Whenever I feel frustrated with life, I just shake my fist at the heavens and shout, “RICHAAAARDS!” It always helps.
Hunter: That poor woman has the saddest tits. Damn depressing.
Brock: Right? Yeah, they're like "The Notebook" sad.
Hunter: Tits like coming home from school and finding out your old man ran over your cat sad.
Brock: Mournful. She has mournful tits. They're like 2 suicide notes stuffed in a glitter bra.
Hunter: Those things are like a little kid with progeria cracking all his ribs trying to catch a Nerf ball. Just sad. Dammit she has gloomy tits.
Brock: It's like she put a dollars worth of change into some old socks and then taped them to her chest.
Hunter: I wanna build 2 little caskets and give her tits a tasteful and dignified funeral.
I don't even know.
So, because dixiechicken started it, here’s the dream I had this afternoon: So in the dream, Jackson Publick and I are buddies, right? And we go to church together (because that is so in character for both of us), and we sit together, and we are friends, and everything is nice. I’m on my way to meet Jackson at church, and in order to get to the church, I had to go through this real...
Usher versus Saint Augustine: FIGHT →
That’s right, you heard me.
If you go home with someone, and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ‘em.– John Waters (via jaredgeller) (via catsolen)
ARTHUR AND EAMES'S BUSINESS WEBSITE. →
Tiny creatures develop a society, film at 11 →