“How was your day?”
“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe”
“How are you?”
“I hope you’re feeling better”
“Have a good day today!”
“I miss you”
“Can you come over?”
“Can I come over?”
“Can I see you?”
“Can I call you?”
“Want something to drink?”
“Watch your step”
“Let’s watch a movie”
“What are you up to?”
“How is your day so far?”
“It will be okay”
“I’m here for you”
“Do you need anything?”
“Are you hungry?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice”
“You just made my day”
You don’t have to hear “I Love You” to know that someone does. Listen carefully. People speak from the heart more often than you think.Blocklava (via blocklava)
To the man standing on the corner holding the sign that said
“God hates faggots.”
I’ve never seen,
who it is that you paperclip your knees,
meld your hands together and pray to
But I think I know what he looks like:
I bet your God is about 5’10”.
I bet he weighs 185.
Probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a GED.
I bet your god has a mullet.
I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves,
a fanny pack
and says words like “getrdun.”
I bet your god—I bet your god—I bet your god watches FOX news,
Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for John McCain, and loves Bill O’Reilly.
I bet your god lives in Arizona.
I bet his high school served racism in the cafeteria
and offered “hate speech” as a second language.
I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat,
and racial slurs tattooed to his tongue
just to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth.
I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger and Jim Crow underneath his nails.
Your god is a confederate flags wet dream
conceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists,
I bet your god has a drinking problem.
I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass more often than his own children.
I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas,
Probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourette’s plugged into an ocean.
I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun,
damaging all things that care about him enough to get close.
I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos
who claimed they fell down the stairs.
I bet your god would’ve made Eve without a mouth
and taught her how to spread her legs like a magazine
that she will never ever ever be pretty enough to be in.
Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow,
that you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection.
Your God stole my god’s identity and I bet he’s buying pieces of heaven on eBay.
So next time you bend your knees,
next time you bow your head
I want you to
tell your god—
that my god
is looking for him.
Rudy Francisco, Your God (via cloudyskiesandcatharsis)
(Footnote: If you are too embarrassed to buy condoms, you are not ready to have sex.)
Two: Kissing is not merely foreplay. Spend entire evenings making out on the couch while fully clothed. Believe me, dry-humping rocks.
Three: Sex is not just about friction. It’s about emotion. Stop trying to find her clitoris and find her heart. Because then she’ll help you find her clitoris.
Four: If you really wanna know how to please a woman, ask her how she masturbates. Then do that. A lot. If she claims she doesn’t masturbate, offer to take her shopping for a vibrator so you can both learn the vocabulary of her body together.
Five: Don’t put anything in her butthole you wouldn’t want in your own.
(Footnote: Try a pinky finger, it’s kinda awesome.)
Six: When you go down on her—and you will go down on her, and if you are my son, you will be amazing at it—tell her how good she tastes. Stop in the middle and kiss her deeply so she knows how good she tastes. Do the same when she goes down on you.
Seven: A simple Google search will yield 1,327 euphemisms for male masturbation, yet only 23 for female masturbation. If guys spent less time jacking off and more time jilling off, this world would be a happier place.
Eight: Everything you need to know about the importance of the clitoris is in the movie Star Wars. You are Luke Skywalker piloting your penis-shaped X-Wing Fighter deep inside her trench. Remember: seventy percent of all Death Stars cannot be blown up through penetration of the trench alone. It must be through focused contact with that little exhaust port at the top of the trench. Otherwise, any explosions you experience will be merely Hollywood special effects.
Nine: Just because you come doesn’t mean she has, so don’t you dare come before her. Focus completely on your partner. Don’t worry about gettin’ yours, you’re a guy. You always get yours. Your job is to make sure she’s gettin’ hers.
Ten: If sex with your partner lasts no longer than this poem, you are not making love. You are masturbating with her body instead of your hand. Shame on you. Go back to step one. You’ve got a lot of learning to do.
Big Poppa E., “How To Make Love” (via dorkvader)
i feel like this should be published and sold everywhere
West Side Story (1961)
Bob Marley (via seekingotherlands)
this gif just makes me happy
this is the swaggiest motherfucker i have ever seen he absorbs other people’s lack of swag and then photosynthesizes it into swag that we can breathe and be reinvigorated by i cant handle it
The man’s best friend!
Literally nothing better than the love you receive from a dog.
This makes me laugh. everytime. I will never not reblog this.
THIS IS MY NUMBER 1 FAVORITE THING OON THIS GOD FORSAKEN SITE.