fucknowhitekhan:

occasionallypaper:

The majority of complaints I’ve seen about Benedict Cumberbatch playing Khan is that “he’s not Indian enough.” But the original actor for Khan was Mexican…? Therefore not Indian at all…?

we’re not endorsing the original khan, either????

The majority of complaints I’ve seen about Benedict Cumberbatch playing Khan is that “he’s not Indian enough.” But the original actor for Khan was Mexican…? Therefore not Indian at all…?

fuckyeahfeminists:

bird-on-a-leash:

paperwhale:

claydols:

your bra strap is showing please hide it because it is suggestive. also your boobs are producing lumps in your shirt please hide them. your butt is in the same situation please get rid of it. also your legs. your arms. your face.

I can see your feet and it’s very distracting and slightly arousing.

LOL

(via madammistress)

hetaliagirl104:

This is for an assignment that is due tomorrow.

Reblog if you think that Harry Potter should NOT be on the banned books list because it features Magic, sets bad examples, and because of dark themes. 

Thanks.

(via madammistress)

cumbertrekky:

He was an all-action Sherlock Holmes for TV and now he’s conquering Hollywood in Star Trek. Caitlin Moran joins the actor at his parents’ home for Sunday lunch

I don’t know if you remember, but some time last summer – between the end of the Olympics and the return of The X Factor – it briefly became the thing to have a go at Benedict Cumberbatch for being “a posho”.

However many times Cumberbatch tried to explain that he was “just middle class, really”, a sum kept being done, over and over: “Harrow education” + “called ‘Benedict Cumberbatch’ ” = “A man who wipes his bum on castles”. There was a series of catty columns about it, with headlines like “Posh off to America” and “Poor posh boy”.

The underlying presumption seemed to be that Cumberbatch was some dilettante princeling – stealing roles such as Sherlock Holmes in Sherlock, and the painfully repressed landowner Christopher Tietjens in Tom Stoppard’s Parade’s End, that would otherwise have gone to working-class actors such as Danny Dyer, or Shane Richie from EastEnders, and that this was all a great pity.

Of course, as with all these things, it blew over quite quickly – not least because it was superseded by the news that Cumberbatch had been cast in the new Star Trek movie, and was, therefore, about to become one of the most successful British actors of the past ten years. But I am reminded of it all today, in the back of a cab, leafing through a pile of cuttings on Cumberbatch.

“What a load of balls that was,” I muse. “The whole posh thing. What a load of old balls. What a funny old world.”

It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and I have been invited to lunch with Cumberbatch at his parents’ house in Gloucestershire. Star Trek Into Darkness is now about to open and this is the only day he has free to talk. I have made the great sacrifice and taken a train to Swindon.

The cab driver drops me outside the house.

“Here you go,” he says.

I climb out of the car, and stare at a gigantic, honey-coloured mansion, with immaculately tended lawns. Parked in the driveway are a black London taxi and a vintage silver Rolls-Royce.

Last night, Benedict had offered to pick me up from the station, saying he has a “loooooooooovely car”.

“Yes – you have, haven’t you, Benedict?” I think to myself, staring. “You’ve got a lovely pair.”

I crunch up the drive, carrying a massive bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine, and shout through the letter box.

“Hello! I’m from London! I’ve come on holiday, to the countryside, by accident!”

Silence. I circle the house. The place is so big, I can’t work out where the front door is.

I decide to go to ask a neighbour for advice on how to penetrate the Cumberbatch estate.

I head towards a nearby crofter’s cottage.

Benedict Cumberbatch is standing in the doorway of the tiny cottage, in a pair of knackered navy corduroy slippers, watching my progress across the lawn – lavishly strewn with hyacinths – with some curiosity.

“What were you doing at Kate Moss’s house?” he asks, mildly.

Ah. Kate Moss. The working-class girl from Croydon made good. That mansion is her house.

The “posh” Cumberbatches, by way of contrast, live next door: three small rooms downstairs, three small rooms upstairs. Every available surface is covered in books, family photographs or owls.

Read More

egberts:

revputty:

have you ever sneezed so hard that you forgot who you were

(via yazzdonut)

theannieplanet:

so im babysitting this girl right now and we’re watching tv and the satellite sort of cut out cause it was raining really hard
so i just said “thunder god if you give back our satellite i’ll give you ice cream”
a second later the thunder clapped again and our tv came back
the girl is forcing me to hold up my end of the deal so guess who’s making ice cream for the thunder god

(via skyblueecho)

pizza:

rockandkrull:

pizza:

i don’t understand why parents say ‘i’m very disappointed in you’ like i don’t care i’m very disappointed that mcdonalds doesn’t deliver but u don’t hear me complaining about it

actually in new york they deliver so whats your excuse

i live in australia and im 103% sure they don’t deliver from new york to australia so whats YOUR excuse for leaving a shitty comment on my text post 

(via skyblueecho)

gallifreyansquid:

gallifreyansquid:

guys

I just did the math

for every episode of sherlock, there are almost 4,000 fanfictions

four thousand

per episode

no you fuckers better reblog this, I did math for this do you understand, MATH

(via skyblueecho)