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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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@we-all-need-a-seagull
Human bodies are so fucked I mean there have been stories of people surviving falls from 400 stories up, living after being sucked out of their houses by tornadoes, and making full recoveries after being pronounced DEAD for minutes on end but the moment Jerry from accounting swallows a peanut his body’s like “Ooooooh, dude, I’mma sit this one out, like, permanently”
Me: [Cleans up litter, donates to the homeless, gets straight A’s, solves the energy crisis, finds proof of unicorns, is named Honorary Person of the Year by Jesus Christ Himself]
My brain:
It’s okay to hate gay people. It’s not okay to hate them because they’re gay. (source)
Me: It’s time to go on a diet Also Me:
A girl you met online stood you up for your first date, but you didn’t mind because the place she had you go was fantastic! You agreed to more “dates” like this, excited to explore. After several “dates,” something happens that catches you off guard…
I push the heavy oak doors open and step inside the mansion. Needless to say, I’m excited. Our last “date” was set as an apartment--a bit disappointing at first, but not after I opened the fridge to find enough food to feed a horse that has a taste for quality meals. I’m talking prime rib, tossed Roman salad, and gelato. And there was enough in there for more than two in that fridge, but I knew better than to expect company. It’s always me. And that’s just fine.
The mansion’s interior looks a bit empty, to say the least. I’ve never been in a mansion before, and didn’t know what to expect, but I can’t see anything that I’d presume such an extravagant place would have. There are no paintings. No bookshelves. No art by Michelangelo on the ceiling. It’s completely barren. My footsteps echo loudly throughout the house as I walk.Â
After several “Hello”s, I reckon there’s no one here. Half of me wants to exit the mansion and keep scrolling through my dating apps, but I’ve come to trust this girl that I’ve never seen. I have faith that something about this mansion is spectacular and fun. I just have to keep looking.
...Checked the bedrooms. The bathrooms. The kitchens. The spare rooms. Everything. Lust like the foyer, it’s just big, empty space. And with each minute that goes by, I feel more and more uneasy. I think it’s just my brain telling me that my footsteps belong to someone else. That, and the sun is starting to set. I guess our “date” didn’t turn out as well as we hoped. Time to go.
The knob of the front door refuses to turn. I push and pull, but it won’t budge. I can’t get out of here. The windows are too high up to reach without a ladder, and even then, I wouldn’t be able to get down. Immediately, my hand finds my phone in my coat pocket. I press the home button, racking my mind for who I could call, but something catches my eye. I have a text from Eva, my “date”. She usually only texts me to set up more places to never meet at, so this is strange for her. I tap the notification to see this message:
“Heading your way now”
Ah. This is why this place has nothing in it for me. She’s set me up to meet in person. I start to sweat. What is there to say? How do you exactly start a conversation with a girl who’s been leading you from location to location? I wipe the moisture from my forehead and quickly comb my fingers through my hair.
“What time do you think you’ll be here?” I text.
Immediately, she replies with this: “Inside now.”
I look around. I didn’t hear anything. She certainly didn’t come through the front doors just now. I offer an uneasy “Hello?” but my voice just echoes. My body feels hot, so I shrug off my jacket. I shouldn’t be this nervous. That’s what this is, right? Nervousness?
“Jack,” calls a feminine voice. I jolt in surprise, then turn around. There she is, walking toward me. Her blonde hair is tied into cute pigtails. She’s taller than I expected, and even more stunning than her profile picture made her out to be. Her outfit, while a bit skimpy, makes Eva look gorgeous. I’m suddenly glad that the doors wouldn’t open.
“How’d you get here?” I ask. “I didn’t see a back door anywhere.”
“The spare room,” she says. I remember going in there--or at least trying. The door was locked, but I knocked. Does that room lead to another exit or something? “How are you?”
“Hot.” Oh my God. That came off wrong. “Uh, I mean in temperature. I’m good. You?”
“Same, actually.” She smiles, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. Her eyes are a piercing blue, with pupils like pinpoints. “You look nice.”
“You do, too,” I reply. I want to come off as smooth and gentlemanly, but I feel uncomfortable in this rising heat. As much as I want to take my shirt off, I know that can’t happen if I ever want to see this girl again. “What have you been up to?”
“Watching you.” she says matter-of-factly. A chill runs up my spine. “You really liked that one ride at the amusement park, didn’t you? The...”
“Spin Cycle,” I finish slowly. Eva’s eyes light up.
“Yeah. You rode that 18 times. After 15 times, you threw up in the garbage can.”
I don’t have a clue as to how many times I rode that thing, but I did puke. I remember that clearly. Instinctively, I take a step back. My legs feel like jelly.Â
“You, uh, you could’ve joined me,” I stammer, forcing the best smile I can. My vision is spinning.Â
“Oh, I wasn’t there.” Even though what she says doesn’t make sense, something tells me that she’s telling the truth. How that truth can be, however, is a mystery. “You seem to like mashed potatoes and ribs, don’t you, Jack? But you aren’t fond of the man who served you at El Pico’s last Tuesday.”
Eva never prompted me to go to El Pico’s. I went on my own. Through my blurring vision, I can still see those blue eyes. I want to get out. It’s getting too hot. Her stare is getting too cold.Â
“I’m... gonna go, Eva. It was nice meeting you.” My body shifts toward the doors. I grasp the handle, but immediately pull my hand back with a yelp. The brass knobs are as hot as a metal slide in the summertime. I take off my shirt, desperate and dazed, and wrap it around my hand. The damn thing still won’t turn. My body is starting to hurt. I feel like I’m being cooked. I wobble and crash to the floor, yelping against the burning wood ground. God, it hurts. It hurts like Hell.
I look toward Eva, who’s standing like nothing’s happening at all. How is she unbothered by this temperature? Shakily, I bring my hand up in her direction. “I’m burning...,” I whisper. My throat is screaming for water. I lay my hand back down. I can’t think.
I can’t think.
Can’t
think
at all.
________________________________________________________________
Jack Hattford’s body has been found three miles from the location he was last seen at: Dinoco Gas Station on Maple and 2nd. It has been only two weeks since Jack was reported missing, but in that time, his body has seemingly deteriorated into nothing but a skeleton. The bones were tested yesterday and are confirmed to belong to Jack. Investigators are baffled and horrified by this discovery. Though not much information can be revealed as of yet, the lead of the investigation team, Scott Brookes, suspects that acid may have been used to decompose the flesh. The rest, however, is completely a mystery. This has been the local report of KRSS News, channel 6...
Anything sounds dirty when you add “if you know what I mean” on the end
“Let’s shake up the barrel of pins, if you know what I mean”
“I can cook the two-minute rice, if you know what I mean”
“Plug in that corkscrew charger, if you know what I mean”
“Run me over…if you know what I mean”
I say that on the daily
TEXT “RESIST” TO 50409 TO FIGHT FOR NET NEUTRALITY! PASS IT ON
“5 Ways Male Heroin Addicts are PRIVILIGED Compared to Women”
As a recovering heroin addict and a Feminist, I can tell you that the long tendrils of oppression do not leave the drug world out of their reach. Drug addiction is tough, but men are privileged in these avenues as well. From personal experience, here are 5 WAYS that heroin addicted women are disadvantaged compared to men: 1.  Women make $0.77 for every $1 that men make so they can’t afford their habit as well as men.
2. Â Women are more likely than men to turn to the sex trade to pay for their drug and avoid withdrawal.
3. Â Heroin addicted women are extra susceptible to the rape culture because they are around bad men (there all bad).
4.  Heroin addicted women who choose to be sex workers to pay for their addiction are called “dope hoes” because of slut shaming.
5.  Heroin addicted trans-women are extra disadvantaged because even if they’re willing to turn to sex-work, they often can’t find “tricks” who are interested and have to suffer excruciating withdrawals.
Are we just going to ignore that Black Hat puked on Flug and that’s probably why his face is allegedly fucked up
Mom: Pizza rolls are done Me:
To all of my followers, thank you for your support.
To all of my followers that are sexbots, no, I don’t want to hook up with a 53 year-old married mom wanting to fuck me 2.14 miles away.
If you were to see eggs with slick, muscled legs branching out of them, would you call them a) leggs, or b) a monstrosity
Me: Please, it’s fucking 2 am, I need some sleep My asswagon creative brain:
I’d like to thank my followers for sticking with my organized posting schedule of “I’ve forgotten I have a Tumblr, I need to post something, fuck it, flurry of bullshit”
A Paradox
If having no kinks is your kink, do you even have a kink at all?
Friend: “My friend thinks you’re pretty”
I gave you my everything. I left my faith, my life, in your hands, and like all the others, you crushed it before my very eyes. You let me down. And now? Now I feel truly alone in a world of backstabbers. A world that you helped create.
Friend: Okay I took ONE chicken nugget off your plate without asking
