Actually bummed I can’t be with my pals in Royal Oak tonight
It’s not even 8:30 and I’ve orgasmed three times so that’s nice I guess.
BITCH I WILL FUCKING CUT YOU
YOU’VE ANGERED THE WRONG FANDOM
You’re going down punk, just you FUCKNG WAIT!! You will learn that this fandom is far worse than you will ever want to know. We may seem soft and shy, but we’re just being NICE! We can be cold, cruel, mean, and make you suffer and wish you had never said what you said. We can send you into the farthest most empty reaches of the galaxy, summon demons to our disposal to make you suffer, and make you feel the feelings that we experience, and don’t fucking think for a single goddamn second that’s easy! The amount of emotions that would boil inside of you would literally kill you. So keep your motherfucking distance and we won’t hurt you, so stay the hell back, asshole. If you so much as insult us one more time, we will bring firey hell upon you and bitch slap you into oblivion. Your move, dildo.
We know how to kill a human and hide the evidence. Your body will never be found, and that is a promise.
You do realize a majority of the fandom are 20 somethings right? or at least in college. We can find you, kill you, and make it look like you killed yourself. Don’t try us :)
We can exorcise a demon from you faster than Dean and Sam, believe me you need it.
We can toss you into a supernova, never to be seen again, or banish you to the end of the universe where you would explode to create a new one.
We can murder you and destroy all evidence of you ever existing.
Omfg laughing so hard
Make it stop
I can’t tell if not reverting back to my old habits is helping or hurting how quickly I’m gonna stop being sad about this.
I once had a drunk guy tell me I was too sexy to be shooting up at a party. He knocked the needle out of my hands and stepped on the pen, shattering the casing, telling me I should thank him by giving him my number and a kiss. It was my diabetes medicine.
(submitted by anonymous)
All these boys want to fuck me, then forget me. They like having me there when they feel like it. Like the thought of me moaning their names and that’s it. They invite me over, say, make yourself at home. Okay, I say, as I climb onto their fire escapes and shake.
All these boys like to text me late at night, when they’re bored and have a cramp in one of their hands from a three-hour shower. “Just thinking about you,” they say. And that’s it. Or they type, “I read your poetry. You’re going somewhere.” “What did you read?” I reply nervously. When they get back to me it’s one, two, three weeks later. It’s, “I don’t remember. Some stuff.” And that’s it.
I am wondering what they’d write if they wrote about me. “She was nice. Sort of pretty too. I don’t think I knew her much at all.”
Or worse, “We talked a few times. I liked the way her mouth looked. Wanted to feel it on me, you know? Thought about us fucking a few times…Yeah, I’d say I knew her pretty well.”
All these boys wipe their drool on me like I am just the flesh. Just a place to die in, for the night. Just a sweet thing to reflect on when they’re feeling heavy. Just an idea that they never got and still don’t want. And that’s it. That’s it.
And That’s It | Lora Mathis (via lora-mathis)