there would be something poetic about my unreinforced masonry apartment collapsing in a massive earthquake and crushing me under the weight of all the bricks
the third inning kidney stone, the second inning anal fissure, and, of course, the ill-fated first inning fisting scene followed by a high-oxalate snack that started it all
soft rains wash dust off my feet, long ago, far past, now to june. mourn no tyrant sun, that regime of heat, but that collar tan, which really slay’d poon.
my bidet-having friends who still buy new tp, how do you sleep at night knowing you tolerate bidetphobia? you sit in silence as your houseguests wipe. shame.
of course we should destroy the usual things like cops and private property and suburbs and animal agriculture, but i also hope everyone knows that there will be no place for fake bisexuals
someone should produce a trans retelling of The Birds where the protagonist feeds her girlfriend squirty cherry tomatoes and nectarines as a clicker treat, thus accidentally and malevolently clicker training the fruit fly infestation endemic to their shared apartment
i’ve been telling all my pregnant friends to take paracetamol and not acetaminophen so their children can enjoy cooler trains and œstradiol when they grow up
this is shockingly parallel to that unfortunate time 7 ladies in green power ranger cosplay cranked their shit on me and i didn’t get hard the whole time, and then i learned all of our deadnames were william :/
working on replicating that paper that says squirt is pee but we’re gonna use food coloring and asparagus instead of pelvic ultrasounds and liquid chromatography/tandem mass spec
i’m holding out for 4-5 more parts, not just for my own enjoyment, but because i would like this to be a credible threat to direct at a variety of public figures
if louise weard and associates keep up the good work then we can have the first trans anthology film long enough to die of dehydration in a single sitting
