RIP the victorians you would have loved the hanahaki trope
me when i open some kinnies unreadable 20 page eyestrain carrd
my three boyfriends. and yes, they smoke weed
do they smoke weed?
yes, actually
you mean he isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
its called a bunt, not a weed cigarette. and yes, it is a weed bunt. they all smoke weed bunts before we kiss (they are my boyfriends)
They don’t look like they smoke weed
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
fuck you
im so angry youre so lucky my three weed smoking boyfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down
Your “weed smoking boyfriend” has a lightening tattoo on his face. The one in the middle.
i printed out a photo of your pfp and taped it to my punching bag and punch and i mutter your url with every strong punch i punch you twerp..... dont ever Talk about Jonny or the wicked liner(eyeliner) i drew on him ever again i Dont wanna see you standing outside my home at 3am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
well that escalated quickly……
what. was that? hmm? come again? *Jonny grabs my shoulder* come one, Marius, they arent worth it, please *i jerk my shoulder shaking his hand off* NO! NOOOO!!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big metal fist. with each blow i let out a furious yell. the blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I'm yelling so loud now I'm crying. BREAKING POINT. the week was hard and i cant take it anymore. im opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. all three of my boyfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE BOYFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Jonny” and his “wicked liner”, or that it doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Marius, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* heh. idiot
*leaves with my three weed smoking boyfriends to go hold hands and kiss*
this dude playin omg
come again? *the bar falls silent. no one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. i remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. one hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* come again?! *you can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. a bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. the bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. his eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. a handful of people hurriedly leave. one person looks back at you. a look of sorrow on their face. they almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. but not you. you stand, petrified. a quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. you look to the exit, there’s still time. but there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. my hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. but the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. you know that song about the boots that were made for walking? yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. as I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Marius publicly, ever happened to their family? your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* playin?! there was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. no playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… love. I loved them… Jonny…. Brian… Tim… I loved all three of em… but they…*my face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* they left me… left… *almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* playin? playin?! *my hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. you close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ he says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. but instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. there is only sadness.* left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*
wow, grow up. *you say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
I just remembered my second Pride, where I made different flag themed daisy chain bracelets/necklaces to hand out. I need folks to understand something:
They were free.
They were fucking free.
They were maybe ¢60 of acrylic yarn each at the most, and the whole ziploc bag of them took 2 hours max.
Three people gave me sad eyes until I took their money.
Someone who was clearly the mom friend of their group made me take a $5 and gave a 10 minute pep talk.
At least four more people insisted on getting change to pay for the, once again, free bracelets.
In spite of all these shenanigans, the absolute best was this one person who I can only describe as, “queer surfer dude who looks like a boyfriend who looks like a girlfriend.” I can remember nothing of the outfit, only the impeccable vibes. I did the same thing I did with everyone else, explaining the bracelets were free, and they nodded along as they took the last 6 strand rainbow bracelet. As soon as they had it on their wrist, they pointed at something over my shoulder and, like a fool, I looked.
Next thing I know, they’re running off cackling, yelling, “YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME!” and I’m holding a fucking $20. I had to stop at least two people from chasing them, cause they thought the person stole something, and then they tried to give me money cause they thought it was funny seeing me flail over people being Too Nice.
That was the year I got reverse-robbed at Pride. I hope everyone out there is having a good time and, in particular, that queer surfer dude is out there still causing benevolent chaos.
Hate diet culture so much bitches will b like “don’t eat processed carbs they’re so bad for you” like and??? So what?? God did not give us grain and stone to grind it with for no reason. Bread is inevitable. Bread is food for the heart and the soul. U think I’m gonna give that up in pursuit of instagram fitness?? U think I’m gonna deny myself the simple pleasure of toast with jam so I can endlessly chase an ever-shifting standard of beauty that ultimately means nothing? In 20 years I will no longer be beautiful and in 60 my body will be vacant food for other, smaller creatures. But the taste of fresh bread? Of homemade donuts and still-warm pie? I will carry the taste on my tongue into whatever follows this life. So like. Stop telling me I should diet lmao. I’m not abt to martyr myself just to get a man to look at me.
Op genuinely thank you for this
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the main thing that puts me off of playing chess is that there is 2000 years of gameplay that hundreds of people with higher IQs than me have spent thousands of hours studying the history of, so much so that when i put the pawn forward they say “ah i see youre going for the bulgarian somersault” and then i try to take their bishop with my knight and they go “aw, rookie mistake, youve played the frenchmans cumsock, and in approximately 37 moves i’ll have won”
guiltiest-gear
