lamer

By law, criminal punishment factors in the awesomeness of the method used. Even the worst crimes may escape punishment if the execution was amazingly, creatively badass. Penalties increase the lamer, lazier, or dumber the crime is.

Nunca me sentí solo. He estado en una habitación y he tenido impulsos suicidas. He estado deprimido, me he sentido horrible más allá de lo descriptible, pero nunca pensé que una persona podía entrar a una habitación y curarme. Ni varias personas. En otras palabras, la soledad no es algo que me moleste, porque siempre tuve este terrible deseo de estar solo. Siento la soledad cuando estoy en una fiesta, o en un estadio lleno de gente vitoreando algo. Citaré a Ibsen: “Los hombres más fuertes son los más solitarios”. Nunca pensé: “Bueno, ahora va a entrar una rubia hermosa y vamos a tener sexo, y me va a lamer las pelotas, y me voy a sentir bien”. No, eso no iba a ayudar. ¿Has visto cómo piensa la gente común?: “Guau, es viernes por la noche, ¿qué vamos a hacer?, ¿quedarnos aquí sentados?”. Bueno, sí. Porque no hay nada allá afuera. Es idiotez. Gente idiota mezclándose con gente idiota. Que se idiotizan entre ellos. Nunca tuve la necesidad de lanzarme a la noche. Me escondía en bares porque no quería esconderme en fábricas. Eso es todo. Les pido perdón a los millones de personas que habitan ahí fuera, pero nunca me sentí solo. Me gusta estar conmigo mismo. Soy la mejor forma de entretenimiento que puedo encontrar.

Charles Bukowski

[43%]
chemistry is starting to get to me… since i’m golden, i sometimes wish silver would walk up to me in class and say, “Au! let’s get outta this place!”

maxblizzardshark  asked:

¿Por qué a los hombres le fascinan tanto las tetas?

No te responderé por otros, te responderé por mi.

Me fascinan los pechos por el mero hecho de que son pechos, valga la redundancia.
No me importan su tamaño o su forma… Siempre tienen algo que me enciende y desorienta en el acto.

Y no es que no me guste un buen culo (como sin duda a gran mayoría de los hombres)… Pero es que ahg, un culo ya, ¿qué hago con el culo? ¿Azotarlo? Y no pienso lamer algo por donde salen tus desechos v:

Las tetas en cambio… Son el magic en cualquier situación… Es excitante correrse en ellas… Es hermosa la manera en que se marcan los pezones… Es hermosa la manera en que existen… Son pechos, son vida… La infinitas maneras en que las puedo devorar (metafóricamente xd) o sencillamente admirar… La manera en que puedo hacerte sentir sólo por saber como tocarlas o tratarlas… Lo rico que se siente tenerla en tus manos y apretarlas (o únicamente sentirlas)… Es algo majestuoso… Me fascinan las tetas sobre todo en todo.
¿Qué más rico que una chica te abrace desde atrás y sientas sus pechos contra ti? Es el puto orgasmo mental.

yaboy-robin  asked:

so here's a scenario for you- the sole survivor is one of the best people the companions have met. however, they seem to be the only one that thinks that - as anyone who meets the sole survivor is rude, overly mad, and even blames them for things that aren't the sole's fault - even other companions (other than the ones in the react). can we get a companions react to one more person being rude to the sole - and the companion's had enough of people being rude?

Cait: She snaps. She whirls around, catches the offender by the lapels of their coat, and shoves them up against the nearest wall. “Alright, listen up, you fuckwit son of a bitch.” Her fists grip tighter, and her knuckles turn white. She goes nose to nose with her prey. “Sole is one of the best people you’ll ever have the fuckin’ luxury to know. And if I hear you say shit about them one more time, I’ll beat yer ass so hard you won’t shit right for a week.”

Codsworth: “Mx. Sole, I’ve had enough!” he blurts. He flinches when all eyes turn on him, but pushes on. “You’ve done nothing but kind things for these people, and sacrificed so much to be here. I can’t- I can’t stand seeing them be so rude to you! And I-I know it doesn’t mean much, from me, I know no one listens to me, but.” He turns and addresses the crowd. “You all should be ashamed of yourselves!” 

Curie: “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she exclaims, rounding on the person. She wags a scolding finger at them, looking like an indignant schoolteacher. “Sole has been nothing but good and kind to me, and everyone else we’ve met! The only reason any of you have been unkind is because of small-minded fears and prejudices. Well, no more. Sole deserves all the respect and kindness in the world.” 

Danse: “I suggest you keep your mouth shut, civilian.” Danse rises to his full height, looking very imposing in his power armor and fierce glare. “Maybe you are incapable of respecting good people when you see them, but this person is better and more capable than you’ll ever be. Perhaps you should learn when to pick your battles, instead of insulting people with more honor in their little finger than you have in your entire body.”

Deacon: “Let he who has committed no sin cast the first stone, am I right?” he snaps back. He glances at Sole. “That’s the line, right?” Without waiting for a reply, he pushes on. “Maybe you should stay out of other people’s business, ‘kay? You don’t want me insulting you just because you haven’t brushed your teeth for three weeks and smell like you hit your kids, or something. Just, like, have a little respect. We don’t all need to be assholes.”

Dogmeat: He growls at them, even snapping his jaws if he finds them particularly repulsive. He won’t do anything unless Sole commands it, but he makes sure to glare at and snarl at the insulting person whenever they’re around.

Hancock: His eyes narrow, black depths glimmering. He steps forward, between the jerk and Sole, somehow looming over them regardless of any difference in height. “I think you were talking to the wrong person,” Hancock says, brandishing a knife, shining in the light. “’Cause I’m a real bastard. I own that. But Sole? Nah. They’ve never done anything to you, and never will.” He points his knife towards the curve of their neck. “Me, though…”

Nick Valentine: “Don’t do this.” Suddenly he’s all sharp and angry, losing his temper in the blink of an eye. “You remember how you treated me, years ago, when I was a newbie to this town and your kind loathed me?” He jerks a thumb to his chest. “How’d that work out for you? Maybe you should think before you speak.” He’s almost like a disappointed father, berating and shaming the jerk into mumbling an apology.

MacCready: “Well, you- you suck!” he shouts, glowering at them over his shoulder. It sounds way lamer than he imagined it in his head, though, and the jerk laughs at him. So he marches forward, all short and thin and furious. “Yeah, laugh, go right ahead. You won’t be laughing when I- when I pop your head from a hundred miles away, asshole.” The use of profanity is lost on the stranger, but Sole gasps, and Mac feels a little proud.

Piper: “How dare you?” she snaps, jabbing a finger into their chest. “After everything Sole’s done for you? What? What are you saying about me, too. Are you saying I’m dumb for traveling with them? ‘Cause, hoo-boy, buddy, believe you me, I’m not as nice as Sole. I’ll- I’ll fight you. I will! Let’s just- let’s go out back. Right now. You and me. Mano-e-mano. Or, uh… Persono… e… woman-o. Yeah. Let’s go. Let’s do this.” Sole has to drag her away, still shouting.

Preston: He turns on the person, looking stern. “Have you ever fought for anything?” he demands. “Sole has given up so much to support the Commonwealth, and never gets a word of thanks for it. Before you judge them, before you blame them, maybe you should think about what we’re trying to accomplish, in the long run.” He gets up on his soapbox and gives a heartfelt speech. People are inspired. Old women cry. He kisses a baby afterwards. 

Strong: He twitches. Before anyone can stop him, he’s got one meaty paw around the offender’s neck, giving it a pinch to see how the person squirms. Everyone rushes to stop him, but he looks to Sole, ignoring the other humans. “Strong break?” he asks, waiting for the order. 

X6-88: He seems calm at first. “Should I kill them, Mx. Sole?” he asks, almost pleasant. Sole says no, of course, but that doesn’t stop him. He tracks them down, later, and is waiting in their house when they come home that day. He takes off his sunglasses, and somehow, that’s more terrifying than anything else. “You shouldn’t have spoken to Sole like that,” he says, and suddenly there’s a knife in his hand. “I’ll make sure you don’t make that mistake again.”