desirethepositive:

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
FULL naked.
REAL naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

caffeinatedredhead
you needed to read this I’m crying

desirethepositive:

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!

I get naked.

FULL naked.

REAL naked.

I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.

No cookies. Blatant nudity.

That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…

And there it was.

This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.

Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.

“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”

Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”

As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.

This was, nearly, one of those.

If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.

My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.

I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:

“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”

And inquiries such as:

“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”

Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?

That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.

An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

caffeinatedredhead
you needed to read this I’m crying
turningpoint2:

{indigo_crossing}

turningpoint2:

{indigo_crossing}

blunts-and-robots:

lovemetoinfinity:

bendovalikethat:

livinginsperrys:

I feel I am sinning for reblogging this …

Single greatest picture

Jesus is killing it in BP


watch that fuckin elbow, jesus

blunts-and-robots:

lovemetoinfinity:

bendovalikethat:

livinginsperrys:

I feel I am sinning for reblogging this …

Single greatest picture

Jesus is killing it in BP

watch that fuckin elbow, jesus

equestrianchicpoverty:

equestrianchicpoverty:

gallop-to-heaven:

coloradocowgirlforchrist:

IT’S TRANSPARENT.

everyone needs Spirit on their blog.

every time someone reblogs this you see that notification in the corner with a tiny galloping spirit so pls keep it up guyz

makin a herd on my blog no shame

equestrianchicpoverty:

equestrianchicpoverty:

gallop-to-heaven:

coloradocowgirlforchrist:

IT’S TRANSPARENT.

everyone needs Spirit on their blog.

every time someone reblogs this you see that notification in the corner with a tiny galloping spirit so pls keep it up guyz

makin a herd on my blog no shame

lustt-and-luxury:

Facts

pr1nceshawn:

The Photos Disney Characters Would Take If They Had Instagram Accounts by Simona Bonafini.

h0t-southern-mess:

hashtagsmores:

thefrogman:

[video] [h/t: sizvideos]

This is actually my new favorite thing.

I use to do this with max 😊
He’s da best doggie ever

psychofactz:

More?
guys lets do this
I will write about the following. Leave one in my ask box:

Dear person I hate,

Dear person I like,

Dear ex boyfriend,

Dear ex girlfriend,

Dear ex bestfriend,

Dear bestfriend,

Dear Santa,

Dear Mom,

Dear Dad,

Dear future me,

Dear past me,

Dear person I’m jealous of,

Dear person I had a crush on,

Dear [future] girlfriend,

Dear [future] boyfriend,

Dear *anyone*,

monobeartheater:

charlottelabouff:

if you ever feel embarrassed about yourself just remember that on my first day of 8th grade I wore 30 hairclips, a pink tutu, a giraffe backpack, fake rainbow hair extensions, invader zim shoes and shoe laces, pink fishnet arm warmers and about 34 bracelets and necklaces and ran around saying “nya” for 3 hours until the principal made me change

ARE THERE PICTURES