מתלוננת

Why be the dancing queen when you can be the killer queen, gunpowder gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind

Can I be both because this bitch really loves ABBA and Queen

Do you ever see people whose faces echo another era? I’ve seen women with the round faces, sparse brows and high foreheads of medieval illuminated manuscripts. Men with dark brows that meet in the middle, olive skin, strong noses and jaws–Byzantine men, ghosts of Constantine, reanimated faces from the Fayum Mummy Portraits. Women with soft figures and the large eyes and prim, petaled mouths of the 19th century. Grizzled men whose brows predicate their gaze, whose wrinkles track into their thick beards and read like topographical maps of hardship and intensity–the wanderer, the poet; Whitman, Tolstoy, Carlyle.  Faces sculpted into the perfect, deified symmetry of the pharaohs–almond eyes, full lips, self-assurance 3,000 years in the making staring at you at a stoplight.   Plump, curved white wrists curled over purse handles in the waiting room and you think Versailles, Madame Pompadour, Marie Antoinette, Catherine the Great. Wide cheek bones, courage and sorrow in the scrunched face of the old man in line behind you and it’s Geronimo, Sitting Bull, Tecumseh. Reddened skin, thick forearms, hair and beard and brows burned by the cold into a reddish corn silk and you think Odin, the forge and the hammer and skin stinging from the salt of the ocean. Virginia Woolf’s quiet brand of gaunt frankness surveys you in passing in the parking lot. Queen Victoria’s heavy-lidded stare and beaked nose are firmly, uncannily fixed on a sixth-grade classmate’s face. Renaissance voluptuousness on the boardwalk by the beach. Boticelli’s caramel androgyny in a youth smoking on a bench outside the mall. Jazz age looseness spurs the tripping gait of the man who watches you paint with his hands in his pockets, and he smiles a Sammy Davis Jr. smile and tells you that you look familiar, that he’s sure he’s seen you somewhere before, but he doesn’t know where or when.

*wakes up with one sock on* whoa what a crazy night

American Comedian John Mulaney, allegedly born in 1982, is suspected by many to be a “young immortal,” due to the confused timeline in many of his stories, as well as some of his mannerisms. In his latest Netflix special, “Kid Gorgeous,” Mulaney describes a hypothetical scenario in which one comes across baseball legend Joe DiMaggio in their childhood bedroom. However, he describes this so-called hypothetical with just enough detail that one might suspect he’s speaking from personal experience. DiMaggio didn’t “die” until 1999, when Mulaney was allegedly seventeen years old. But what if – and I must ask the reader to follow me down this rabbit hole for a minute – DiMaggio is himself an immortal, and was forced to publicly fake his death, since he was too famous to just disappear. What if, holding the secret of immortality himself, he chose to pass it on to someone worthy? This has led me to one conclusion, and one conclusion only: at some point in history, DiMaggio visited Mulaney in his childhood bedroom and taught him the secret of immortality, but Mulaney chose not to invoke this power until later in life, possibly to avoid suspicion. In this essay I will

where’s the rest of the essay op

i’m screaming at the people reblogging this and saying that new tony is generic and old tony had some “character” like why do you people think that a man being ugly means he has personality . tony circa 2004 looks like he’d piss in the bushes outside your mom’s house and new tony looks like he’d wait 57 minutes for his food at a restaurant and still be nice to the waiter because they’re “just doing their best”. accept that pixar pulled the gag of the century and gave us the tony we deserve

pixar, completely remodeling tony’s clapped face: fuck a bitch named consistent character design and maintenance of the integrity of the original work. new tony is going to look like he would pay $60 for a gram of weed whether you losers like it or NOT

old tony stans lil pump 

If you don’t love her soft lil tummy do you even love her

#i’m not sure if this is about a cat or a girl but #me