Curlyfry

“Home is where the trees look normal” is the sweetest, saddest, most nostalgic truth I’ve ever heard.

have I mentioned on here before that as a child I thought that "dyke" meant "badass" because I was trying to use context clues based on who I heard my parents friends call dykes

the way I learned that it was actually a word people use for lesbians, and many people find it offensive, was when my teacher was wearing a leather jacket that I thought looked really cool, and you'll never guess what I said.

"it's just stress" oh thank god, it's just the silent killer that slowly kills you, perfectly harmless, no need to worry

romantic relationships blah blah blah okay but what about risking everything for your sibling. what about the unwavering love and care that can only come from a parent to a child. what about someone who just wants their best friend back. ever thought of that.

Always bear in mind that there is absolutely no legitimate evidence that Luigi was actually the one who killed the insurance company guy.

Of course he wasn't. He was at a party with me that day.

fucked that you can’t fix other people especially when you really care about them. Oh so im just supposed to be there for you while you suffer. like a useless cunt gargoyle

The correct response to "I have nothing to hide" is "what is your social security number?" and that should (should, not necessarily will) explain things.

“Can I have a look at your credit card? Just for a sec.”

Time for the annual Pride Month reblog of Freddie Mercury and his fabulous cats!

Everyone has an accent it came free with your language 🙄

Congrats to every reply like this for failing to understand the fundamental definition of an accent. Of course you think you sound normal! It's the way you speak!

Gonna sign language at you in a very southern accent

how do people hatewatch things, i can barely find the time to read and watch all the things i actively want to, how the fuck are you putting time aside to watch an entire season of dogshit telly thats just gonna make you mad

I am so tired of short-attention-span, trim-the-fat culture. All writing advice these days is for how to write like Chuck Palahniuk. "Cut 'think', cut 'feel', cut 'wonder' - only action, only pushing forward, show and move and move and move." What if I could emulate this style, and still don't want to? What if I want to write like Henry James, with three paragraphs of introspective musings between each dialogue line? The music advice is, "make it shortform, make it Tik-Tok compatible, make it punchy, hit the refrain as soon as possible." What if I want that 10-minute prog rock piece? What if I want that symphony? What if I want it slow and luxurious and lazy? Movies. Series. Poetry. Bodies. Everything is "trimmed trimmed trimmed trimmed, stripped bare, you have three seconds to win me over, make it airport chic." I don't want to win you over, then, I guess. I want the fat left it. I want the pleasure and the indolence and the indulgence. Fuck this art-advice that's always "your art needs Ozempic."

you don’t realize how important lunch is until you’re wandering around thinking about how unloveable and untalented and uniquely cursed you are and then it’s 4pm and you finally eat lunch and you go Oh. oh right.