Fiction is Better than Reality

the sexual tension between me and my growing pile of unread books

my take on the whole “is therapy speak making us selfish” thing is no, it’s not. it’s just giving people who were already selfish some extremely annoying new vocabulary

*high pitched screaming*

question: how would you like your body to be taken care of after you die?

people have the audacity to equate vanilla with “plain”. the fruit of a delicate orchid pollinated by hand. worth its weight in solid gold and beyond. the fussy black-and-cream jewel of the american continent. you sick son of a bitch. imagine a world without vanilla. no blondies. no pound cakes. no crème brûlée, no coke floats. no cream soda. no satiny new york-style cheesecakes. no warm apple pie à la mode. no velvety complexity to bring out complex notes in chocolate desserts. no depth of flavour in your cakes and cookies and milkshakes. all in just a few precious seeds or grams of paste or perfumed teaspoons of liquid black platinum. what you don’t understand could fill the library of alexandria seven times over and then some. you ungrateful bastard i’m going to kill you

Statistically your child is infinitely safer with a drag queen than a catholic priest

the universe has a sense of humor and I can respect the commitment to the bit but girl please.

the feminine urge to be left alone