August 2009
22 posts
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July 2009
30 posts
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listening to “Malcolm Mclaren - About Her” →
“no one told me about how many people cried”
via @ladyhawke
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me: What inspires you?
Jeremy: …Nothing.
me: …
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My day at work, in a nutshell:
eblanch:
A man, his wife, two children, and two elderly woman come in. The man calls me “honey”, and “hun” repeatedly. I don’t care who you are, there’s nothing I hate more than being called anything other than my name… especially by a stranger, and especially by a man with his fucking family. I tell him my name and ask him to please call me by it. He responds with, “sure thing hun.” Ok. I bring...
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Shark Rides Train, Stops Traffic In Miami →
fuckyeahsharks:
Miami Police were called to a truly bizarre scene at Northwest Fifth Street and Fourth avenue Tuesday night: a 6-foot nurse shark in the middle of the road.
Told you so. It’s just a matter of time before they’re walking upright and biting people in half in the street.
EDIT: Apparently this shark knew how to use public transportation.
Just gettin’ ready for Shark Week, yo.
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loosen those purse strings
Tiffany: If you want, there's some lotion in my bag. It's got lavender. I got it from the flea market
Me: Ew!
Tiffany: FARMERS! The farmers market, not flea!
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I love how chaste and sex-squeamish all the books are—and then it’s like,...
– Cleolinda on Breaking Dawn
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girls making boy noises: football theme →
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reblog with your favourite animal.
yesterdaysnews:
panda ;)
manatee
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listening to “Plans and Reveries - Black Gold” →
I want more
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twenty scary old-school surgical tools →
WARNING: not for the faint of heart
via @MatsuriBot
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Kids between the ages of 3 and 7 are pretty amazing. They’re little screaming,...
– Joy the Baker
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You’re standing on her neck →
(“Daria” to be released in 2010? Frickin’ finally)
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L.A. is a beautiful prostitute with bougainvillea-blossom-pink lips, hair...
– from Echo by Francesca Lia Block
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on the contrary
re: that little blurb under my tumblr’s title, I don’t believe my life would be a bad movie. I think it would be a very boring one. If a recording device of some sort were inserted into my senses, it would pretty much output something along the lines of less-than-mediocre vomit—if such things existed.
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