-one very smart boy

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-one very smart boy
in most hollywood circles, people are aware of the diff’rent strokes curse- everyone involved with the series has become older, then sick, and then died, all within 50 years of the last production date and outside of the keen and scrutinous eye of the pop culture consumer.
i didn’t mourn when i lost my edge, it may have even been for the better. but now i’ve gone and lost my spark... knowing the next thing to go is always that je ne sais quoi...
got my hands on the unedited image
this one is titled FUCK AUTHORITY
"In the hands of Hobos, these were killing machines," he said.
one of the most decorated street gang members in the world goes by the alias "Earth Hobo".
a lot of very provocative and/or confrontational new content on this blog. please bear with us while we’re re-branding, but feel free to browse!!
LaTroth, Bart. Trading In The Monkey On Your Back For The Dog Of Your Dreams. 2016. Resin and Bone Carving. Acropolis Museum, Greece.
It's "to-each-his-own"
not "to-each-his-and-HIS-own". ban gay marriage.
black lives who tell little white lies serve hard time.
it’s true, and it’s a trajesty.
My Dearest Annabelle, Please forgive my interminable absence. If our distance has sown in you a pang not nearly as persistent as my longing for you, by now you have surely withered and carried on the wind. If I can get this fucking app to work, would you eat Chinese or are you not in the mood? Yours Faithfully, Roderick
had to write a haiku for a university study
My face is homely Cracked and sagging with life's coil Oh wait that's my butt
there’s a lot more to love about lippy and hardy than just their instantly-gratifying tit ular innuendo. there’s also weird, lazy stereotypes and an unsettlingly casual approach to darker themes such as depression and suicide. but of all the interchangeable anthropoids in tattered vests and bow-ties suspended in defiance of all morality and scientific principle, with ragged hats that begged to be played like a little tramp’s accordion, my absolute favorite has to be hardy har har. or yogi bear probably. or snagglepuss, that unfunny oscar wilde sendup that always wore cufflinks and a cockring.
i'm
never going to get to sleep if i keep running to the bathroom to make sure this isn't blood
the minnesota police shooting
video has the same feel as a "very special episode" of the fresh prince. except instead of holding the prince as he sheds his hardened skin and his eyes well with tears, uncle phil is an emotionally inept cop holding a gun and shouting "FUCK" at a human body while the life pours out of it.
i was looking for my resume and found this thing i don’t remember writing from like 2 years ago because i was SURELY drunk. life can be pretty bleak sometimes, huh?
A FEW SHORT WEEKS A former boss of mine offered me one of his frequent but always unnerving pieces of advice- “Do you think you’re tough?” “Yes”, I replied. He barked back with no interest in whether I had answered at all, “No matter how tough y’think you are, a bullet’s tougher.” And then he motioned toward the inside of his coat, to where he gestured whenever he unloaded a quip about gun ownership, or murder, or made a direct threat to one of his employees.
A few short weeks later he resigned under duress after he brandished his gun in the face of another man, a customer.
And in a few short weeks I’ll have a gun of my own. And its presence in conversation will be lumbering and maligned. I’ll wear a smile because of what I now know. When I’m alone I’ll hold it, and I’ll shift its delicate weight from left, to right, to left.
And a few short weeks later I’ll carve a hole between my lips, pry my gritting teeth, making a face like a babe in wait of a tit or a cheap piece of plastic from a factory in El Salvador. I’ll shift in my seat while weight passes from left, to right, until it finds a home in my left, or right, and for the first time in my life I’ll have control.
every
dollar bill i could save by releasing my vices, or could ever earn through mindless work, stitched end-to-end could never cover my body of shame