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The post If You’re Not A Fan Of Blondes, Check Out This Post, And Please Reconsider Your Bias (28 Pics) appeared first on Caveman Circus.

by Feross Aboukhadijeh

1. Prioritize learning.

• 10,000 hour rule (http://www.wired.com/wiredscienc…)

• Start early
• Read a lot. 2-3 hours a day, at least

2. Don’t talk about doing stuff. Do stuff.

• The world is full of so many talkers, and so few doers.
• Too much planning is as bad as no planning.
• "Posting about your plans is shadow of Done"
• Make stuff while your brain is young and fresh. The brain gets slower as you age.

3. Figure out what you like. Try to become the best in the world at it.

• If you start early, you will have time to change your mind.
• Don’t worry if it’s not "prestigious" or won’t make you a lot of money. If you’re good at it, you’ll make it prestigious.
• Read "How to Do What You Love" by Paul Graham http://www.paulgraham.com/love.html

4. Experience stuff.

• Watch epic movies/books/music
• Go on adventures (road trips, travel to other countries)
• Talk to interesting people and really LISTEN

5. Spoil yourself on the stuff that matters.

• Eat well, sleep well, drink (water) well
• Buy a good bed (you spend ⅓ of your life in your bed)
• Buy a good computer (since you will spend so much time on it)
• Similarly, good chair, keyboard, mouse, etc.

6. Be genuine. Be nice.

• Being a generally nice person will make you so many awesome lifelong friends
• Being genuine is freeing since you can just be yourself with everyone you know — you won’t have to worry about keeping lies straight in your head

7. Learn to delay gratification.

• Ability to delay gratification predicts future success (http://www.ted.com/talks/joachim…)
• Those who succumb to pressures and do what’s immediately satisfying miss out on later satisfaction.
• Ex: Kids in high school who partied every night are bagging groceries at Safeway now, while those who delayed that "fun" for just a few more years get to work at their dream job for the rest of their lives

The post A Practical Guide On How To Make The Most Out Of This Life appeared first on Caveman Circus.

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Seriously guys, if you want to change something in your life quit fapping..

Read what I want to say: Fapping takes control of your mind, every bored minute of your life your dopamine-hungry brain longs for this digital stimulating nothingness called internet porn. And most of the time your instinct to reproduce takes control of your whole brain, and that is when you lose against your addiction. Porn addiction. This drive pushes you against a wall, grabs you into a deep whole of pleasure and regret at the same time. What have you earned in all those hours and hours of browsing and coming into a kleenex? Nothing. You have so much potential to reach your aims, but your wasting it by jizzing in your pants. Fapping makes you feel insecure, steals your sexual lust that can give you
endless power. Your brain is foggy, your mind a slave of its own, triggered by a placebo that gives you a feeling of pleasure for 20 seconds after hour long wasteful internet search. What are those short moments of satisfaction compared to a lovely relationship with that girl you always wanted to have as your girlfriend’? Nothing. Your brain gets a short feeling satisfaction and wants more. And more. And you don’t achieve anything. What is this short pleasure, a scourge of modern times, compared to a feeling of self control and this feeling of real love, that trumps all fap-sessions you have ever had’? Nothing I say. Overcome those desires and be disciplined, you are your own worst enemy. And only you can win against yourself. No more Fapping. No more Porn. Go hard or go home.

The post For Anyone Stuck In The Deep, Dark Trenches Of Internet Porn And Fapping, Read THIS appeared first on Caveman Circus.

How men fall asleep 

Shooting the Biggest Guns Money Can Buy

Key & Peele – Human Centipede… Greatest ending line to a sketch I’ve ever heard

Drive Thru Invisible Driver Prank

Nope…nope, nope, fu*king nope

Ultimate Factories: Nissan GT-R Supercar

The post The Dumping Grounds appeared first on Caveman Circus.

The post It’s Only Appropriate That We Start Off Friday With A Heavy Metal Dose Of AWESOME! appeared first on Caveman Circus.

Here’s a damn awesome gallery of pictures of a smoking hot coed named Ginny to help you celebrate Friday. Check out the rest of her pictures here and follow her on Twitter here

What Does It Feel Like To Be Stupid? – Ned Hardy

College QB Scores Big On Halloween – Knowd

My bad ideas are launching missiles (47 Photos) – The Brigade

Candice Swanepoel’s Hot Booty for Instagram of the Day – Drunken Stepfather

Model: Jeísa Chiminazzo’s 25 Hottest Pictures – Refined Guy

Samsung’s Futuristic Flexible Smartphone Can Be Bent into Submission – Heavy

25 Things That Are Keeping You Overweight – Linkiest

Jennifer Love Hewitt Got Butt Implants – Celeb Jihad

Hot blonde shows off her new underwear – Double Viking

AnnaSophia Robb’s Teen Vogue Retro Hotness – G-Celeb

Damn fine collection of hot babes – Bro My God

Taylor Swift showing off some sweet cleavage – Celeb Slam

15 Funny Pictures Taken At Just the Right Angle – Unreality Mag

20 Awe Inspiring Photos That Will Make you Happy to be Alive – Uncoached

The 25 Sexiest Ads of 2012 – The Smoking Jacket

A Gallery Of White People Acting Extremely White – World Wide Interweb

25 Pictures Of Beautiful Babes In Skin Tight Dresses – Super Booyah

Gisele Is Still Our Favorite Cam Girl – Regretful Morning

Jennifer Lawrence Looked Much Better @ Critics’ Choice Movie Awards 2013 – Moe Jackson

A Gallery of 20 Works of Oreo Cookie Art – Ego TV

The Awesome Art Of Climbing (26 Pics) – Ned Hardy

Dad Uses Pics Of Hot Daughter To Sell Cars On eBay – Knowd

The post A Hot Coed Named Ginny Helps Us Usher In The Weekend appeared first on Caveman Circus.

Walked in on my roommate polishing the skin flute

My girlfriends reaction to 3am snoring

When my mom says I look cool 

Watching a birth video for the first time during a birthing class with my wife

Texting a crush and getting a response back 

When I’m on a plane and my ears won’t pop

When I pull out to not orgasm yet 

When someone I’m into suddenly talks to me.

When I check my cellphone at 3 in the morning

Me, a white dude, seeing Django Unchained with my black girlfriend.

When my favorite song comes on after I have taken a couple shots 

My reaction after my girlfriend of 4 months screamed out "I want your baby" in bed last night. 

Thinking you recognize a friend in public, but it’s a stranger 

When I turn 21 and look at the restaurant’s wine list

When I see someone put the hash brown on top of a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich

My gf’s face when she uses my computer and I haven’t closed down the porn tabs

The post The Reaction GIFs Have Arrived To Dish Out A Serious Dose Of Hilarity! appeared first on Caveman Circus.

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by Mancredible

It was another day in the office and Jeff was sitting in his desk chair, staring at the lifeless, gray walls which defined“his” space. Jeff hated his job and was generally frustrated with life because he was a slacker and he knew it.

There was the time that he wanted to run a marathon. He bought a new pair of running shoes and a running book, but only showed up to run for a couple of weeks before quitting.

There was the time he wanted to build his own website. He read all about it for months and researched everything. He even put up his own site, but after a couple of weeks, he quit when nobody visited the site.

There was a similar pattern. Jeff would get excited about something and get off to a quick start, but when he didn’t see results, he quickly became discouraged and gave up. After giving up, he would fall back into old habits and life was the same for Jeff day in and day out, year in and year out.  And now here he was, bored and frustrated.

It was on this day that Jeff was sent back in time.

He couldn’t tell what had happened, but out of nowhere he found himself in the middle of an ancient construction site.  He looked all around trying to get his bearings when he saw it: the Roman Colosseum being built before his very eyes. He thought to himself, “What the hell is going on here?”

Jeff explored the construction site in amazement and came across a man who appeared to be a stonecutter. He was about Jeff’s size with a large hammer, standing next to an even larger rock. As Jeff passed the man, with one great blow, the stonecutter split the giant rock in two.

Jeff thought to himself, “Wow, what a man!  I can’t believe he cut that rock with one hit!”

Jeff continued on his journey through the construction site, occasionally thinking about the stonecutter, wishing that he were strong enough to cut rock like the stonecutter had done, with one fell swoop.

Later in the day, by what seemed like fate, Jeff ended up crossing paths with the stonecutter from earlier. This time the man was resting along the side of the road, visibly exhausted. Jeff had to know the stonecutter’s secret.

So he asked the stonecutter, “How did you do that earlier?”

Confused, the stonecutter replied, “Do what?”

Jeff said, “Cut that giant rock.”

The stonecutter replied, “Well, my father was a stonecutter and from a very young age, I began to follow in his footsteps.  I showed up every day for years and cut stone after stone. I started very small and worked at it day by day.”

Jeff was still amazed, “When were you finally able to cut giant rocks with one swing of the hammer?”

The stonecutter smiled, “No man can cut a giant rock with one swing.”

“But I saw you do it!” Jeff accused.

“No, what you saw was the final swing. Before that I was hitting that rock for hours. I put all of my strength into each swing even though I knew it might take all day.”

Jeff woke up from his dream.

“Hey dude, what are doing? Are you seriously sleeping right now?” His friend Dave laughed at him.

“Quiet man, my boss is going to here you. I just had a dream. It felt so real.”

He vividly remembered the details of the dream, it really did seem real.  So he told the story to Dave, but Dave wasn’t impressed. “That was anti-climactic. It would have been cooler if that dude cut the rock with one swing.”

When he thought about it, Jeff felt the same way.  They both wanted to believe in magic.

Here’s the Lesson…

The moral of the story is this: most people want to believe in overnight success and instant results. What they fail to realize is that there is no such thing. We often focus on the successes and victories that we see in others, but fail to recognize the hard work that led up to it.  This may be you, it was Jeff, and at one point, it was me.

What you need to know is everything worthwhile takes time. If you want to see incredible results and make incredible happen, you need persistence and desire.  Your ability to cultivate desire and take persistent action is what will make you successful, not your natural talents. It’s all about consistent daily action.

Never forget that what you do on a daily basis determines your habits, and you habits determine who you are, what you accomplish, and the legacy you leave.  People will measure you by what you do.

So, if you want to be a writer, develop the habit of writing everyday. If you want to have a nice body, develop the habits of eating well and working out.  If you want to work on a project that’s bigger than yourself, work on that project every single day.

A Challenge to You

Pick a goal or end state that is important to you, maybe it’s something you’ve failed at in the past.  Think about what actions you need to take to achieve the goal and start developing those into habits NOW.  Commit to taking action every single day for 30 straight days. Don’t quit before 30 days are up, no matter what. Don’t let yourself down by quitting early. Are you really that pathetic? Just stick with it.  At the end of the 30 days, you should know whether this is a habit worth continuing or whether it wasn’t what you really wanted.

Check out more awesome articles by Mancredible here >>

The post Every Successful Person Has Learned This Important Lesson appeared first on Caveman Circus.

It’s six o’clock in the morning and my head is fucked. 

Didn’t realize I’d gone to sleep. 

I wake up, disoriented, on the couch. 

For a minute or two, I don’t know where I am.

My lounge is an alien.

Memories flood back into my head like a blocked toilet.

Yesterday is incomplete.

I remember hanging out with a girl, 10 years younger than me.

A girl I’ve always loved.

I remember telling her to show me her tits.

She was too shy.

If I persisted, she would have.

But I’m a nice guy.

I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable.

So we talked.

We laughed.

Now, I love her more than ever.

I’m freezing.

Withdrawing from meth.

I wrap the thin blue blanket around myself and try to sleep, but it’s no use.

I say, “Fuck,” at the top of my voice.

Not hungover enough to vomit.

I’m in that post-alcohol grey area, between nightmarish and insignificant.

I am so close to the nightmare.

My head might as well be in the toilet, but it’s not.

If I could vomit, if only I could vomit, then I’d be okay.

I get up.

There are musical instruments set up on the carpet.

My electric piano.

My keyboard.

Did I jam with her last night?

She has a beautiful voice.

It is operatic, divine.

Listening to her sing sends shivers down my spine.

She’s too good for me.

I regret imposing myself upon her.

With all my problems.

My track marks.

The drugs.

She doesn’t need any of that.

My bottle of scotch is empty, lying sideways on the carpet.

I find four half-empty beers scattered around the room.

Four empty pre-mixed vodka cans.

Cigarette butts, a half dozen syringes.

Shit, I didn’t inject her did I?

I’ve corrupted too many young girls.

I start to panic.

Can’t find my gear.

There’s about a thousand dollars, in fifties, littered around the room.

Did I score last night?

Fuck.

I search everywhere.

Finally, I find it.

Half a gram of meth in a little baggy.

Nice little crystals, too.

Better than usual.

I try to force myself to vomit, but I can’t.

My body temperature is fluctuating between too hot and too cold.

The withdrawals are getting unbearable.

I can’t stop using.

I have a serious problem.

I need to go to rehab, but I keep putting it off.

I keep telling myself, “Just one more bag.”

“One more syringe.”

I’ve been saying that for, I don’t know, maybe six weeks.

I lost track of time a long time ago.

Three days feels like a year when you’re tweaking.

I have no conception of how many hours have passed, at any given time.

I don’t know how much meth I’ve done, either.

No idea.

Ten grams?

Twenty?

It’s impossible to say.

I grab a beer out of the fridge, and place a cigarette against my lips.

Step outside.

The sun is shining.

I shade my burning irises, with my hoody.

Stumble down the road, listening to The Grey Album by Danger Mouse.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I need something.

Need to go somewhere.

I cross the road.

Walk down to the bottle shop, on auto-pilot.

It’s closed.

I cross the road.

A city-bound tram is approaching.

I stumble up to the tram stop.

Men and women, respectable types, on their way to work.

They don’t make eye contact with me as I empty the contents of my beer down my throat.

Spilling it, beer dripping off my chin.

I say, “Fuck,” at the top of my voice and throw the empty beer into a bush.

Jump on the tram.

Don’t know where I’m going.

I need something.

Notice a fast-food joint, out the window.

Get off.

Jay Z, rapping: “If you got girl problems, I feel bad for you son; I got ninety nine problems but a bitch ain’t one.”

I order a double burger with bacon and an egg and bacon wrap.

It’s been at least three days since I’ve had a proper meal.

I sit down and say, “Fuck”, at the top of my voice.

The other patrons don’t make eye contact with me.

My pants are torn to pieces.

My underpants are clearly visible.

I smell like shit.

The lines under my eyes are so deep, you could swim in them.

Both of my eyes are bloodshot.

Skin is peeling off my lips.

I glance at the newspaper as I eat, but it doesn’t interest me.

I am not hungry.

I force myself to eat.

Throw the paper on the floor.

I try to finish the burger on my way home.

But I can’t.

It’s way too much food.

I eat, maybe, two thirds of it.

When I arrive home, my cat Squid greets me at the letterbox.

He makes a happy little noise, rubbing his arched back against my leg.

I give him the rest of my burger and pat him affectionately on the nose.

The withdrawals actually make the hangover less severe.

Meth inhibits the effects of alcohol and withdrawals inhibit hangovers.

Hangovers are nothing.

I wish I could vomit, though.

As soon as I step inside the house, I feel depressed.

The place is fucked.

Somebody burnt the carpet last night.

It’s black, and soaked with beer.

I’m in no state to clean up, so I avoid the lounge.

The smell of stale cigarettes and flat beer thick in the air.

I call work and tell them I’m sick.

They struggle to understand what I’m saying.

I have to concentrate in order to articulate coherently.

I hang up.

I need to get high.

Really fucking high.

But there’s no 29 gauge syringes left.

And I’m not going to start using 27s again.

I can’t, my veins are too damaged.

I realize my right arm is red.

Did I slam anything last night?

Fuck.

Did I inject her?

I didn’t.

Please tell me I didn’t.

I examine my tracks.

Can’t tell if there are any fresh injection sites.

Seems okay.

But the fingers, on my right arm, are swollen.

My skin is wrinkled.

My knuckles are bright red, like cherries.

Did I punch someone?

Fuck.

The one thing about hangovers that isn’t affected by meth, is the amnesia.

I hate alcohol amnesia.

I tend to do things and say things I shouldn’t when I’m drunk, I can deal with that.

What drives me crazy is not knowing.

I open another beer.

Consider smoking a joint, but I don’t like weed anymore.

Meth renders weed impotent.

Meth renders everything else irrelevant.

Need to get high.

Super fucking high.

Slam some of that beautiful crystal I found on the fax machine this morning.

Might as well take advantage of my day off.

I leave the house.

Walk half a kilometre to the bus stop.

Got a twenty minute wait.

I walk to the next stop.

Time is going so slowly.

I realize I keep looking at my watch, like every ten seconds.

High anxiety.

I lie down, on the nature strip, propping my back up against the bus stop pole.

I look like a fucking derolict, but I don’t care.

People walking their dogs don’t make eye contact.

I hear them muttering about me.

Disapproving.

I dont’ care, about any of it.

Dedicated to the mission.

I lie down, on the bus.

Find myself falling asleep.

No wonder, really.

Had about 3 hours sleep over the past three or four days, I think.

It’s hard to say.

People on the bus don’t make eye contact with me.

I get off at the end of the line, Box Hill.

Head straight for the NSP.

There’s an Indian guy working there, never seen him before.

He’s nervous.

I tell him I need a hundred 29s, a box of swabs, and a dozen ampoules of sterile water.

He tells me I have to pay for the water upstairs.

Fifty cents each.

I stop at the water cooler.

Drink three cups of water.

There’s a couple of middle-aged women, typical conservative suburban types, sitting nearby.

They are watching me with the corners of their eyes.

I can feel them, looking.

I get on the elevator, holding the door open for an elderly woman.

I smile at her.

She doesn’t say, “Thank you.”

Doesn’t make eye contact.

I don’t care.

I get off, and head for the reception desk.

Fourth on the left, like the Indian guy told me.

I’m standing there, waiting, behind an old guy.

It’s a reception desk for the community dental practice.

A waiting room, full of patients.

Non-users.

They don’t make eye contact with me.

Time is trailing, slower and slower.

The old cunt in front of me is taking forever.

I want to stab him in the spine and leave him bleeding on the carpet.

But that would just interfere with my mission.

They’re not going to sell me water if I kill someone.

The woman behind the counter convincingly feigns her pleasantries.

She treats me with more respect than I deserve.

I feel ashamed.

Poor woman.

Having to deal with junkies on a daily basis.

I am pacing back and forth like a bull.

My eyes darting around the room.

Absorbing everything.

Every detail.

There is a laminated chart on the wall beside reception.

Little pictures that mute people can point to in order to communicate.

I wish I was mute.

The elevator takes about three years to arrive, give or take a month.

I stand there, with my water receipt, aging rapidly.

Every second is painful.

I give the receipt to the Indian guy.

He packs my supplies into an inconspicuous carry bag.

I thank him, insincerely, and head outside.

Stop at the water cooler again.

Drink three more cups of water.

The suburban types, still glaring at me.

There’s a junky with a pony tail on the street, on stakeout.

He’s waiting for another junky to rob.

You’ve got to watch out for theiving junky cunts when you go to NSPs.

It’s okay, he doesn’t like the look of me.

Good thing for him, I’d beat the shit of him if he tried anything.

Lay my misery on him with my swollen red fists.

I tell him as much with a little stare, as I walk past.

He looks down at his shoes.

I go to the bottle shop and grab a six pack of mid-strength beer.

I always feel conflicted buying alcohol.

Every time I buy a six pack, or a bottle of wine or scotch or bourbon.

Today I am more conflicted than usual.

I seriously consider leaving.

I try to consider it, anyway.

I should stop drinking, I know.

I keep telling myself, “One more day.”

I keep telling myself, “Tommorow.”

But it’s always today.

There is a twenty minute wait for the bus.

I say, “Fuck,” at the top of my voice.

Glare at an old Asian woman, sitting on a bench, as if it’s her fault.

She avoids eye contact.

I go back to the shopping centre.

Grab some tataki.

The red meat equivalent of sashimi.

Raw beef and salad.

I love Japanese food.

I could eat it all day.

Don’t even need to be hungry.

When I get back to the terminus, the bus is idling.

I eat the tataki on the way home.

Resist the temptation to crack open a beer.

The bus driver, he might kick me out if I start drinking.

Seems like a bit of a cunt.

Fat fucking piece of shit.

I’m not going to let him compromise my mission.

It’s not worth it.

I drink a beer on the way home.

My cat Squid greets me at the letterbox.

He makes a happy little sound and rubs his arched back against my leg.

His tail wrapped around my ankle.

I love him.

I feel warmth spreading through my body when I see my cats.

The same way I feel when I see women I love.

I love so many women.

Too many.

Life is too short.

I’ll never be with them all.

The love I feel for my cat is incapable of combating my withdrawals.

I feel depressed and happy simultaneously.

Mostly depressed.

As soon as I step inside my house, I want to die.

The smell of cat piss, stale cigarettes and flat beer.

Clothes scattered about in the hallway.

A pornographic magazine lying crumpled amidst an assortment of debris.

The carpet is rank, full of parasites and thick with dust.

I say, “Fuck,” at the top of my voice.

I avoid the lounge.

Go straight into my study and prepare a shot.

Drink a pint of water, so I’m sure I can register.

That is the only reason I hydrate.

So my blood will flow.

Otherwise, I would quite happily die of thirst.

I don’t weigh the dose.

Eye roughly three quarters of a point into a spoon.

Suck it up into a 29.

Go outside, through the back door, the syringe gripped between my teeth.

The lawn is mowed into crop circles.

I settle down in the middle of one, leaning my back against an upturned table.

This is my favorite spot for injecting during the day.

In clear view of my neighbours, who I’m certain are terrified of me.

The sky is clear.

The sun on my skin.

I take off my hoody.

The right arm is red and swollen.

So I use the left.

Register on my second attempt.

But the flow isn’t great.

I’m half in the vein.

But, that’s okay.

Half in is better than out.

This vein’s not going to collapse if I miss a bit.

I push the plunger in, as slow as I can manage.

Feel a tiny bit of pain.

The rush kicking in, I keep pushing.

Empty the syringe completely, including a large air bubble.

It spreads through my body, flushing my face.

The hangover is gone.

The withdrawals are over.

I put the syringe back in my mouth and walk blissfully back inside.

The state of my house no longer bothers me.

I find a book open on my bed.

A short story I had published, about an older man corrupting a young girl.

A short story about rape and intravenous drug use.

She must have read it, last night.

I love her.

The first sentence reads, “It’s six o’clock in the morning and my head is fucked.”

I’m a junky.

And an alcoholic.

This, is Tuesday.

(via)

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This playlist goes out to all the folks out there who had a long week and just want to unwind on the bed with some good tunes and a fine brew. Feel free to add some songs in the comment section if you want to contribute

Flight Facilities – Crave You (Adventure Club Dubstep Remix)

The Weeknd – High For This

The XX – Stars

Angus And Julia Stone – Big Jet Plane

Orsten – Fleur Blanche

Freestylers – Cracks (Ft. Belle Humble) (Flux Pavilion Remix)

Angus & Julia Stone – Paper Aeroplane

Daft Punk – Something About Us

Handsome Boy Modeling School ft Cat Power – I’ve Been Thinking

Zero 7 – Today

Massive Attack – Angel

Feist Luise Suite

Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse – Revenge

Blue Foundation – Eyes On Fire (Zeds Dead Remix)

The post A Playlist For All The Those That Want To Lay In Bed And Chill All Weekend Long appeared first on Caveman Circus.

Toilets at chicago o’hare airport

The Nazi’s Enigma Machine – and the mathematics behind it

Something, something, something, Russian girls

F***IN’ LAS VEGAS!

BARAKA(A collection of expertly photographed scenes of human life and religion)

The post The Dumping Grounds appeared first on Caveman Circus.

College Inc. is a insightful look into the seedier side of the for profit college system. Both the defenders and its critics are interviewed about the merits of the for-profit educational system and, in the end, the viewer can make up their own mind about the subject. But the evidence clearly shows that for-profits have very little value; is unaccredited, which means these credits don’t transfer to state colleges; has a poor quality education and often times costs far more to attend these colleges than it does a state college and a community college; and the quality of the education is often times very questionable. For instance, three nursing students Martha, Nora and Susan went to the for-profit Everest College. They never set foot in a hospital during their time there and their education mainly consisted of learning about The Church of Scientology’s Evils of Psychiatry. Another sad case is of one Ann Cobb, a 35-year old divorced woman, who is knee deep in $60,000 in student loans and only makes $8,000 a year on food stamps. Even after graduating, she still hasn’t been able to find a job and can’t pay off her loans. Other problems with the for-profits are pressure tactics used by recruiters to get as many people to sign up. The more people they get to sign up the more money they make so they sign just about any person off of the street without discriminating whether this person is a worthwhile college student. I recommend this film to any and all students who are thinking about going to a for-profit college.

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