“She didn’t need a protector or a rescuer. But she did need him.”
— Alexandra Bracken, Passenger
(via the-book-diaries )
cat when I’m snuggling him: I’ve never met you in my life. you bastard. you fiend. stop this at once
cat when I’m busy doing something and can’t pet him right that second: Where Is My Kisses From Mommy??? Where Is My Snuggles And Cuddles That I Crave So Dearly. You Are A Cruel And Unjust Mother And I Am Going To Scream
the world is a cold, dark, angry place. It is filled with many types of people: all of them suffering, all of them tired and greedy. All of them washed grey from the morbid monotony that is the bleak reality of day to day life.What decided what kind of person you are is based in how you react to the void.
Red people scream and rage, striking like a coiled cobra, spitting toxins and venom out into the air: clouding their judgment with thick black smoke.
Blue people are made of moonlight and teardrops, loosing themselves in an ocean of pain.
Yellow people laze in sunbaths and surround themselves in pleasantries. “if you cover shit in gold it becomes gold”
Orange people are best at distractions, devouring ambrosia and chugging nectar, constantly chasing the clouds to avoid the sickly earth. Wishing for nothing more than to float just high enough that they cant see the pain.
Violet people are made of daydreams and butterflies, imagination, exploration and visions of plum pixies.
Indigo people lock themselves in dark rooms in dark moods and embrace the pain. They face it, hold it, and cry with it. Yet stay locked away in fear of adding to their collection.
Green people are the wisest of all. They fertilize with hope and water with self admiration. They take their pain and help it blossom into something beautiful.
Many people have multiple hues but so many lack green and that’s why the world is still so grey.
Bruh, my manager is going off in the group chat about bad ratings whatever, telling us we need to try harder and that there were complaints attatched to the reviews blah blah blah, THEN MY COWORKER POINTED OUT THAT THE COMPLAINTS WERE MADE DURING HER SHIFT WHILE SHE WAS ALONE AT THE STORE AND NOW SHES NOT REPLYING TO THE GROUP CHAT. 😂😂😂
My three girlfriends.
And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…
*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*
Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
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my warrior cat OC smokeweed is much cooler and more strongerer than any of your other cats so don’t even try it
my warrior cat OC is named Moutaindew and he’s lime green and has a sick mohawk
please take everything i own
You missed the beautiful opportunity to use “Meowntain dew”