my dream is eat dirt

you’re all full of shit, y’all may hate the man, but i bet if you saw your president getting attacked, no matter how much you dislike him or disagree with him, I BET 93% of you will jump in and defend the fucker with your life, you’d fight to the death if you must, to save that hateful orange.

I would literally do crack to hit him harder

trying and hilariously failing to participate in bdsm with harry houdini

Fucking superb, you funky little trans puffer

do you think you’d actually notice if someone didn’t cast a shadow? or if their limbs were just slightly too long? or if they had just a little too many teeth? like how many times have you passed Something on the street and you just didn’t Notice It

stay woke monsterfuckers ur love is out there!!!!!

yknow what? not my point at all in any way whatsoever, but I’m glad I could be an inspiration

“"idc any more, take the money and godspeed”“

According to Diogenes they’re settling things man to man

the concept of how sir arthur conan doyle was as a person always sends me into fits. imagine making the most famous literary character of all time but you hate the character so much you try to kill him off. but everyone is so horny for this asshole detective they make you bring him back. even your own mother gets mad when he’s dead because she likes him. raising your prices to ridiculous rates to avoid writing holmes stories backfired and now you’re rich. it’s absolutely a pain because it’s keeping you from your true passion which is spiritualism despite how one of your good friends harry houdini keeps telling you it’s bullshit. you consider your best novels to be historical ones but they’re well over shadowed by the nemesis of your own creation sherlock fucking holmes. some fake photographs from some kids convinced you faeries were real and you wrote a whole book about it. you started writing stories in medical school. and yes, also you are a doctor. after you’re dead, they erect a statue of sherlock holmes across the street from your birthplace, causing you to probably roll over one hundred eighty degrees in your grave and scream into your casket pillow.