THIS WORLD IS MADE OF...

ads targeted to women: omg you are thirtyyyy. kill yourself

having a body made of meat sucks ass

kill dorothy fuck the lion marry the tin man and i dont care about the other one

all i will speak of on that divorced man poll is that not once does asgore stick a gun in his mouth

Not book smart or street smart but a secret third thing.

supid

supid.

what companies who sell you anti aging stuff don't want you to know is that if you're chill about aging, your perception of attractiveness changes as you get older. there is no "wall" where you suddenly become ugly and unfuckable because in my experience what actually happens is you get into your thirties and suddenly realize that people in their thirties are hot as fuck and the "flaws" that the beauty industry wants you to panic about are a feature not a bug, and based on the std statistics in nursing homes I don't really expect that trajectory to change.

Avedarbjacque. May three two thousantwentoo. "The Sweetness of Honeymilk" by PrototypeHAJACHHCKK IH HAH EH HCK AEH HH TENH Adi AEHAA T H e-krazy tu-AUK kueyz-you Smackme? whenUWhackme? When you Squirtme. When you spurt me. The memorys, Are priceless. My LUST-A, my lust. My Lust! feryou. i would neversell for bthous-uz-uei. E-Sein. Heyuh homba fumbayo. Thou tho-uh so-so sweet. Sosweet, so sweet. Areyourlips. And, your Balls. andyour Perky, Pink Nipples. Sweeter Then Honey Milk. With 50 pounds of Brown Sugar, and ThirtyDoughNuts and five hundred slices of Cakes, and three thousand candies, and a Chocolate. and a Sweet Cola. 'n' Teodouzenblawuzara Eace Cones, and Thirty Candy Cane, and Feefigaa-b'hausen Lollepops, annean Derb's hauveden n'fowaer. d'la Eace Papes. 'naSlicea Cherrypohh. an' Feef. oh thithussen Root Beer Flotes. and a Piece a' Candy, and that Temby Bassen pokéstick. Seven Direrarzhunlem Paededder... FrapChinos! and Fae Fathezun Maezun Brownies and Facktheckadou, Desson Blondies. and a velvet Cake. and twentuh, key LIME pie. and Icchewod segwoh. Cookies. and three thousandoo Serd Shocklates. and sicksouzoo, soon, Gumballs. and two thousand Sugars. and fid-filvouden Honeys. and one hundred, Crystal Candies, and Eight Two, Sweet Treats, and Three Jellos. and Eewanzouthewew. o'Hingtoro. Tuuorouw. Idiom pudding, and six hundred mochis and a piece of candy. You are sweeter to me, then all these. But you don't fuckin' respond to me, on grindr any more. And that makes me mad. Mad, mad. Rarely am i glad. I thought you were my lad. Sad.

can we bring back the term "fair-weather friend" bc I feel like if fair-weather friends got called that more this whole argument about whether or not you should be there for your friends when it's inconvenient/at what point of personal inconvenience it's ok to bail on your friends would kinda fall apart bc like. we literally have a word for "friend who's only there when you don't need something from them" because the baseline expectation is that a friend should be there even when it sucks. like we used to make fun of people for bailing on their friends.

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."

Livin la penis smoka