Writers have two modes and they are "i haven't written in three weeks and i am rotting from the inside and everything feels wrong and i don't know who i am anymore" and "i wrote for four hours straight and forgot to eat and it's dark outside and when did that happen and i feel like a god" and there is nothing in between. no chill. no medium setting. just famine or feast and a very confused nervous system.

this is actually like my third or fourth rodeo so i sort of get it but sort of dont

In fifth grade a boy tried to impress me by swallowing a whole tadpole live and I punched him so hard that he puked and the tadpole was fine.

This is funnier than anything I have ever said.

This post is to Easter what a Geiger counter is to radiation.

I see it’s *looks at smudged writing on hand* Lent again.

“why are you, as someone in their 30s, still on tumblr” oh so you think you’re gonna be normal when you’re my age? you think you’re gonna be CURED?? you think the witches’ curse will have been lifted by then?? cmon now

charge yalls vibrators this storm looks BAD

- ben frankling in slutty 1752