i want to invest in smoke bombs to carry around in my pocket. i’m always looking for innovative ways to get out of awkward conversations.
she likes to get drunk and brag to her friends about me she thinks that i think it’s cute she thinks it turns me on but i am a private man. i’d rather keep the bite marks on my shoulder and the scratches on the back of my neck between us. because nothing turns me on more than a secret.
“Jesus, take the wheel” fuck that. no offense, Christ, but i don’t recall Joseph giving you driving lessons in the Bible. i value experience. if anyone’s taking control of this wheel it’ll be Ryan Gosling.
cool, bro. you cater but how do i smoke this with no pipe, no papers?
the only thing holding me back from greatness is the fact that i can’t stay motivated to save my life. …at least i’ve pinpointed the problem.
i can write. i can’t write about you. when you cross my mind, my thoughts are gibberish. my heartbeat can’t be controlled. i pace back and forth for hours if i’m not made aware of my actions. my palms sweat. i hate the way my pencil feels in my hand when my palms sweat. so, i just don’t write about you
fuck. i mean…. ok. so, this lady walks into my job. 30-something. business woman. fucking gorgeous. like… “what is the heaviest thing in this room? i need to pick it up to impress this woman, right the fuck now” gorgeous. silly. i know. she stands at the door for a few seconds, scanning the room. from the door she makes a bee line towards me. this is going better...
the internet x tay walker :: they say
i live in Atlanta. and i don’t support local artists. and i don’t have a good reason for not supporting local artists. and i’d like to change the fact that i don’t support local artists.
david blaine follows me on Twitter. he’s basically Jesus. tell my momma i made it.
i mean… if she likes to be choked is she crazy? or… can that be considered passionate?
my manager told everyone at my job that i got jumped. ???????????????? and now people keep inviting me to their boxing classes. i’m so confused.
i stabbed Cameron Cooper in third grade. i waited until the teacher wasn’t looking i pretended to fall out of my chair and i jammed a safety pin into Cameron Cooper’s arm. and i made it seem like i had a safety pin in my hand while i used Cameron Cooper’s arm to brace myself before hitting the ground. but i did that shit on purpose. i did that shit to see how he’d react. and i feel...
i can tell my little sister’s going to blossom into a beautiful woman. fuck… i have to learn how to use a shotgun.
do you think it’ll be hard to sneak a blunt onto a ferris wheel? i mean… would you like to come with me to the fair?
i need to fuck a writer. i’d like to see our sex turn into beautiful words.
i call all tall women that i find attractive “sex trees”. is that offensive?
just found out that i read 20% slower than the average adult. now what? did i just find out that i’m retarded? did weed ruin my brain, bruh? were all those fucking commercials forrealz? do i read slow because i don’t read anything ever enough? can i blame this on growing up without a father, too? (that’s my new excuse for everything i do wrong now) how do i get better?! or...
nousverrons asked: do you like little dragon?
i’m over my mother’s house. and the interwebz is moving really fast over here. i’m trying to download a bunch of good music before i head home to the dead zone. any suggestions?
i haven’t had sex in a week and i feel like i’m melting.