DID YOU MOTHERFUCKERS REALLY THINK YOU WERE DONE WITH ME? I THINK NOT. THAT’S RIGHT IT’S THE SUGAR SCRUB CHICK BACK WITH ANOTHER FUCKING TUTORIAL. YOU BITCHES HAVE BEEN ASKING ME FOR AGES TO MAKE ANOTHER ONE OF THESE FUCKING POSTS AND IT’S FUCKING LATE SO HERE YOU GO FUCKERS WE GON LEARN SOME SHIT SO SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET
SO WE ALL WANT LIPS RED AS THE BLOOD OF ANGRY MEN RIGHT AND WHO DOESN’T FUCKING LIKE ARTS AND CRAFTS AND I DON’T EVEN NEED TO TALK ABOUT HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND LIPSTICK FOR FUCKING COSPLAY SO BEHOLD THE HUMBLE CRAYON YOU LITTLE SHITS
GET A CRAYON. AND NOT JUST ANY CRAYON A FUCKING CRAYOLA CRAYON DON’T EVEN TRY WITH THAT ROSEART SHIT BECAUSE I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND RIP OUT YOUR UVULA. IF YOU WANNA GET REALLY ARTSY WHIP OUT ONE OF THESE BAD BOYS
AND BREAK UP SOME CRAYONS TO GET THE PERFECT SHADE OF BLUE GREEN FOR THAT BADASS COSPLAY YOU’VE GOT PICKED OUT BUT MARK MY WORDS NO MORE THAN ONE FUCKING CRAYON’S WORTH OF BITS BETTER GO INTO THIS FUCKING BOWL.
SPEAKING OF WHICH, YOU NEED SOME OTHER FUCKING SHIT IN THERE SO GO GET SOME OIL. THE GOOD STUFF. I’M TALKING EVOO BITCHES THE VIRGINAL BLOOD OF THE MOST TENDER OLIVES IN ALL THE LAND. SQUEEZE SOME OF THAT HEAVENLY LUBRICANT INTO YOUR BOWL, ABOUT 1/2 A TEASPOON, THAT’LL DO PIG, THAT’LL DO. NOW GO FIND SOME SHEA BUTTER OR COCONUT OIL AND GLOP ABOUT 1/2 A TEASPOON OF THAT IN YOUR BOWL. NOW GO TO YOUR MAGICAL CABINET OF WONDERS AND FIND SOME NICE SMELLING SHIT. COULD BE VANILLA EXTRACT. COULD BE LAVENDER OIL. I DON’T KNOW BRO WHATEVER YOU THINK SMELLS LIKE THE SILKY UNDERBELLY OF A NEWBORN UNICORN(important note make sure you use a FOOD SAFE oil if it doesn’t say it’s food safe/food grade don’t use it!) GRASP THE BOTTLE FIRMLY, SCREAM LIKE A VICTORIOUS PTERODACTYL, AND DROP 1-4 DROPS OF THAT SWEET SMELLING LIQUID IN THERE.
I HOPE YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS RIGHT THERE BECAUSE IT IS THE HEATING VESSEL FOR YOUR GLORIOUS LIPSTICK THAT’S RIGHT LIKE A VIKING WARLORD YOU ARE GOING TO USE A DOUBLE BOILER. SO GET A SAUCEPAN AND HEAT SOME WATER, THEN PLOP THAT SWEET SMELLING BOWL OF OIL AND WAX ON TOP OF THAT STEAMY WATER LIKE THE COLLISION OF YOUR OTP IN A BAD FANFIC OH YEAH. STIR THAT SHIT UNTIL EVERYTHING IS MELTY AND SMOOTH YOU DON’T WANT TO RUIN YOUR SPOONS SO I USE A DISPOSABLE CHOPSTICK FUCK YEAH RECYCLING NOW ONCE THAT SHIT IS SOFT LIKE THE SUPPLE SKIN OF YOUR HEAVENLY BOOTY, YOU NEED SOMETHING TO POUR IT INTO
WELL DAMN GOOD THING YOU PICKED UP SOME CONTACT CASES LAST TIME YOU WERE AT THE STORE OR MAYBE YOU HAVE SOME EMPTY CHAPSTICK TUBES OR JUST SOME SMALL TUPPERWARE I DON’T KNOW BUT GOSH YOU ARE SO RESOURCEFUL AND PRETTY YOU DESERVE NICE LIPSTICK LIKE THIS ALSO TAKE SOME TIME FOR YOU THIS WEEKEND AND NEVER FORGET HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU
I’M GLAD WE HAD THAT MOMENT TOGETHER NOW BECAUSE NOTHING IS MORE METAL THAN SAFETY, TAKE A THICK HAND TOWEL OR AN OVEN MITT OR SOMETHING AND GRIP THAT BOWL OF COLORFUL GOOP AND POUR GENTLY INTO THAT RECEPTACLE YOU PROCURED. YOU WILL PROBABLY SPILL SOME BUT THAT’S OKAY YOU’RE ONLY HUMAN. POP THAT SHIT IN THE FRIDGE BECAUSE YOU’RE AN IMPATIENT MOTHERFUCKER AND YOU WANT YOUR LIPSTICK NOW GODDAMMIT AND ONCE IT HARDENS SLATHER THAT CREAMY GOODNESS ON THICK, SLIDE ON SOME SUNGLASSES, AND HEAD INTO BATTLE TO DESTROY THE PATRIARCHY CLASS DISMISSED MOTHERFUCKERS
DO NOT DO THIS.
DO NOT DO THIS.
DO NOT DO THIS.
NO DO NOT FUCKING DO THIS, CRYON HAS A LOT OF FUCKING LEAD IN IT (four times more than lipstick) PLEASE JUST BUY ACTUAL LIPSTICK.
There’s no lead in crayola crayons. Kids eat them.
The ingredients in Crayola Crayons are: paraffin, wax, and pigment. They’re made with the understanding that some kids will eat the damn things, so the company that makes Crayons has been very very careful to use non-toxic materials, even going so far as to use a special edible glue on the paper labels. (cornstarch and water, fyi)
You can eat Crayons, if you really wanted to, but frankly the flavor’s a little bland. They taste like wax. So, yeah. adding oils with a lower solidification temperature like Olive Oil or Grapeseed or Avocado, and mixing in some Shea or Coconut Butter would make a creamy crayon. Which you could use on your skin, if you wanted.
Go wild, use that shit on more than just lips. Use it like theatrical makeup, paint your tits blue if you want. Or use it like paint on the walls, or paper, or canvas. It won’t dry the same way acrylic or watercolor paint will, and will remain ‘workable’ and pliable until the oil looses enough water to solidify, much like, oh, off the top of my head… oil paint.
Modern oil paints are very similar to the recipe above, though usually done with Linseed oil or other inert non-organic oils. Organic oils, as they dry, can discolor, making your carefully chosen color look off. Why are some really old painting slightly yellow? Partly the varnish has yellowed, partly airborne pollutants have stained the surface, and partly the oil in the original paint has shifted color.
BTW, don’t eat Linseed oil, you’ll get the runs something fierce and regret it a lot. And then you get to go to the doctor and explain why your runny poo is brightly colored. But the amount you’d ingest from lipstick made with crayons? Negligible.
Now I really want to make a set of rainbow lipstick to match my rainbow collection of nail polish (which is way more toxic than crayon lipstick, too.)
I’d never, ever hurt a lady but I’d be happy to punch a feminist.
It’d bring me great joy.
what about a lady and a feminist. warning, combatives certified soldier.
so you’re telling me there’s an alien who regenerates into a completely random form, that he cannot control or determine himself, and who understandably could take millions of different appearances, but who all 13 times just turned into a different skinny white guy
(plays the guitar)
Prospero Ano y Felicidad
I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS
I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS
I WANNA WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS
FROM THE BOTTOM OF MY HEAAAART
a flourishing anus and happiness for you too
Why Accent Marks Are Important In Spanish
You know you had a Catholic upbringing when somebody says “May the force be with you” and your instant reaction is to reply with “And also with you”.
Lift up your lightsabers.
We lift them up to the lord.
Let us give thanks to the Force our guide.
It is right to give the Force thanks and praise.
Ego te absolvo, non-catholics.
I’ve been following some of you so long I’m so attached to you I don’t even care what you post anymore I just enjoy your presence and personality thanks for being so rad even though I don’t talk to a lot of you yeah this post just got 10 times creepier ok bye
It’s not Porn. No really.
I DID NOT EXPECT THAT ENDING
A+++ TELEVISION GOLD
Every morning the maple leaves.Every morning another chapter where the hero shiftsfrom one foot to the other. Every morning the same bigand little words all spelling out desire, all spelling outYou will be alone always and then you will die.So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalogof non-definitive acts,something other than the desperation.Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party.Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your partyand seduced youand left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing.Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon.Love always wakes the dragon and suddenlyflames everywhere.I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon.I’m not the princess either.Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down.I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallowglass, but that comes later.And the part where I push youflush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,shut upI’m getting to it.For a while I thought I was the dragon.I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I wasthe princess,cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you withconfidencebut the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,and getting stabbed to death.Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.You still get to be the hero.You get magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights!What more do you want?I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’rereally there.Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?Let me do it right for once,for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes,you know the story, simply heaven.Inside your head you hear a phone ringingand when you open your eyesonly a clearing with deer in it. Hello deer.Inside your head the sound of glass,a car crash sound as the trucks roll over and explode in slow motion.Hello darling, sorry about that.Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry welived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwelland how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.Especially that, but I should have known.You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back togetherto make a creature that will do what I sayor love me back.I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are notfeeding yourself to a bad managainst a black sky prickled with small lights.I take it back.The wooden halls like caskets. These terms from the lower depths.I take them back.Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.Crossed out.Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. There is somethingunderneath the floorboards.Crossed out. And here is the tabernaclereconstructed.Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were allforgiven,even though we didn’t deserve it.Inside your head you heara phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you’re washing upin a stranger’s bathroom,standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes awayfrom the dirtiest thing you know.All the rooms of the castle except this one, says someone, and suddenlydarkness,suddenly only darkness.In the living room, in the broken yard,in the back of the car as the lights go by. In the airportbathroom’s gurgle and flush, bathed in a pharmacy ofunnatural light,my hands looking weird, my face weird, my feet too far away.And then the airplane, the window seat over the wing with a viewof the wing and a little foil bag of peanuts.I arrived in the city and you met me at the station,smiling in a waythat made me frightened. Down the alley, around the arcade,up the stairs of the buildingto the little room with the broken faucets, your drawings, all your things,I looked out the window and saidThis doesn’t look that much different from home,because it didn’t,but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights.We walked through the house to the elevated train.All these buildings, all that glass and the shiny beautifulmechanical wind.We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,smiling and crying in a way that made meeven more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but Ijust couldn’t say it out loud.Actually, you said Love, for you,is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’sterrifying. No onewill ever want to sleep with you.Okay, if you’re so great, you do it—here’s the pencil, make it work …If the window is on your right, you are in your own bed. If the windowis over your heart, and it is painted shut, then we are breathingriver water.Build me a city and call it Jerusalem. Build me another and call itJerusalem.We have come back from Jerusalem where we found notwhat we sought, so do it over, give me another version,a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted overand over,another bowl of soup.The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.Forget the dragon,leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness.Let’s jump ahead to the moment of epiphany,in gold light, as the camera pans to wherethe action is,lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to seethe blue rings of my eyes as I saysomething ugly.I never liked that ending either. More love streaming out the wrong way,and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way.But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.There were some nice parts, sure,all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamasand the grains of sugaron the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I’m sorryit’s such a lousy story.Dear Forgiveness, you know that recentlywe have had our difficulties and there are many thingsI want to ask you.I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again,years later, in the chlorinated pool.I am still talking to you about help. I still do not havethese luxuries.I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together.We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor …When I say this, it should mean laughter,not poison.I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes.Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you.Quit milling around the yard and come inside.
(Image of people walking texting with the text “The Real Apocalypse” superimposed.)
The saddest thing is that most people will find this humorous instead of serious. We’re standing right beside one another, and yet we text others instead of actually speaking to each other. Have you ever sat down and thought about how uncomfortable we now are around one another that it’s so bad that we literally pretend to be texting someone when we’re not, just so it’s less awkward to stand beside people? What’s supposed to strengthen our bonds has taken away from it. It’s time to take our faces out of our phones and notice the world, give a kind gesture to someone, and go SEE your friends instead of just texting them.
I’m going to let that sink in.
Ah yes let me just up and leave school right in between my classes so I can go see the friend 40 miles away that i’m currently texting instead of making idle chit chat with the people around me that I don’t particularly care for.
Fuck your pretentious shit.
(Image from the 1950s of people sitting on a train or bus- I don’t know I’m tired-reading newspapers. Every last one of them. Head buried in a paper.)
"whines evil technology is making people antisocial its not real communication if its not face to face and im a pretentious self righteous shitbaby that asks random people on the street for the time and feels good about it"
that mid-century picture is a-ma-zing