My friends reaction to Tadashi:
  • (She has never watched Big Hero 6, at all)
  • Andrea: *Tadashi appears on the screen in his moped glory* Ooh! Mmn hmm hmmn~
  • Me: Tadashi is <b>smoking hot</b>, am I right, Andrea?
  • Andrea: Oh my god you're so right.
  • Me: Lets hope he doesn't <b>die</b> of his <b>hotness</b>
  • Andrea: I think I'll die of his hotness.
  • *later on*
  • Tadashi: *dies*
  • Andrea: *sitting there with a super shocked face, jaw open so wide I can see her throat, tears coming out of her eyes*
  • Me: Bruh, I told you he was smoking hot
True Story

+ Before you read this, it’s important to note that this was written with express intent to read in front of an audience + 

Swear to god this is a true story.
Picture, like, the hottest woman you’ve ever seen
like Natalie Portman in Black Swan
like Angelina Jolie in Gia
like a young Carrie Fisher in her slave Leia outfit
like any pornstar you may have jerked it to-any pornstar-
and this woman, she’s standing bare-ass naked in front of me
swaying her hips and making all these other dream women
look like Sloth for the Goonies. “Hey you guuuuuys!”

Her hair, I just want to run my hands through it,
messy it up, grip it and yank it tight
the way a jockey grips the reins when he’s about to come
in first place at the Kentucky Derby. Bend her over,
make her my Kentucky Derby.
*point to a someone in the audience*
Her hair, I shit you not, it looks just like yours.

Hey eyes, I swear to god, in her eyes I could see the sunrise,
the sunset, the Aurora Borealis, the Perseid meteor shower,
and a lesbian orgy on the beach in Cabo during Spring Break.
Honestly, if I can’t fuck her brains out,
just staring into her eyes would be a great consolation prize.
*point to someone else in the audience*
As a matter of fact, you and her have the same eyes.

Her smile, sweet Jesus, I want it.
I don’t just mean I want her lips wrapped around my penis.
I mean, her smile was enough to run to Kay Jewelers or Aaron Brothers
or wherever the fuck you go to get a bitch a ring.
I wanted to love her the way police bullets love black bodies.
*point to yet another audience member*
Believe it or not, her smile was exactly like yours.

And her tits, God probably patted himself on the back for those.
Did I mention they’re the best pair I’ve ever seen?
*point out another audience member*
Of course, I havent seen yours yet.

I swear to god, she smelled like a waffle
and I don’t mean that cheap instant toaster shit.
I mean like home-made batter poured into a waffle iron,
topped with gobs of butter and expensive, top-shelf Vermont Maple
and I don’t know whether I’m supposed to be horny or hungry
but either way, I want to dive in.

So she takes her finger, brushed in against my lips,
and I would’ve sucked the Universe out of that finger,
her touch is like gossamer.

She slowly dances her finger  lower,
pauses at my chest, probably wanting to swirl it some manly chest hair
but I don’t have any– this is probably confusing to her.
When she trails lower towards my belly button, it tickles
but in a good way, the way it tickles when you slide your fingers into
the envelope that holds your Christmas bonus.
This woman is such a tease and I just want want to pounce,
go down on her like a bulldog eating peanut butter.
She’s not even touching my cock yet and already I want to blow my load.
I’m afraid I just might when she finally gets there.
Her touch still so soft, so gentle, so delicate
like the collective fart of a hundred ants
like the extra-absorbency tissues I jerk off into…

God damn it.
It hits me.
It all makes sense now.
I’ve fallen asleep masturbating again.
See, I read this article on the benefits of ejaculation before bed
and these days I’m finding every excuse to take a nap.
Only imagine my surprise when I open my eyes.
I wasn’t imagining that velvety tickling sensation.
Sitting proudly atop my erect penis
like a fucking prince charming ready to take down the dragon
is the biggest, meanest, ugliest black widow I’ve ever seen in my life.
I swear to god, we do something like lock eyes and I shake my head
but the fucker bites me, anyway.
And I scream like that poor sap Aaron Rolston from 127 Hours; only
it’s not my arm but my balls that get caught underneath the boulder.
I smack the shit out of that fucking spider.
But it’s too late.

And now, after all the venom
and the swelling and the oozing
and the scabbing,
well, my penis isn’t as pretty as it used to be.
I wouldn’t, but others might even use the words
“ugly” and “deformed”.
To be honest, it breaks my heart.
And no fuckin’ kidding, now, my penis, well,
*point to another in the audience*
it looks just like you.

“It’s so late, but I just love talking to you. I’d stay up forever if it meant I’d never have to stop talking to you.”

“It’s so cute how your nose squints up when you laugh too hard, everything you do is just so cute.”

“I can’t believe that you’re finally mine. I swear I’ll give you anything you need. I’ll be whatever you need. Me and you against the world. I promise.”

“You’re so passionate about all the things you believe in, it’s beautiful the way you light up when you talk about the things you love.”

“Sometimes you put this wall up, like you’re a mystery or something. God I just want to know everything about you. You are beyond what I imagined.”

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry I made you cry. I didn’t mean to. I love you. I’m just so sorry.”

“Yeah. That’s cool.”


“I don’t really feel like talking right now. I’m just going to go. Talk later.”

“You laugh too loudly. It’s embarrassing sometimes to take you out. You should work on that.”

“I know you’re upset right now, but I can’t talk. I’m busy.”

“I’m sick of fighting with you on everything. You have too many opinions. You’re too loud. You’re too much.”

“I’m sick of you pretending like you’re some majestic secret that walks around. You aren’t mysterious. You aren’t special. You’re just a girl. That’s all you are. You’re just a girl.”

“You cry too much, and I can’t apologize anymore than I already have. I just don’t think we’re going to work out anymore. We’re too different. I tried to make us work, but..”

“Please return my sweatshirts when you get the chance.”



I looked back through our messages to see if I could find where I lost you.


Dirty Laundry

I don’t see how people are getting so mad over stereotyping Mexicans/Latinos  bc it is all so true. My family (and mostly all mexican families) are exactly like Lance’s family. The chancla, the singing of gasolina, all of it. Even if it isn’t like that in some Latino families they see that this is not racist and is true.The only people getting offended by it are people who are not even Latino. The author is working so hard on making this story for us and people just come out of nowhere with no knowledge of Latino family saying it is racist and stereotyping them. We do understand that she is making a story that is relatable to us so just shut up. It is a good story so just let her write it and finish it without geting all this hate.

Brian story #2

Brian, Just finishes West Virginia: “You know, one time we played this song in a church. And, you know, when we got to the part that was all like ” there ain’t no monster on earth, there ain’t no lord up above’ I swear to god a cross that was hanging on the ceiling fell down right at the moment and landed in front of me. I swear. It was crazy.“