"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived."

{indie Chuck Hansen RP blog}
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s o u l m a t e.

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Someone has a fake frog at their graveside and I really thought you guys ought to know about it. (Featuring commentary by my coworker.)

Sometimes I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow. There’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. All I want is blackness, blackness and silence. —Sylvia Plath (via iwouldhavedonesomethingaboutit)

status : so fuckin done tonight.



     ”You’d better invite me over then, hadn’t you?”

              “Consider yourself officially always welcome, starting now. C’mon then.”



       ”I deserve the fuckin’ world, all day every day. And you fuckin’ know it.”

              “If only there was someone to get it for you. C’mon. Don’t want the strippers to get cold or the beer to get warm, yeah?”



     ”I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything. But god, a drink sounds good right now. Shall we say screw maturity for a bit and at least grab a beer, even if we’re not getting shitfaced?”

              “What is this, amateur hour? Nah, mate. I keep bourbon under my bed.”



"Hnng— Jim. Not right now.”

"You’re—— so fuckin’ lucky I can’t slap you right now."

"I’m in a much better position for slapping, mate. You want one? Just a tiny one, I mean.”



     ”Are you allowed to? ‘cause I sure as fuck ain’t drinking alone.”

              “Technically, no. Hasn’t stopped me once.”



     ”Wanna suggest an alternative to sitting around waiting for the damn world to end, then?”

              “——The only thing that comes to mind is getting shithoused.”