the human body is so fake like i’ll be reading the news and it’s like “25 year old woman free falls 1,500 feet into 25 feet of snow, found alive and uninjured” and while I’m absolutely reeling over that I don’t even have time to process it fully before I look at the next article “25 year old man falls into shallow end of pool, dies instantly.”
like our bodies literally have the durability predictability of an iphone
one time I misjudged how steep a “hill” was and proceeded to slide down the slope of a cliff for a full half minute and hit the bottom unscathed.
then I tripped on the stairs on my way to see Neon Genesis Evangelion and shattered my entire kneecap.
I had a history teacher in hs who was hit by lightning multiple times and got kicked in the chest by a kangaroo back when it was legal to have them in a circus and they had you try and fight one (don’t) for like a minute and got straight laid out. He had a friend who fell off a step-ladder, like maybe two feet off the ground, something to laugh and shake off maybe, turned out the guy had insta-died on impact cause he hit his neck wrong.
Meanwhile, “utter” works for the first (e.g., “you utter floorboard”) but somehow “utterly” doesn’t seem to work as well for the second (“I was utterly floorboarded”).
Utterly doesn’t work for drunk because it’s the affix for turning random objects into terms for *shocked*, obviously.
… huh. I thought that might just be the similarity to “floored”, and yet “I was utterly coat hangered” does seem to convey something similar.
I have to tell you, I am utterly sandwiched at this discovery.
Completely makes the phrase mean “super tired”.
“God, it’s been a long week, I am completely coat-hangered.”
not to sound like jane austen or anything but if ur fic is labelled slow burn those two fucks better not even touch pinkies until like chapter 57 by the time they are even in a room alone together i want to be half dead of blueballs and i want their heated gazes to revive me im js
why would you say “not to sound like jane austen” and then quote her directly
Why does being in your early 20s feel so much like only having 5 years of your life left in which you need to achieve as much as possible? why do I feel like I have an approaching deadline for success?
historians: well we dont want say this is a love letter because men often expressed affections differently back then, so this person wasn’t gay, they were just friends
the letter in question: hey babe i cant wait for you to raw me tonight. aw man i love you so much dear husband. love having amazing homosexual intercourse with you. i think of your face everytime my wife makes me fuck her, you are my soulmate, i am gay,
The year is 2022. You’re driving home from work, wifey calls & asks you to get some diapers for the baby. You grab roses for her. Life’s good. She’s crying in the closet you forgot the diapers what’s she gonna do with roses idiot there’s shit everywhere this is why your parents never loved y
The year is 1351. You’re driving your ship home from work, wifey calls and sends you to the local store to get some rags as diapers for the baby. You grab a bouquet of flowers for her too. Life’s good. You both die from the plague
The year is 2020. You’re driving home in your tractor after voting for Trump, the man of your people. Your sister calls and asks you to get some diapers for the baby you bought from the Walmart parking lot last week. You steal roses for her on your way out. Life’s good
The year is 2068. You’re staring at the most beautiful stranger. She explains to you that she’s your wife. You have dimentia. You smile and take her hand as your grandchildren jump around the room. You’ve lived a good life. Suddenly you’re staring at the most beautiful stranger
Anyway I’m back on my bullshit
The year is 2019. Your fiancé just got you roses in your big house with 3 cars and 5 dogs. You did all this to tweet it with “We’re only 19, what are you doing with your life?” You got 5 retweets. He’s been buying roses instead of food for weeks. You can’t cook. You haven’t eaten in 3 days
The year is 2018. You’re scrolling through Tumblr and you see a post by none other than thebootydiaries. “Goals”, you think to yourself. Yes, this was it. What you’ve been waiting for. Your entire life has led up to this. Your fingers shake as you type your comment. “Goals.” You hit reblog as you’re trembling, the chair squeaking ever so slightly. “I can’t wait to forget diapers, and have dementia.” You sigh. “And buy a house, dogs, and cars. And…and…” goosebumps race through your entire body. “And get the plague.”
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