Josh Schneider

Need porn? Need food? Need cute animals? Need fandom? Need to feel like you are not alone?

Choose Tumblr everytime.

irishicing asked: I like you because you wear plaidish pants, a bow tie, and suspenders to a pool party. that is all.

It was my pool party and I was cooking for most of it, because people love my food. Never the less, I love you for liking me, that is all.

clay-of-the-earth asked: Mehhh. I have until June 15.

That is boring. You need to skip whatever you are doing on Saturday and come to my party! :D

This Is One Reason Why I Love My Friends...

• Friend: You did this to me...
• Me: ???
• Friend: You just had to go about doing it...
• Friend: Not worrying what it might have done to me.
• Friend: It's all your fault...
• Me: It's true...probably.
• Friend: Now...
• Me: o.o
• Friend: I am...
• Me: O.o
• Friend: A...
• Me: O.O;
• Friend: ...fan of Doctor Who.
• Me: *does victory dance* Yes! YES!! Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeees!!!

You Never Seem to Stop and Enjoy What You Have...

• Me: Wait...
• Person: Hmm?
• Me: Why do you always do that?
• Person: Do what?
• Me: Complain. You only ever complain. You complain that all (men/women) are terrible, you complain that your school work takes forever, you complain about your job, you complain about everything. Maybe if your started showing better taste in people you date, stopped checking Facebook while you do your schoolwork, and tried to make your job more entertaining, then maybe you would have less to whine about.

First Time Seeing People in a While...

• Friend: We thought you were dead!!!
• Me: You're always making that mistake.

So, I had a VERY indepth, interesting, weird, and awesome dream, last night…

My friend Amy and I suddenly woke up in a work camp in what looked like a valley in the shadow of Mt. Fuji, Japan where we were forced to work for this group of gem harvesters as slaves. While there, my friend found a journal under her half of our bunk bed. While she wrote away into it, I thought of ways for us to escape from the camp. The next morning, while walking back to the mine, to start that day’s work, I found a large metal box behind our cabin with the “Caution: Electrical” sticker on the front; a little too obvious and out in the open if you ask me. After that day’s work, as night was falling, I found a box of matches, mysteriously left on my bed, not one had been plucked from the packaging.

I formulated a plan, told it to Amy, and we were off. First, we went to the electrical box, and what was lying next to our feet? A crowbar. We pried the door to it open and smashed the interior, causing electricity to the camp to be shut down, including the searchlights. The rest of the camp was suddenly woken up, and with no electricity, there were no warning sirens, but that did not stop the dozens of guards’ footsteps from waking up all of the workers. Before the guards could even get to the munitions shack for extra ammo and arms, we had already set it on fire with the matches I had found on my bed.

On the ground, outside of the shack, we found a megaphone and told the prisoners in a most sincere way of what was going on, “JAILBREEEEAAAAK!!!” A flood of imprisoned men, women, and children poured out of the shacks and off to freedom, but my friend and I had decided to steal an old jeep and ride off. We were just in time as the imprisoned peoples smashed open the front gate to the work camp, and we rode out alongside civilians. Suddenly, a boy in “Newsies” attire of about seven years of age and his sister in a raggedy school uniform who was of about eighteen ran in front of our jeep and halted us. The older sister first introduced herself as Mary, then introduced her brother as Hailey Joel. She then told us that they had seen us lighting the munitions shack on fire and wanted to thank us for what we had done.

We smiled back, thanked them for their kind words, and we drove down the road. As we rode past rice paddies and other fields, Amy looked at the journal she had found in one hand and then looked to me and started, “Umm, Josh…” but before she could finish her statement, we were caught up in a massive fog, and it faded away in an instant. Once the fog was gone, so was our jeep, and even the fields, We were now headed up what seemed to be a snowy mountain, but instead of dirt beneath the snow, there was smooth, turquoises-colored ice that protruded out of the snow in spikes in areas. Also perking up from out of the snow were pink trees with pink cherry blossoms. We were not alone, however. While we were off to the side under one of the trees, walking up the mountain were people, only they were not people.

They looked like crude, demented children’s scribbles of people made out of black colored pencils. They did not look at us, but rather, they focused on a path of footprints that led up to the top of the mountain, which to us, was nowhere in sight. This mountain was so high that it seemed to lead into the clouds. Then, out of the line of people that curved left and right up the mountain, we spotted scribbles of the brother and sister from before and called out to them, “Hailey Joel!! Mary!! Over here!” but the did not hear us. My friend then gasped and continued where she had left off in the jeep, “I nearly forgot! How could I forget…? Anyway, Josh, you have to listen!” and she told me of how on the first night upon finding her journal, she had written in it how escape seemed so impossible and that she wished it could be easy as one, two, three.

I asked to look at the journal, but she paused for a moment and told me how when she looked in the book again on the night we escaped, her writing had disappeared, and all that was there was a sentence, “It shall be done.” So many things did not make sense. How had we managed to escape the prison camp so easily? How had we managed to teleport from there to the mountains? Where had this journal come from, and what was it capable of? Who were these scribble people? And if we were on a mountain of ice, how come it was not bitterly cold?

All of this soon paled in comparison once we looked into the crowd and one of the scribbles walked out of the line, and as it did, it lost its scribble appearance for a real one, that of an old man whose skin dripped a dark, viscous liquid from expanding pores, and even though he was old, he walked quite fast. I gripped Amy’s hand and led us up the mountain, as fast as we could go, and she asked, “What IS that thing?” “Oh, nothing!” I jokingly said as we ran for our lives, “SCP-106. An old man who constantly perspires acid. Nothing that bad. Just run, and he cannot hurt us. We have to get to the top of the mountain though! I have an idea!” We struggled to make it up the steep mountain, while he seemed to have no difficulty working up the tilted landscape. Now, he was only a few feet behind us, a creepy, spike-toothed smile dangling below his enormous, black eyes. Then, we approached the cloud that prevented up from seeing the top of the mountain, and as we took one last look at the scribbles of the two children, we ran into the cloud. Once on the other side of it, we seemed to have walked in through a door to an incredibly old restaurant with a wooden interior and the acidic elder was gone.

As we looked around, we noticed at the top of the room was a massive chandelier with at least 100 lit candles around it. We looked back down to see that we were sitting at a table for two with a plump waiter standing next to us with a ridiculous grin underneath of his long, curled mustache and a platter of cheese and sausage in his hand. I heard the closing of a book as the waiter set down the platter on our table and walked away, and I asked Amy what that sound was. She said that before the acid man showed up, she had written down in the journal that she really wished that we had some food after that intense escape. I asked to look at the journal before we even touched the platter and saw on the page where she had written that request, not her handwriting, but that of someone else, and it read, “You can have all the food you can eat, but let us build up your appetite a bit first,” obviously referring to the chase by that old man. I held onto the book, and whispered to her, “This book is obviously dangerous, so let me hang onto it for a bit. I am going to flip through it.”

After that, our attention was fully on the food, because after all, being chased by monsters and breaking out of a work camp can build up a powerful hunger. We indulged on succulent sausages, creamy cheeses on crispy, herbal crackers, and downed it all with the smoothest beer you could ask for. We ate, ate, and ate, but never seemed to get full. Unknown to us at the time, we both had gotten insanely bloated to the point that we looked like fast food addicts, but we still continued to eat. Suddenly, the constant eating was broken when my friend mentioned that she had never known me to touch alcohol. Then, I mentioned the same about her, and even though we had drank over a gallon each of the stuff, neither one of us was even the slightest bit tipsy. We had forgotten completely about the experiences we had been through, we had forgotten about the journal, we had forgotten… everything.

However, certain things, even in a crazy, farcical purgatory have to take place, and nature was calling me. I told Amy of my biological needs, and in my plump, new form, waddled over to the restaurant’s restroom. Blocking the door was an out of service sign, but in times of distress, one cannot be too particular, and I proceeded inside, ignoring the sign. There must have been another mist to proceed through, because there was no restroom on the other side of the door. Instead, I found myself at a massive carnival in the late evening, just as stars were able to be seen, but the sun was still setting.

I was thin, I was relieved, but I was also…alone. Amy was back in the restaurant, and I had no way of getting back to her. All around me were tents that held games of chance and deep-fried foods, above myself and the tents was a massive roller coaster that towered even above the trees. While I contemplated what action to take next as I gazed at the journal that was still in my hand, I was tackled from behind with a small hug and a gentler larger one. I turned to see Hailey Joel and Mary.

Their clothes were clean and we talked about how large the carnival was, and just like that, I was absorbed into the flickering lights of the fantastic fair. We played games like the bean bag toss and tossing the ball at the milk bottles, and while I avoided eating anymore food, I joined them for a ride on the roller coaster. As we walked down the dirt path to the bumper cars, I spotted Amy and she ran up to me, and I told her, “Guess who I ran into?” but as I turned around, Hailey Joel and Mary were gone. Amy shook my arms and told me to focus, “We have to get out of here. This place, wherever we are, it’s playing tricks on us! We have to get back home!” My senses started to come back to me, and I took out the journal, and wrote into it that we wanted to go home.

My writing vanished into the pages, but instead of a response, an angry jack-o-lantern face appeared in black ink. Just then, the roller coaster began to sway over our heads and the track began to snap. We took a few steps back just as cars started flying off of the track and into the tents below. Bumper cars started shooting out of their building like wild bulls and smashed into fences around the carnival. I took Amy by the hand and we ran like mad through the screaming crowds to find an exit.

After exploring the carnival, I knew that there were three exits out of the carnival: the south-east, the south-west, and the north-west. Being so close to it, we ran past burning tents and nearly avoided falling track from the roller coaster to get to the south-eastern exit, but there were signs all around it that read things like “Danger!” and “Enter at own risk!” but we pressed on down the path, only to hear the sound of laser guns firing off. We stopped to see the path littered with bodies with sinister, robotic voices roaring, “Exterminate! Exterminate! Exteriminate!” “Umm…run!” I exclaimed, and we dashed back into the fair towards the south-western exit which was a long tent that led through an even larger wooden room.

As we approached the tent, the sounds of screams and chainsaws blared out of the entrance which was coated in blood. Metallic footsteps from inside the tent began to grown louder and louder as they neared entering the fair with bodies that chanted, “Delete! Delete! Delete!” This only left the north-western exit for us to make our escape. As we approached the exit, it seemed like all of reality was being stretched and pulled into this little passageway, but while all of the buildings, and the background were being stretched, our forms remained totally the same as before.

We ran into the passageway, narrowly escaping a large portion of the roller coaster from falling on top of us. The passage that we were running down had flat walls, a flat floor, and a flat ceiling, and seemed to be made of glass, and while outside of it was the crippling carnival, inside we viewed what looked like the inside of a nebula. One end led back to the fires of the destroyed fair and the other led to what appeared to be a bright light. With the journal in hand, we ran down the twinkling, colorful passageway as I spoke aloud, “Okay… Daleks… Cybermen… monsters from Doctor Who… Something I was not expecting… So… What the hell is going on here!? They don’t exist!” Amy took the journal from under my arm and opened it up to see if anything else had developed since we last saw that horrific face looking back at us, but as soon as she opened up the book, a flood of link poured out around her and soon there was a large man made of ink standing between me and the exit with Amy trapped inside.

It was another fictional monster from my memories: the Phantom Blot. He bared his terrible face that we had seen in the book, and it all became clear. He was using my memories of things I had read, or seen, or heard to try and trap us, and knowing this, I was able to see one fatal flaw in his form; he had used another of my memories to contain who he was. The journal that was the source of his power was like that from Harry Potter. I picked up the journal just as he lunged at me with his inky arms, and I ripped out a mass of the pages.

Just as I had done so, his arms fell off. I ripped out more, and more pages, and the Phantom Blot began to dissolve into nothing, until there were no more pages, and no more Phantom Blot, and only Amy was there. We laughed happily at our victory and ran away from the destroyed journal and into the light at the end of the passage, and then, I woke up.

You know what would be awesome, right now? Cuddling! But, then again, cuddling is perfect ANYtime. :3

To My Dear, Dear Followers…

Enjoy this little gift. (credit goes to willsgotheer)

Use it…

Yep, That Is Definitely What He Meant...

• Benjamin Franklin: Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.
• Me: He must have meant "early 'in the morning' to bed, early 'in the afternoon' to rise."