So I just gained a follower a few moments ago with the name maartin4life
LISTEN TO ME
WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU DO
THEIR FUCKING PAGE
I JUST OPENED IT AND MY AVAST ANTIVIRUS TOLD ME THAT THERE WAS A FUCKING TROJAN HORSE
I can’t wait till we live in a world where we don’t have to fucking categorize everything.
Where we don’t have to have protests to explain to people who we are so they will treat us with dignity. Where we can feel the same amount of grief and anguish when something happens in another country as if it happened in our own back yard. Where helping others out isn’t called “charity,” it’s called being a human being.
Where a girl can where what’s comfortable to her regardless if she’s a size small, or a size XXL with out feeling like she has to live up to outside standards.
Where our children can go to school and come home with their self-esteem intact.
Where love can be understood regardless of your anatomical hardware.
Where we can all look in our mirrors and recognize that we are people. And we are fucking beautiful.
I love how potato in French is pomme de terre, which pretty much means “earth apple.”
like what stupid frenchman saw this:
and said “zis petite légume looks like a, how you say, APPLE! hmmm… but it grows in ze earth… HON HON HON! MAIS OUI! C’EST UNE POMME DE TERRE!”
j’adore comment ananas se dit pineapple en anglais, ce qui veut littéralement dire “pomme de pin”, genre quel type anglais a vu ça:
et s’est dit : “ow cette étrange big fruit ressemble à une, how do you say, POMME! hmmm… mais plutôt une pomme qui pousse dans les pins… HU HU HU! OH YES, IT’S A PINEAPPLE!”
(z’avez vu, on peut le faire aussi… hon hon hon!)
I’m so happy my French is to the point I can read this fluently :3 *self high five*
It’s 4am please just give me sleep.
I’m tired of this hollow feeling.
And I just want to sleep.
The cartridge is placed into the cylinder; brass on steal, a distinct chime to the ears.
The revolver closes,
the locking pin holds place.
Mahogany handle griped firm
Wood soaking the sweat
Cold sweat palms
Grains and cosmetic flaws
Into your shin
Finger prints don’t matter
Place the barrel in your mouth
Tongue darting and exploring
Your teeth clink
Grinding on four inches
Of pipe used to end.
You can’t stop tonguing
You get use to the chill
And an oral fixation
Warms up metal
Cock the hammer
Rotating the round in the chamber
A distinct sound
Almost like opening a soda
Or your lovers voice
You never forget it.
We are prepared for take off
Primary thrusters engaged
cargo accounted for.
Dances on the trigger.
Still register before
The brain aborts function
The smell of gunpowder
The taste of pennies