avatarstateyipyip:

friends: what do you want to do?
my brain: die
me @ my brain: we can’t say that. these people don’t understand casual existential despair

cryopearl:

Everybody that reblogs this by May 10th will get a traditionally drawn character based on what I think you look like after scrolling through your blog

Edit: OK I’M CHANGING THE GODDAMN DATE TO MAY 3RD BECAUSE I CANNOT DRAW 5,000 PEOPLE.

YOU HAVE UNTIL MAY 3RD THIS WAS A BAD IDEA

Edit 2: OK, so a lot of people are doubting this, but I’m not going to just skip out on this. I know it’s a lot of people, but the whole reason I’m doing this is because it sounds like fun, and it will be good drawing practice. I’m not starting it immediately, and it might take a while to get them all out, but I AM going to be getting all of these done! I’m going to keep my promise, and this is a legitimate thing.

cerebralscrawl:

Honestly I think the scariest thing about having a mental illness is when you describe an aspect of it that you’ve accepted as part of your everyday life to someone else and they find it frightening and suddenly you realise that it is frightening, you’d just forgotten

spyderqueen:

mystery-moose:

capnraccoon:

damianmcgintleman:

thelegendofkungjew:

damianmcgintleman:

agoldensorcerer:

damianmcgintleman:

agoldensorcerer:

damianmcgintleman:

thankyougreenlantern:

Public bathrooms are such a godless place. Ppl do the most bizarre stuff

one time i walked into a mcdonalds bathroom and their was shit on the wall with actual hand prints like a scat version of the shining and it took everything i had not to vomit after the immediate 180 i did

Last week I really had to pee walking home from the bus stop so I jumped into the park bathroom a few blocks from my house (in a pretty upscale area) and there was a chick in goth lolita dress smoking crack in the men’s room.

after i saw the remake of annie, i went into the bathroom and this guy at the urinal was whipping his dick back and forth while singing uptown funk and his friend was urinating beside him and laughing the entire time

My dad and I stopped at a truck stop in Northern California (or Southern Oregon, it was a long time ago and I don’t remember) when I was 12 or so and I ended up needing to go to the bathroom while we ate, so I was directed towards the back of the building. I walked in and saw a woman laying in a clawfoot bathtub, immediately shreiked and turned around apologizing, to be greeted with 10-15 truckers, including my dad, laughing their asses off.

…It was a blowup doll.

okay that story beats the ones i had

Let me tell you a story about Dairy Queen and the time I closed an Allsup’s.

With my ass.

Many moons ago, when I was but 14, I, my father, and several others were going on a fishing trip to southern Colorado.  Now, like good Texans, we loaded up at 5:00am to make the twelve-hour trip in a single day because, you know, that’s what you do in Texas.

Several hours later, we found ourselves in Childress, the very gateway to the Texas panhandle, a surreal place a thousand Tumblr posts could be written about. There, we had a proper breakfast at Dairy Queen, certainly a Texas institution.  I recall quite clearly having a basket of disappointing chicken strips and unpleasantly greasy fries.  It was a bland, unsatisfying meal, but I was 14, still sleepy, and really quite hungry, so I ate it regardless.

Not long after, I felt a sensation like one my young body had never felt before.

To say that I was in discomfort would be putting it mildly.  I was cramping, I was sweaty, I was fairly sure I was one hard bump in the road away from shitting my pants and forever ruining not just my pants and my pride, but the back seat of my father’s friend’s harvest gold metallic 1999 Ford F350 Super Duty.

This day, the prairie tan upholstery of the harvest gold metallic 1999 Ford F350 Super Duty would be spared.

Mercifully, as we entered one of the many smallish towns on the way through the panhandle, we stopped for gas at an Allsup’s.  Then and there, I was making my final stand.  Every muscle in my body clenched desperately, holding in the terrible burden foisted upon it by a meal of grease, batter, and regret.

Like all Allsup’ses, it was a liminal space, a place that had no real business in the real world and was, instead, a small, dingy realm within its own flimsy walls, a pocket dimension with a spinning rack of country music cassettes and CDs from artists I’d never heard of and a Blue Bell freezer that was likely only ever 1/3 full no matter how long the early days of that Texas summer might drag on.

It was here, in this space between spaces, an outpost in the first real steps into the panhandle, that I would commit one of the gravest crimes of my life.

Stealthily, as though smuggling some secret only slightly less terrible than the grim truth my life had become, I made my way to the back of the dingy, unpleasant gas station.  Thankfully, it had an indoor restroom that didn’t force me to ask for a key, one of the few saving graces of the little mess of a place.

I would, in short order, rob it of even that marginal virtue.

With my stealthy power-waddle into the lav, I locked the door behind me, my body and mind already relaxing, knowing that relief was at hand and soon my suffering would be over though I didn’t know at what could that relief would come, I couldn’t have known.  The restroom was not overly dirty, but just the same I mouthed a hushed “fuck” as a churning growl from ominously low in my gut warned me there was no time for the gossamer security of a paper ass gasket, this was happening then and there, the process had already begun, the die had been cast.

Hurriedly fiddling with my belt buckle as I approached the toilet, the promise of relief quickly gave way to desperation.  In seeing the finish line so close, my body was quickly losing the will to struggle across.  The time of choosing had come, and it was not mine, not my body’s, this was Dairy Queen’s battle; it had been from the moment that overly-dense, overly-greasy shadow of a meal had touched my lips.

With no small desperation, I threw myself at the seat, and it was perhaps in that forced desperation that the morning came to a head.  The sound my body made was unreal as a daisycutter of shit blasted out of me, still several inches above the seat.  In that moment, time itself lost all meaning, I became part of the liminal space of that Allsup’s and the forsaken dungeon that I had doomed its lavatory to be.  I couldn’t bring myself to straighten out enough to actually sit down, in part for knowing the seat had been lost to what had poured out of me and in part because the pain of my cramping gut wouldn’t allow it.

When it was over, I felt a mixture of emotions that seemed wholly fictive, like something no true human could ever experience.  In the immediate aftermath, relief ruled over all other sensation, the pain was gone, the fear was gone, I was left purified…  And then I saw at what cost.

Indeed, I was purified, but what I was purified of had found its way into the world and found, in turn, terrible purchase.  It had not just dominated the toilet.  It was on the walls, it was on the floor, it was even on the underside of the sink.  The spread was so wide, so even, and so dense that it seemed no human ass could have created it, it seemed the work of evil, and yet there I stood, staring at it in horror, at my creation.

Amazingly, as though shielded by Providence itself, I was saved from a similar fate.  Somehow, miraculously, I was no more sullied than had it been a regular, uneventful trip to a restroom.  As I transferred every bit of evil within me into that Allsup’s restroom, it lost whatever dignity it had that I might retain my own, something I am grateful for to this day.  Careful to avoid touching any, you know, shit, I tidied myself up and debated for a moment trying to clean the restroom with the minimal tools at hand, but I knew it was a lost cause, there was no way a damp bit of single-ply could solve anything I had done.

Leaving that forsaken lavatory to stew in my misdeeds with a similar stealth, I made my way out of the restroom and out of the Allsup’s together, finding my way back to the renewed security of the prairie tan and harvest gold metallic Ford F350 Super Duty.  Shortly thereafter, my father found me, asking if I’d gone in to use the restroom yet, if I’d seen its unbelievable horror.

Using my exhaustion to my advantage, I looked up from my book, undoubtedly looking tired and befuddled.

“Nnno?  I was gonna go in, but I used the restroom at breakfast and I just want to get through this chapter, why?”

It was an expert lie and, by God, somehow it worked.  Somehow.

Other parts of the story go on from there, but they don’t relate to public restrooms, where this story does pick up though is a year later.

By sheer coincidence, my father and I were making another trip through that part of Texas.  By sheer coincidence, our journey took us through the same town in the panhandle.  As I saw familiar scenery move past the window, I felt a hot wash of guilt work up through me from below.

And that’s when I saw it.

The Allsup’s.

Not just closed, but boarded up, plywood over its windows, black plastic covering its door.  My stomach dropped and my eyes went wide.

It was then that I told my father the terrible truth of that day a year before.

He was strangely proud I had closed a gas station with my ass.

that had me enthralled from start to finish and i am determined to get everyone on tumblr to read the story of how your ass is responsible for the closure of a business.

@thebigbrett

Truly artful prose.

That’s the most beautifully written epic I’ve seen in ages.

tiarasnteakettles:

alduinlovesyou:

So I like hot stuff. I’m not like, a dick about it. I don’t brag because there are people out there that can handle waaaay hotter foods than me. It’s not a competition.

So I’m at Tijuana Flats, a “mexican” food restaurant chain famous for their hot sauce bar. All in all, what they put out on the bar isn’t the spiciest stuff in the world, but you’ll find some delicious gems in there.

I immediately look at whatever is marked black as hottest for the day (they change them) and immediately go to pump some into the little paper containers provided when…

“Whooaaa, sweetheart you don’t want to do that,”

I turned around and there’s this skinny guy in jeans and a logo polo. There’s another dude wearing the same shirt, so they must have come here from some sad IT job. I’m a little taken aback at this dude’s presumption that I am ignorant to what I’m doing, but I blow it off.

”Nah, man, it’s got the black label, I haven’t tried this one yet.”

”Are you sure? It’s really spicy.” 

”I’m pretty sure dude.”

”I don’t think you should, because it was a bit much for me.”

At this point I’m feeling patronized. I stare at him. 

“It’s fine. Really.”

“Oooookay,” He says in this exasperated, don’t-say-I-didn’t-warn-you kind of voice. I get my hot sauce and sit down. Food arrives, I taste it with a chip first to test. It’s super sweet, actually. I dump the whole thing on my taco. I don’t know if he’s watching. 

I go up to the counter and ask the manager to ring me up a bottle of the sauce to take home. It was pretty delicious! Manager says he’ll bring it to my table.

They bring it, I pay, and the server asks if I’m into hot sauces – of course I say yes. Hot Sauce Police is now watching. She brings me an assortment of sauces they do not serve at the bar because of liability reasons. One of them was rated at 1.5 million Scoville units. I bought all of them, signing the credit card slip as he watches.

I finished my meal.

Then I looked right at him and licked the fucking paper container when I was done.

That time I met the hot sauce police.

more-aoe:

just hit me right in the chest

• waking up together in a tangle of sheets and sunlight, feet sticking out
• admiring the curve of the other’s shoulder when they sleep on their stomach, arms shoved under the pillow
• being unable to resist kissing said shoulder
• knowing the other’s quiet sleepy sounds
• back hugs while doing dishes
• silly dance-offs
• making the other collapse with laughter during a Very Serious Moment
• that knowing smile when one touches the other and they gasp
• talking simultaneously
• in unison
• standing with arms around each other, letting everything fall away for just a moment
• being together long enough to share habits and mannerisms