Wow, I saw this photo on twitter and couldn’t help but notice how fucked up it is. Who cares about what body shape a woman is??? Who cares if she looks like Kate Moss, or Kate Upton, or fucking WHO EVER. This photograph is offensive on so many levels. It doesn’t matter if you’re pear shaped, “fat”, petite, athletic, buff, or “boteroesque” (who tf even uses that word???) BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL JUST THE WAY YOU ARE. You don’t need this stupid, bias, ridiculous, lame ass piece of shit guide to tell you what kind of woman you are. I’ll tell you what you are. You ARE perfect!! And you deserve to hear that every single day for the rest of your life.

I’m playing a game of movie bullshit with dad. Tonight’s movie is the seventh son.

The rules are simple if the movie strays from the book it’s bullshit and you drink.
So far it’s been less than ten minutes and we’ve had two beers.


Has anyone seen the trailer for this movie? Apparently, they started a indigogo campaign to fund it, but someone gave them the money . 

This is fucking bullshit. I am sick and tired of them continuing to lie. ERIC NEVER SAID A FUCKING WORD TO HER!! I am sure she was a wonderful girl and none of this is her fault. Her family makes me fucking sick though. They know it isn’t true and they continue to lie about it. 

Will you raise goats with me?

Fog rolls over Hong Kong, and I haven’t seen a taxi for days. Last night was the first time I asked you to not talk to me, after peeling the sheets back and slapping the fabric over the coal dust windows. I only wanted to sleep with you…I only wanted to sleep next to you, to dream. In silence and in streetlights. Simon and Garfunkel and all that Beatnik bullshit. You said there was no timeline to the truth, that you believed me even before when I could feel I could tell you. You believed the truth without having to hear it. 

Pittsburgh was too much like Brooklyn, and Chicago is too much like the world. The rest of America seems soft and strange by comparison. Oh, I love you. Oh, I’ve only just started to love you. But oh, how I’ve loved you. I loved you in the Art Institute. I knew it, and it scared me, how I didn’t just want to sleep with you.