Anonymous asked: I can bleach your asshole

Ok, are you busy tomorrow?

I smell and I wish One Direction were performing for me

I wish they would come to Sun God. I wish Louis and his suspenders were right here. He’s so hot. I love you Louis. I’m a weak ass drinker. Every time I drink, I throw up. My accent it terrible. People can’t understand me. I wish Jill wouldn’t snore so much. I need to tan and I’m an asshole. Which reminds me, I need to get my asshole bleached. 

(Source: bigblacks)

Please help Tricia Lockwood’s husband’s eyes

michaelrobbinspoet:

Elegant Choice, the husband of my dear friend and Amazing Poet Patricia Lockwood, needs your help. He’s going blind & needs an operation. They need money. Please donate what you can. Here’s Tricia’s blog post about it, with instructions about how to make a donation. Please reblog this if you care about poems or eyes or husbands or doing good things in the world

Jake Weisman Yay!: TV Ratings Bonanzas →

jakeweismanyay:

If I were the head of a major TV station and I needed to increase ratings immediately in order to save my job, AND I AM, here are shows I would broadcast:

Tickle the President

Seinfeld Hangs Himself

Kill the President

Super War

Tickle the President I Just Killed

Real World Holocaust: Reunion…

Some ideas for Reality TV shows that I came up with:

“Cock-block Master” (#CbM, if you want to talk about it on twitter): An attractive couple are secretly filmed on a date without their knowledge or consent, and three contestants have to see who can cock-block them the worst. The couple are never told they were part of a game show until it goes to air.

“Hipsters”: A lot like “Hoarders”. Friends and/or family of hipsters call in a professional counsellor to see if, together, they can find the root of and cure the hipstering. Dialogue will be like this:

“How about we just undo that top button and do you really need those glasses if you don’t have problems with your eyesight?”

“NO! YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!”

“Ok, ok, we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

This will probably air on some public broadcasting channel, as I see it as a public service.

“40 Kids and Cunting”: This is a lot like “19 Kids and Counting”, only starring me when I have a lot of kids. I’m thinking like 40 or something. Instead of dance being discouraged like in the Duggar household, each of my children will learn a different type of dance; salsa, break, ballroom, etc. and they will put on dance shows across the country and I will keep the proceeds. I’ve still yet to decide what the “Cunting” part is; I only put it in there to be puerile, but it’s become a deal-breaker for me.

“Say Yes to “Say Yes to the Dress””: A show all about people watching -and enjoying- “Say Yes to the Dress”.

“Hell-evator”: A CCTV based show, where footage is found of when two people are in an elevator and one of them farts and it’s obvious which one of them it was but neither of them say anything. Afterwards we’ll catch up with the victims and they’ll retell their stories alongside dramatic recreations of the event. Narrated by a man with a frighteningly deep voice.

“Freak in the Tweets”: A show where people step onto a stage and read their tweets to a live studio audience and a panel of judges, who then individually say whether they’d “Favourite.”, “Retweet.”, or “Scroll right on by.” (A spin-off could be made for tumblr, where people bring in their favourite images of One Direction or Sherlock.)

“Accountability”: A show all about the life of a standard accountant in an accountancy firm. If you’re thinking this sounds like a stretch too far, I should like to tell you that there’s a show about people who bid on abandoned storage units and then root through the stuff in their newly purchased storage unit to sell it for a profit. Barry is my favourite on “Storage Wars”; he’s a real card. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

“Sides and Sandwiches”: A show all about working in a diner. Mostly this one is for the clever title (it sounds a bit like Pride and Prejudice, GET IT?!). It will probably only run for a season or two. Two of the waitresses will be young, busty and above all sassy, and will probably make a showbiz career off the back of this show. One other waitress would older and take-no-nonsense because she’s “seen it all before, sweetie.” She wouldn’t be fat, but definitely overweight. Her hair would be dyed dark red, but badly so you could still see her greying roots. Probably lots of DRAAAMAAA!

“Thin Film”: A show where contestants have to sit through an entire film with someone who is known for being terrible to watch films with. The person will ask questions through the entire film that either they should know the answer to if they were paying attention or that nobody knows the answer to because the film hasn’t revealed it yet. If you manage to watch the film without breaking down, you win a copy of the film on VHS.

“The X Factor”: A show where people come and tell their sob stories. Sometimes there might be singing.

“Queer Eye for the Homophobic- but not overtly homophobic- Guy”: We find a man who is uncomfortable around camp men, but also one that recognises it’s not socially acceptable to be homophobic, so keeps it bottled up, and we have two of the CAMPEST men you will ever meet redecorate his house and redesign his wardrobe. How far can they push him? To the point of mental illness? Tune in to find out.

“Extreme Sassing”: The sassy waitresses from “Sides and Sandwiches” careers will fail after less than a year, and that’s when we approach them and ask them to take part in “Extreme Sassing”, where they give sass to people who don’t deserve it; the elderly, polite customer service representatives, etc. We’ll call them the “Sass-ters”.

“The Food Show (The show for foodies)”: We gather a group of around twenty people who describe themselves as “Foodies” or “food enthusiasts”, and then a much larger group of the general public hurls microwavable meals at them, relentlessly and without apology.

Reasons I have used to not go to class:

• I have a midterm for another class today, so I don’t want to fill my brain with information for this class.
• It’s raining.
• I already slept in ten minutes, I might as well just sleep for the remaining fifty minutes before class and then the hour during class and then a couple of hours after class.
• All the showers are taken at the moment, so I can’t shower now so I won’t go to class.
• The cleaner’s cleaning the corridor and I don’t want her to see me without my hair gelled so I’m not leaving the room.
• Kevin’s already gone to class, so he can’t tell me off for not going.
• I’ll flip a coin to decide whether I go to class. Oh, I lost the coin. Not sure I’ll be able to make it to class with this lost coin weighing on my mind, I had better find it.
• Somebody might say something that might accidentally hurt my feelings, so I can’t go.
• What’s even the point? This is all meaningless anyway. The Universe will keep on expanding, galaxies will keep on whirling and colliding with one another, and the Earth will keep turning on its axis around the Sun whether I go to class or don’t. My life is felt as a tiny ripple in an infinitely large and restless ocean, and my death will be noticed even less, ready for the atoms to disassemble from each other to go on to create a myriad of new, better, more useful things.
• Sheila will be there and I just can’t deal with that today.
• I can’t find my glasses! Where are my glasses?!
• There’s a sign on my walk to class that aims to raise awareness about water usage amounts and it says “Water we doing?” and that pun really infuriates me.
• What if I get to class late and the professor says “Why are you late?” and I try to explain myself, but I’m hesitant because I don’t really have a reason for being late, and before I can think of a suitable answer she pulls a lever by her podium and a trapdoor opens right beneath my feet and I have to battle the Rancor?
• Kevin didn’t give my a good morning kiss before he left, so I have to practice my pissed off “ugh” noise for when he gets back.
• I’m going to have to do SOMETHING about this morning erection.
• This bottle of vodka won’t drink itself into a sad, lonely, tear-sodden stupor.
• My iPhone envy is really playing up today.

A list of things I can do since my room mate has gone home for the weekend:

Belch whenever I want.

Take off these damn pants whenever I want.

Roll around in his bed whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Invite the college republicans round to talk about religious freedom and how it means imposing Christian values onto all the people all the time, whenever I want.

Talk about him whenever I want.

Turn our room into a pig farm, exclusively for teacup pigs, whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Ring people up and just breath down the phone without Kevin telling me off, whenever I want.

Masturbelch whenever I want (That’s masturbation while belching heavily. Often a carbonated drink is required.)

Draw a face on my pillow and call it Kevin and talk to it about how much I miss the real Kevin whenever I want.

Invite an Irish man into my room and then start fighting with him, whenever I want.

Cry whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Throw Kevin a surprise birthday party, whenever I want.

Build a fort, whenever I want.

Do my laundry and then take the clothes out of the dryer and just throw them around the room and then roll around in them because they’re just so warm and cosy whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Plan a ski-trip whenever I want.

Start a mud-wrestling tournament whenever I want. (This one and the pig farm one go hand-in-hand.)

Drink alone whenever I want.

Tell my professors that my room mate contracted an illness, so I couldn’t do my homework for the week or any weeks before or after this week, whenever I want.

Wear a beret and say things are “so pasé” whenever I want.

Train a helper monkey to do all my work all the time, whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Masturbate whenever I want.

Here is a story about sandwiches:

When I was younger, and my mother used to make me sandwiches with much more proliferance, I would ask for my sandwiches to be cut into a number of small pieces, depending on how I was feeling that day. I would say “Can you cut my sandwich into seven pieces today?” and she would often oblige.

Odd numbers were obviously better, as it meant she couldn’t cut my sandwich up evenly.

Sometimes I would say “Can you cut my sandwich into twelve pieces today?” and she would say “No, that’s too many pieces”.

Here is a story about poo:

On Friday I went to the cinema to see a moving picture. It was “Chronicle”. I bought an Icee at the cinema. “What flavour?” the lady behind the counter enquired. I couldn’t remember which flavour I liked, so I said “Both please.” and she obliged. That means there was both red and blue flavours in my Icee. I had skipped dinner so I could get to the cinema on time, so all that was in my stomach was this cacophony of artificial colours.

The next day my poo was green and lacked substance.

The flavour of Icee I prefer was blue, I think.