


God made me unphotogenic to keep me humble and i respect that

it took nine seconds for me to fully process what i was watching and then i started LAUHGHING

I would be dead
*opens the groupchat at breakfast to backread like its the morning paper*
NOOOOOOOOOO I AM YELLING
“Family gatherings” aka “90% of the people here are racist”
”..and homophobic”
“and sexist”

“and claim to be none of these things”
“they’re just joking”
“you’re just going through a phase”

“you’ll get used to it”

“so do you have a boyfriend yet?“

“Where’s your girlfriend? I though you were a ladies man?”

Fun Fact: Apparently Oscar Wilde was 6’3”, which in the 1870s would have been the equivalent of like 6’7”-6’9” tall. He was so ridiculously huge and awkward that one of his friends described him as looking like a “great white caterpillar.” That is all.
When his lover’s father ( one of the founding father’s of boxing as a sport) showed up to kick his ass, Oscar stood up, pulled a gun and said something like “I don’t know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot on sight.”
The more I find out about Oscar Wilde the more delighted I am.
Hear it? Carpe. Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.
Dead Poets Society (1989) dir. Peter Weir
“my busch lite is gone”

this is literally fucking poetry





