in the case of victim Catherine Eddowes, a kidney was removed and then half of it sent to the police with a letter bragging that the killer had eaten the other half. Finally, with the murder of Mary Kelly, the Ripper reached new depths of violence and madness: her dead body was disembowelled and her hand had been inserted into her stomach. In addition, her liver had been placed on her thigh, while her breast had been cut off and laid out beside her severed heart, kidneys, and nose. Strips of flesh were hung from nails around the room in which she was murdered. A post-mortem discovered that Kelly had been three months pregnant, but the Ripper had taken her womb and fetus with him. Jack the Ripper was never found, and speculation about him (or, according to one theory, her) continued to abound, casting a long shadow over the inhabitants of London for many years. Every time a fresh murder was committed, people would fear the hand of the Ripper; murders that had happened before the Ripper’s reign of terror were also re-examined. Currently, the case is still open, and the lists of suspects contribute to grow as the evidence is repeatedly sifted, in the hopes of one day solving the mystery.

Jack the Ripper claimed his first victim in 1888 - a prostitute in London’s East End know as ‘Polly’, though her real name was Mary Nichols. Her throat had been cut and there were various stab wounds to her stomach and genitals. About a month later, prostitute Annie Chapman was found disembowelled, her entrails laid across one shoulder. In a patter that was to prove horribly familiar, parts of the body, in this case the bladder, vagina, womb, and ovaries, were missing. The murders continued, each one more gruesome than the last; in the case of victim Catherine Eddowes, a kidney was removed and then half of it sent to the police with a letter bragging that the killer had eaten the other half. Finally, with the murder of Mary Kelly, the Ripper reached new depths of violence and madness: her dead body was disembowelled and her hand had been inserted into her stomach. In addition, her liver had been placed on her thigh, while her breast had been cut off and laid out beside her severed heart, kidneys, and nose. Strips of flesh were hung from nails around the room in which she was murdered. A post-mortem discovered that Kelly had been three months pregnant, but the Ripper had taken her womb and fetus with him. Jack the Ripper was never found, and speculation about him (or, according to one theory, her) continued to abound, casting a long shadow over the inhabitants of London for many years. Every time a fresh murder was committed, people would fear the hand of the Ripper; murders that had happened before the Ripper’s reign of terror were also re-examined. Currently, the case is still open, and the lists of suspects contribute to grow as the evidence is repeatedly sifted, in the hopes of one day solving the mystery.

(via frickin-weirdo)

the-absolute-best-posts:

This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.

the-absolute-best-posts:

This post has been featured on a 1000notes.com blog.

(Source: saturdaynightsalrite)

fugllly:



“I’m too much of a creepy, negative person… A sicko… Desperate… The pathological type… Ugly, awkward, uptight, and socially retarded.” -Kurt Cobain


I feel you

fugllly:

“I’m too much of a creepy, negative person… A sicko… Desperate… The pathological type… Ugly, awkward, uptight, and socially retarded.” -Kurt Cobain

I feel you

(Source: beingdead-or-anythingelse, via frickin-weirdo)

akidfromyesterday:

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge | My Chemical Romance

(via imjustagirlintheworld)

I think it’s great for two people to be together. That is a good number. I think, that to keep it alive though, you can’t spend every day together. It wears out the magic, Love means nothing to me if it’s not fortified with fierce, painful longing, brief explosive instances of furious passion and intimacy and then a sad parting for a time. In that way, you can give your life to it and still have a life of your own. I think some couples spend too much time together. They flatten out the potential for experience by constant closeness. Passion builds over time like steam. Let it rage until it’s exhausted and then leave it alone to let it build up again. Why can’t love be insane and distorted? How can it be vital if it has the same threshold as normal day-to-day experience? Why can’t you write burning letters and let your nocturnal self smolder with desire for one who is not there? Why not let the days before you see her be excruciating and ferment in your mind so on the day you go to the airport to pick her up, you’re nearly sick with anticipation? And then when desire shows the first sign of contentment, throw it back it its cage and let it slowly build itself back into a state of starved fury. Then when you are together, it all matters. So that when you look into her eyes, you lose your balance, so that when she touches you, it feels like you have never been touched before. When she says your name, you think it was she who named you. When she has gone, you bury your face in the pillow to smell her hair and you lie awake at night remembering your face in her neck, her breathing and the amazing smell of her skin. Your eyes go wet because you want her so bad and miss her so much. Now that is worth the miles and the time. That matches the inferno of life. Otherwise you poison each other with your presence day after day as you drag each other through the inevitable mundane aspects of your lives. That is the slow death that I see slapped on faces everywhere I go. It’s part of the world’s sadness that’s more empty than cold, poorly lit rooms in cities of the American night.
Henry Rollins

trashythespian:

I just want a bunny

trashythespian:

I just want a bunny

(Source: babeless, via andrewbreitel)

(Source: witchus, via frickin-weirdo)

(via silentowl)

Wake up every morning and tell yourself that you’re a badass bitch from hell and that no one can fuck with you and then don’t let anybody fuck with you.
Kate Nash’s advice to college students (via audreytonic)

(Source: morganmarguerite, via silentowl)


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