not underwater sea-urchins.

voxamberlynn:

neon-casket:

my-little-underground:

drinkthehalo:

Miss Piggy had been rescued off the side of the road in North Carolina with a red stripe painted down her back — the telltale sign that she was marked for slaughter. How she escaped, we do not know, but an awesome woman named Valerie (who happend to be a wildlife rehabilitator and cat rescuer) scooped her up and kept her in suburban Long Island in a large pen her husband Eric built. Miss Piggy was very well cared for, but now 2 years old and fully-grown she needed more room to be a pig.

In March, 2010, she came to our sanctuary. At first we was rather intimidated by the other pigs, but soon she learned her place in the herd and gets along well enough. She’s still a little shy but has made friends with Oliver and Lodo — and she loves people. Her “parents” Eric and Valerie come almost every weekend to see her, bringing New York bagels and other treats!  (via Miss Piggy « Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary)

LOOK AT THAT FACE!

;-;

What a little baby! <3

(Source: eikyouu)

humansofnewyork:

This man was driving me across Tehran yesterday, when I learned that he’d lived for 8 years in America— incidentally on the same STREET as me in Georgia. 

He first crossed into the United States from Mexico— paying $1,500 to be transported across the border. He wanted to go to University and be a dentist, but learned that the idea of America was much more bountiful than the reality. He worked at a factory job for 8 years, without ever being able to get a drivers license. He wasn’t able to find a foothold in society. After 9/11, he said things got much tougher for Middle Eastern immigrants. “I had a great passion for the American people,” he said. “When 9/11 happened, I had no money, so instead I gave my blood.”

Five years ago he spent a night in jail for driving without a license. He decided he was tired of being nervous all the time, and he went all out for a green card. When he was turned down, he returned to Iran. 

His fee for a 45 minute taxi ride across Tehran was only $6. I paid him the rate he’d have received in America, and asked for his photograph. He was the kind of man I most admire. The kind that realizes you get one shot at life, and risks everything to make the best of it. I was sorry it didn’t work out for him.

“It was my destiny,” he said. He didn’t sound like he believed his own words though.

“Are you married?” I asked.

“Yes. I met my wife when I returned to Iran.”

“Well there you go,” I said. 

As I prepared to take his photograph, he made one request: “Don’t photograph me with the taxi,” he said, “it’s a low class job.” 

“It’s not a low class job,” I said. “It’s the job of people who take huge risks so their children can be lawyers and surgeons.”

(Tehran, Iran)