Just ate a bag of frozen corn, grape tomatoes, and a handful of walnuts for dinner. Not all together, though.
Reversed cotton candy eating.
VEGKAT… Why did you give up modeling? Was it the knives? Did they threaten you with them?!
(Source: g-a-l-a-x, via asistente2)
Do you think Guy Fieri says things like, “winner winner semen dinner” when he’s cooking one off in the bathroom? Or is he just crying?
The Womb Cave (aka “Cave Vulva”) dated XI-X century BC is located near village of Nenkovo, Kardjali region, Bualgaria.
It was discovered in 2001. The temple is shaped like the opening to a vagina. It leads into a cave deep about 22 m. and wide 2.5 m. A human hand shaped it into a place of conception constantly washed by water seeping through the walls. At the deep far end of the cave, a carved altar (1.3 in height) symbolises the womb itself.
At midday as the sun approaches its highest point in the sky, its light seeps into the cave through a special opening in the ceiling and projects a perfectly recognisable representation of a phallus onto the floor. As the sun progresses further, and the light slants across the interior of the cave, the phallus grows longer, reaching out to the womb altar.
In the end of February or the beginning of March, when the sun is lowest on the horizon, the phallus becomes long enough to reach the altar and symbolically fecundate the womb.
SO THAT’S HOW THEY DO IT
My whole life
(Source: yodiscrepo, via imbetterthanjesus)
If it has not been done already, I hereby claim the position of ownership to the phrase “cry-five”.
A cry-five can only be given to another person equally neglected of something in life, or one that shares equal failure. It is deeper than a high five. A Camaraderie of sadness that is also celebrated.
Tried listening to Tori Amos the other day, circa “Boys for Pele” and thought, “Holy shit, I used to like this?!” And after a few more vagina spasms that secretly encouraged me to hate all men except for Trent Reznor, I had another thought. “Holy shit, I saw her LIVE IN CONCERT.”
Fantastic showman. But wow, I can never listen to that crap ever again. I hate too many things in the world to appreciate those lyrics. I also think one needs to have a love of Broadway musicals and/or a collection of Celtic knot tattoos. Nothing against those things. Just, you are a type, ok?
And then that got me thinking, “What type am I?” And I realized something very important, Tumblr.
WHO FUCKING CARES. CLEAN YOUR HOUSE.
Oh, Nick and your cute shorts.