/tagged/bllix+uncut/page/2
This is very upsetting. I told her my name and location; she told me her marital status and profile URL. We were building rapport. It felt like we’d known each other for years. I couldn’t imagine a life without her spiteful horny. I trusted her. She signed off, and hasn’t spoken to me since. Her scent clings to my dynamic multi-platform instant messenger client. I am inconsolable and probably Zuul, possibly The Gatekeeper, but mostly inconsolable. Maybe The Highlander. Stop trying to change the subject. What’s important here is that I live on a fucking volcano full of orcs, and my penis can’t use the Internet. I needed her.

This is very upsetting. I told her my name and location; she told me her marital status and profile URL. We were building rapport. It felt like we’d known each other for years. I couldn’t imagine a life without her spiteful horny.

I trusted her.

She signed off, and hasn’t spoken to me since. Her scent clings to my dynamic multi-platform instant messenger client. I am inconsolable and probably Zuul, possibly The Gatekeeper, but mostly inconsolable. Maybe The Highlander. Stop trying to change the subject. What’s important here is that I live on a fucking volcano full of orcs, and my penis can’t use the Internet.

I needed her.

Tags: Internet mischief  bllix uncut  chats  love  screenshots  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   14 notes

[Unrelated Prologue: WHAT THE HOLLY JOLLY FUCK, TUMBLR. Your service may be free, but your service sucks—which part of SAVE AS DRAFT meant PUBLISH? Are your employees too busy Instagramming their hipster dicks off and bragging about Tumblr’s popularity to notice that every other popular service has their shit together? Are you aware that many of those functional services are run by ONE person? Are you paying people in iPhones and PBR? Are you even a real company? Are you hiring? I need a job. Check out my LinkedIn profile sometime, if you’re in the mood to masturbate.] BUT ANYWAYS This is a bacon reproduction of a popular helm in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. My character, whose boobs are not as impressive as they should be, wore this for a few levels, and I was very fond of it despite that her boobs were still disappointing. I recently replaced it with a similar helm that has YET ANOTHER HORN, looted from the corpse of some bandit punk motherfucker trying to violate at the 21 and Lewis.  Everybody knows ‘Skyrim’ sounds like a fucking awesome gay bar, but it’s actually a video game. It’s part of the Elder Scrolls series. Everybody knows ‘Elder Scrolls’ sounds like a fucking awesome black metal band, but it’s actually a video game series. Skyrim is the latest release. While there is a sky, I haven’t unlocked the power to rim it. I’m a little nervous because the last version of Elder Scrolls had rain storms and stuff, while I haven’t seen a single drop in this one. This implies that the previous version had a way cleaner sky than this new one and I’d probably be better off rimming that one. Now I’ve got to decide whether I prefer jelly or syrup. I can’t handle this much longer.

[Unrelated Prologue: WHAT THE HOLLY JOLLY FUCK, TUMBLR. Your service may be free, but your service sucks—which part of SAVE AS DRAFT meant PUBLISH? Are your employees too busy Instagramming their hipster dicks off and bragging about Tumblr’s popularity to notice that every other popular service has their shit together? Are you aware that many of those functional services are run by ONE person? Are you paying people in iPhones and PBR? Are you even a real company? Are you hiring? I need a job. Check out my LinkedIn profile sometime, if you’re in the mood to masturbate.]

BUT ANYWAYS

This is a bacon reproduction of a popular helm in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. My character, whose boobs are not as impressive as they should be, wore this for a few levels, and I was very fond of it despite that her boobs were still disappointing. I recently replaced it with a similar helm that has YET ANOTHER HORN, looted from the corpse of some bandit punk motherfucker trying to violate at the 21 and Lewis. 

Everybody knows ‘Skyrim’ sounds like a fucking awesome gay bar, but it’s actually a video game. It’s part of the Elder Scrolls series. Everybody knows ‘Elder Scrolls’ sounds like a fucking awesome black metal band, but it’s actually a video game series. Skyrim is the latest release. While there is a sky, I haven’t unlocked the power to rim it. I’m a little nervous because the last version of Elder Scrolls had rain storms and stuff, while I haven’t seen a single drop in this one. This implies that the previous version had a way cleaner sky than this new one and I’d probably be better off rimming that one. Now I’ve got to decide whether I prefer jelly or syrup. I can’t handle this much longer.

Tags: Elder Scrolls  Skyrim  Bacon  Helmet  RPG  Tumblr  bllix uncut  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   23 notes

I accidentally clicked a ‘Play Last.fm Radio’ link on the Last.fm website. At first, it was terrible and I was so angry at myself that I refused to make eye contact with myself for nearly two hours. I tried reasoning with myself, but she’s a cold-ass ghetto bitch sometimes and you won’t get anywhere with her until you’re her talking about herself in the third person. As soon as I pointed out the HILARIOUS suggestion combinations, I made up with myself for nearly two hours…but something still didn’t feel right. Why would I want to listen to a mix of music similar to the music I listen to, but isn’t the music I listen to? That’s not how people were meant to discover music. Anyone who does it like that is working too hard. All you have to do is only hang out with people who listen to all of the same bands that you listen to, and let those people somehow discover a band which both of you will inevitably listen to. Sit back, relax, and wait until one of those people highly recommends a band to you. (People like that LOVE to recommend bands, so don’t feel bad about contributing absolutely nothing whatsoever. It’s the King of Beers of mutually-advantageous parasitic relationships.) WARNING: It is possible that you may already know of the recommended band. Don’t panic. You have two options: Shrug. Say the band’s old stuff is better than their new stuff, so you don’t listen to them very often. This will reduce the risk of having your personal brand compromised by being made to look like a stupid asshole for failing to recommend the band first. Scoff. Say you can’t believe they hadn’t heard of the band; you’ve been listening to them for years and own a copy of their first demo on tape/vinyl. This will help everyone within earshot recognize that you are much cooler than the other person, because you came to know of a recommended band so long ago that it no longer falls in the guidelines of ‘discoverable’ bands.

I accidentally clicked a ‘Play Last.fm Radio’ link on the Last.fm website.

At first, it was terrible and I was so angry at myself that I refused to make eye contact with myself for nearly two hours. I tried reasoning with myself, but she’s a cold-ass ghetto bitch sometimes and you won’t get anywhere with her until you’re her talking about herself in the third person. As soon as I pointed out the HILARIOUS suggestion combinations, I made up with myself for nearly two hours…but something still didn’t feel right. Why would I want to listen to a mix of music similar to the music I listen to, but isn’t the music I listen to? That’s not how people were meant to discover music.

Anyone who does it like that is working too hard. All you have to do is only hang out with people who listen to all of the same bands that you listen to, and let those people somehow discover a band which both of you will inevitably listen to. Sit back, relax, and wait until one of those people highly recommends a band to you. (People like that LOVE to recommend bands, so don’t feel bad about contributing absolutely nothing whatsoever. It’s the King of Beers of mutually-advantageous parasitic relationships.)

WARNING: It is possible that you may already know of the recommended band. Don’t panic. You have two options:

  1. Shrug. Say the band’s old stuff is better than their new stuff, so you don’t listen to them very often. This will reduce the risk of having your personal brand compromised by being made to look like a stupid asshole for failing to recommend the band first.
  2. Scoff. Say you can’t believe they hadn’t heard of the band; you’ve been listening to them for years and own a copy of their first demo on tape/vinyl. This will help everyone within earshot recognize that you are much cooler than the other person, because you came to know of a recommended band so long ago that it no longer falls in the guidelines of ‘discoverable’ bands.
Tags: Amon Amarth  DMX  Darkthrone  Dr. Dre  How music works  bllix uncut  last.fm  music  black metal  death metal  ambient  how shit works  philosphies and shit  Copyright bllix  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   11 notes

Truthful Tuesday I’m jealous. I never looked as wonderfully pregnant as jezebelthegreat when my inside lady-fannypack was full of new human. I didn’t really look pregnant at all. More like an otherwise proportionate chick who’d been holding in like ten thousand farts for two years straight, hopefully for a contest or something. Don’t clap yet. Clothes didn’t fit right, nobody could tell I wasn’t “just fatter”, and yet I still felt pregnant. Morning (eg. all day) sickness, achy, emotional, penis-hungry and fatter-looking. Scientific Part: Standing at just under six footlong sandwiches tall ensures that a woman is able to continue pillaging monasteries and burning hovels on nearby islands, despite that her womb lays heavy with the seed of a lucky dude who was allowed to get his white stuff all up in her pink thing. My sons were born about a month early, probably because they were so stoked to be near my vagina, gross my sons, thereby saving me from the infamous ninth month fuckingkillmealready bellysplosion. Powerful, Inspirational Part: I don’t mean to brag unless I’m bragging, which I always am, but at least four goats were sacrificed in celebration of my ability to look a bit chubby for several months—when ALL OF A SUDDEN!, a blond-haired blue-eyed male infant appeared betwixt my powerful, inspiring, powerfully inspirational get-away sticks. Tell your friends.

Truthful Tuesday

I’m jealous. I never looked as wonderfully pregnant as jezebelthegreat when my inside lady-fannypack was full of new human. I didn’t really look pregnant at all. More like an otherwise proportionate chick who’d been holding in like ten thousand farts for two years straight, hopefully for a contest or something. Don’t clap yet. Clothes didn’t fit right, nobody could tell I wasn’t “just fatter”, and yet I still felt pregnant. Morning (eg. all day) sickness, achy, emotional, penis-hungry and fatter-looking.

Scientific Part: Standing at just under six footlong sandwiches tall ensures that a woman is able to continue pillaging monasteries and burning hovels on nearby islands, despite that her womb lays heavy with the seed of a lucky dude who was allowed to get his white stuff all up in her pink thing. My sons were born about a month early, probably because they were so stoked to be near my vagina, gross my sons, thereby saving me from the infamous ninth month fuckingkillmealready bellysplosion.

Powerful, Inspirational Part: I don’t mean to brag unless I’m bragging, which I always am, but at least four goats were sacrificed in celebration of my ability to look a bit chubby for several months—when ALL OF A SUDDEN!, a blond-haired blue-eyed male infant appeared betwixt my powerful, inspiring, powerfully inspirational get-away sticks. Tell your friends.

Tags: Truthful Tuesday  Pregnancy  Being tall is not always cool  LOLJK BEING TALL IS AWESOME  bllix uncut  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   131 notes

"My name is Edward."

   — Holler submitted by bllix responds to a Holler!Anonymous

Response

That is not a question I won’t answer.

I am very flattered by your choice to use my Tumblr thing to write down an important idea—one that you may forget and will need to recall later. Please send me your telephone number. I pledge to never call you, and perhaps send intermittent text messages to remind you that your name is Edward. This offer is only good for approximately about less than one of your Earth years, until September 11, 2012. On that day, you must bookmark this page to ensure that you never forget the important lesson which I have taught you today: your name is Edward.

Tags: Questions  Answers  Edwards  bllix uncut  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   17 notes

This is a photo of my panty drawer. It should be used only for educational purposes, and only by very, very intellectual people who question why I never ‘go commando’. A life without slutty and/or retarded underwear is a life not worth being a total slut and/or retarded throughout.

This is a photo of my panty drawer. It should be used only for educational purposes, and only by very, very intellectual people who question why I never ‘go commando’. A life without slutty and/or retarded underwear is a life not worth being a total slut and/or retarded throughout.

Tags: bllix uncut  panties  panty drawer  slutty and/or retarded  underwear  Stop What You're Doing  Check Out My Something  Copyright bllix  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   72 notes

Still feeling cold after donning a sweater and making a cup of coffee, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to put something in the oven. This urge was much stronger than the standard female instinct of belonging in a kitchen of some sort while utterly bereft of footwear. It came like an ethereal whisper, presumably from the patron saint of ovens, commanding unto me: “Thou shalt cook a shit-load of bacon; and thou shalt keep watch, through the holy tempered glass window to thine oven’s soul, as yon bounty of swine doth mature by heat of flame.” No spiritual quest is without sacrifice, and mine was the prospect of spending twenty minutes sitting on the kitchen floor, staring continuously at a stove that doesn’t even have a DVD player. Twenty fucking minutes? In the land of ADHD, that shit’s akin to martyrdom. What else could I do but immortalize the tale of my plight with a photograph? Plaster the photograph with pieces of clip art until it was stupid enough to share with the Internet, that’s what.

Still feeling cold after donning a sweater and making a cup of coffee, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to put something in the oven. This urge was much stronger than the standard female instinct of belonging in a kitchen of some sort while utterly bereft of footwear. It came like an ethereal whisper, presumably from the patron saint of ovens, commanding unto me: “Thou shalt cook a shit-load of bacon; and thou shalt keep watch, through the holy tempered glass window to thine oven’s soul, as yon bounty of swine doth mature by heat of flame.”

No spiritual quest is without sacrifice, and mine was the prospect of spending twenty minutes sitting on the kitchen floor, staring continuously at a stove that doesn’t even have a DVD player. Twenty fucking minutes? In the land of ADHD, that shit’s akin to martyrdom. What else could I do but immortalize the tale of my plight with a photograph? Plaster the photograph with pieces of clip art until it was stupid enough to share with the Internet, that’s what.

Tags: Bacon  Oven-watching  Hipsters  Tumblr  self-portrait  bllix uncut  Copyright bllix  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   15 notes

Easily one of the most beautiful, non-romantic love songs you will ever hear. It’s beautiful because it’s completely full of honest. Yeah, I know, it looks like your typical date-rapist-with-guitar is going to express his feelings about some skank that banged like ten of his bros after she found out he’d gotten a BJ of marginal quality from her chubby roommate two years ago, but listen with your heart. And ears. Your heart is too busy pumping blood around to watch videos all day, god damn. Anyways, THIS SHIT’S ON THE REAL. Like, Gandalf real. You can’t get rid of that motherfucker, he just comes back as a different color of wizard! BECAUSE HE DON’T FUCKIN’ PLAY! HE A REAL-ASS WIZARD! DAMN, GINA!

Tags: realness  love  white people music  sluts  bitches  bllix uncut  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   11 notes

How’s my sex life?! It’s pretty good! I think. Huh? “Is it ULTIMATE?” What, like yours? Um, well…I mean…I don’t have a single set of peach satin sheets, but that doesn’t make you better than me, you alluring two-dimensional magazine prostitute. Especially not at building Lego stuff or fucking off all day and laying on a bed of peach satin shee—fuck, you win. Still, we both know I’ve probably butt-fucked a computer FOR FREE at least twice. Now that was the “ULTIMATE experience”. Did you feel my elbow just now? Good. Those raunchy butt-whore computers were running Windows 7 Ultimate Edition, but that alone does not qualify as ULTIMACY. No. No, it doesn’t. Per article 69 of ‘The Fucking Manual’: Naughty butt parts must be coated in MOUNTAIN DEW CODE RED. Not familiar with this particular shade of code? Read it again. I said it all big-like. You should be able to figure it out. No? Okay: Mountain Dew Code Red is the spring break rapist version of regular Mountain Dew, which isn’t red AT ALL nor does it have a code name since it’s green instead of red. “CODE GREEN” sounds like something you rape learn on Sesame Street about taking turns. There’s nothing EXTREME about learning or waiting, so basically, all you gotta do here is carry the 1 over to the TK-421 modulation adapter coil and divide by one-quarter impulse power of the main DEW choke valve, and make sure to unplug the power cable first!

How’s my sex life?! It’s pretty good! I think. Huh? “Is it ULTIMATE?” What, like yours?

Um, well…I mean…I don’t have a single set of peach satin sheets, but that doesn’t make you better than me, you alluring two-dimensional magazine prostitute. Especially not at building Lego stuff or fucking off all day and laying on a bed of peach satin shee—fuck, you win. Still, we both know I’ve probably butt-fucked a computer FOR FREE at least twice. Now that was the “ULTIMATE experience”. Did you feel my elbow just now? Good. Those raunchy butt-whore computers were running Windows 7 Ultimate Edition, but that alone does not qualify as ULTIMACY. No. No, it doesn’t. Per article 69 of ‘The Fucking Manual’: Naughty butt parts must be coated in MOUNTAIN DEW CODE RED.

Not familiar with this particular shade of code? Read it again. I said it all big-like. You should be able to figure it out. No? Okay: Mountain Dew Code Red is the spring break rapist version of regular Mountain Dew, which isn’t red AT ALL nor does it have a code name since it’s green instead of red. “CODE GREEN” sounds like something you rape learn on Sesame Street about taking turns. There’s nothing EXTREME about learning or waiting, so basically, all you gotta do here is carry the 1 over to the TK-421 modulation adapter coil and divide by one-quarter impulse power of the main DEW choke valve, and make sure to unplug the power cable first!

Tags: ULTIMATE  bllix uncut  butt-fucking computers  live computer sex  vintage ads  love  Bromance  computer ads  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   15 notes

Lil’ Odin is my four-year-old son’s third-best nickname, so I can only assume he somehow managed to get a record deal behind my back. Probably sold his soul to Jesus, just to make a name for himself. Jesus is going to be way pissed when He finds out that this soul is actually my soul…and it’s been in the clearance bin right outside Valhalla for at least six years now. Nobody wants to buy it because it’s cursed with rap stardom. Obviously.

Lil’ Odin is my four-year-old son’s third-best nickname, so I can only assume he somehow managed to get a record deal behind my back. Probably sold his soul to Jesus, just to make a name for himself. Jesus is going to be way pissed when He finds out that this soul is actually my soul…and it’s been in the clearance bin right outside Valhalla for at least six years now. Nobody wants to buy it because it’s cursed with rap stardom. Obviously.

Tags: Black Metal  Burzum  Norwegian Black Metal  Trve Kvlt  Varg Vikernes  bllix uncut  music  METAL  gangsta rap  Gangsta  Hip Hop  Rap  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   41 notes

STAY CALM AND LOOK AT THIS FUCKING VEST. In their original post, this person asked, “Am I cool yet?” The answer is within all of us! Somebody get this person on Project Runway before I piss somebody’s pants. I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and pot leaf almost as much as the EMINEM and Spongebob. I HEREBY ORDAIN YE, ‘HIGH-MINISTER OF THE BARONETCIES OF COOLSHIRE, COOLSEX, AND MIDDLE-EARTHCOOLSVILLESHIRETON’

STAY CALM AND LOOK AT THIS FUCKING VEST. In their original post, this person asked, “Am I cool yet?” The answer is within all of us! Somebody get this person on Project Runway before I piss somebody’s pants. I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and pot leaf almost as much as the EMINEM and Spongebob.

I HEREBY ORDAIN YE, ‘HIGH-MINISTER OF THE BARONETCIES OF COOLSHIRE, COOLSEX, AND MIDDLE-EARTHCOOLSVILLESHIRETON’

(Source: realmofplagues)

Tags: Cool vest  METAL AS FVCK  YOU ARE NOW COOL  bllix uncut  music  

Posted: 1 year ago — PermaLink   |   60 notes

This is very upsetting. I told her my name and location; she told me her marital status and profile URL. We were building rapport. It felt like we’d known each other for years. I couldn’t imagine a life without her spiteful horny. I trusted her. She signed off, and hasn’t spoken to me since. Her scent clings to my dynamic multi-platform instant messenger client. I am inconsolable and probably Zuul, possibly The Gatekeeper, but mostly inconsolable. Maybe The Highlander. Stop trying to change the subject. What’s important here is that I live on a fucking volcano full of orcs, and my penis can’t use the Internet. I needed her.

This is very upsetting. I told her my name and location; she told me her marital status and profile URL. We were building rapport. It felt like we’d known each other for years. I couldn’t imagine a life without her spiteful horny.

I trusted her.

She signed off, and hasn’t spoken to me since. Her scent clings to my dynamic multi-platform instant messenger client. I am inconsolable and probably Zuul, possibly The Gatekeeper, but mostly inconsolable. Maybe The Highlander. Stop trying to change the subject. What’s important here is that I live on a fucking volcano full of orcs, and my penis can’t use the Internet.

I needed her.

[Unrelated Prologue: WHAT THE HOLLY JOLLY FUCK, TUMBLR. Your service may be free, but your service sucks—which part of SAVE AS DRAFT meant PUBLISH? Are your employees too busy Instagramming their hipster dicks off and bragging about Tumblr’s popularity to notice that every other popular service has their shit together? Are you aware that many of those functional services are run by ONE person? Are you paying people in iPhones and PBR? Are you even a real company? Are you hiring? I need a job. Check out my LinkedIn profile sometime, if you’re in the mood to masturbate.] BUT ANYWAYS This is a bacon reproduction of a popular helm in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. My character, whose boobs are not as impressive as they should be, wore this for a few levels, and I was very fond of it despite that her boobs were still disappointing. I recently replaced it with a similar helm that has YET ANOTHER HORN, looted from the corpse of some bandit punk motherfucker trying to violate at the 21 and Lewis.  Everybody knows ‘Skyrim’ sounds like a fucking awesome gay bar, but it’s actually a video game. It’s part of the Elder Scrolls series. Everybody knows ‘Elder Scrolls’ sounds like a fucking awesome black metal band, but it’s actually a video game series. Skyrim is the latest release. While there is a sky, I haven’t unlocked the power to rim it. I’m a little nervous because the last version of Elder Scrolls had rain storms and stuff, while I haven’t seen a single drop in this one. This implies that the previous version had a way cleaner sky than this new one and I’d probably be better off rimming that one. Now I’ve got to decide whether I prefer jelly or syrup. I can’t handle this much longer.

[Unrelated Prologue: WHAT THE HOLLY JOLLY FUCK, TUMBLR. Your service may be free, but your service sucks—which part of SAVE AS DRAFT meant PUBLISH? Are your employees too busy Instagramming their hipster dicks off and bragging about Tumblr’s popularity to notice that every other popular service has their shit together? Are you aware that many of those functional services are run by ONE person? Are you paying people in iPhones and PBR? Are you even a real company? Are you hiring? I need a job. Check out my LinkedIn profile sometime, if you’re in the mood to masturbate.]

BUT ANYWAYS

This is a bacon reproduction of a popular helm in Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. My character, whose boobs are not as impressive as they should be, wore this for a few levels, and I was very fond of it despite that her boobs were still disappointing. I recently replaced it with a similar helm that has YET ANOTHER HORN, looted from the corpse of some bandit punk motherfucker trying to violate at the 21 and Lewis. 

Everybody knows ‘Skyrim’ sounds like a fucking awesome gay bar, but it’s actually a video game. It’s part of the Elder Scrolls series. Everybody knows ‘Elder Scrolls’ sounds like a fucking awesome black metal band, but it’s actually a video game series. Skyrim is the latest release. While there is a sky, I haven’t unlocked the power to rim it. I’m a little nervous because the last version of Elder Scrolls had rain storms and stuff, while I haven’t seen a single drop in this one. This implies that the previous version had a way cleaner sky than this new one and I’d probably be better off rimming that one. Now I’ve got to decide whether I prefer jelly or syrup. I can’t handle this much longer.

I accidentally clicked a ‘Play Last.fm Radio’ link on the Last.fm website. At first, it was terrible and I was so angry at myself that I refused to make eye contact with myself for nearly two hours. I tried reasoning with myself, but she’s a cold-ass ghetto bitch sometimes and you won’t get anywhere with her until you’re her talking about herself in the third person. As soon as I pointed out the HILARIOUS suggestion combinations, I made up with myself for nearly two hours…but something still didn’t feel right. Why would I want to listen to a mix of music similar to the music I listen to, but isn’t the music I listen to? That’s not how people were meant to discover music. Anyone who does it like that is working too hard. All you have to do is only hang out with people who listen to all of the same bands that you listen to, and let those people somehow discover a band which both of you will inevitably listen to. Sit back, relax, and wait until one of those people highly recommends a band to you. (People like that LOVE to recommend bands, so don’t feel bad about contributing absolutely nothing whatsoever. It’s the King of Beers of mutually-advantageous parasitic relationships.) WARNING: It is possible that you may already know of the recommended band. Don’t panic. You have two options: Shrug. Say the band’s old stuff is better than their new stuff, so you don’t listen to them very often. This will reduce the risk of having your personal brand compromised by being made to look like a stupid asshole for failing to recommend the band first. Scoff. Say you can’t believe they hadn’t heard of the band; you’ve been listening to them for years and own a copy of their first demo on tape/vinyl. This will help everyone within earshot recognize that you are much cooler than the other person, because you came to know of a recommended band so long ago that it no longer falls in the guidelines of ‘discoverable’ bands.

I accidentally clicked a ‘Play Last.fm Radio’ link on the Last.fm website.

At first, it was terrible and I was so angry at myself that I refused to make eye contact with myself for nearly two hours. I tried reasoning with myself, but she’s a cold-ass ghetto bitch sometimes and you won’t get anywhere with her until you’re her talking about herself in the third person. As soon as I pointed out the HILARIOUS suggestion combinations, I made up with myself for nearly two hours…but something still didn’t feel right. Why would I want to listen to a mix of music similar to the music I listen to, but isn’t the music I listen to? That’s not how people were meant to discover music.

Anyone who does it like that is working too hard. All you have to do is only hang out with people who listen to all of the same bands that you listen to, and let those people somehow discover a band which both of you will inevitably listen to. Sit back, relax, and wait until one of those people highly recommends a band to you. (People like that LOVE to recommend bands, so don’t feel bad about contributing absolutely nothing whatsoever. It’s the King of Beers of mutually-advantageous parasitic relationships.)

WARNING: It is possible that you may already know of the recommended band. Don’t panic. You have two options:

  1. Shrug. Say the band’s old stuff is better than their new stuff, so you don’t listen to them very often. This will reduce the risk of having your personal brand compromised by being made to look like a stupid asshole for failing to recommend the band first.
  2. Scoff. Say you can’t believe they hadn’t heard of the band; you’ve been listening to them for years and own a copy of their first demo on tape/vinyl. This will help everyone within earshot recognize that you are much cooler than the other person, because you came to know of a recommended band so long ago that it no longer falls in the guidelines of ‘discoverable’ bands.
Truthful Tuesday I’m jealous. I never looked as wonderfully pregnant as jezebelthegreat when my inside lady-fannypack was full of new human. I didn’t really look pregnant at all. More like an otherwise proportionate chick who’d been holding in like ten thousand farts for two years straight, hopefully for a contest or something. Don’t clap yet. Clothes didn’t fit right, nobody could tell I wasn’t “just fatter”, and yet I still felt pregnant. Morning (eg. all day) sickness, achy, emotional, penis-hungry and fatter-looking. Scientific Part: Standing at just under six footlong sandwiches tall ensures that a woman is able to continue pillaging monasteries and burning hovels on nearby islands, despite that her womb lays heavy with the seed of a lucky dude who was allowed to get his white stuff all up in her pink thing. My sons were born about a month early, probably because they were so stoked to be near my vagina, gross my sons, thereby saving me from the infamous ninth month fuckingkillmealready bellysplosion. Powerful, Inspirational Part: I don’t mean to brag unless I’m bragging, which I always am, but at least four goats were sacrificed in celebration of my ability to look a bit chubby for several months—when ALL OF A SUDDEN!, a blond-haired blue-eyed male infant appeared betwixt my powerful, inspiring, powerfully inspirational get-away sticks. Tell your friends.

Truthful Tuesday

I’m jealous. I never looked as wonderfully pregnant as jezebelthegreat when my inside lady-fannypack was full of new human. I didn’t really look pregnant at all. More like an otherwise proportionate chick who’d been holding in like ten thousand farts for two years straight, hopefully for a contest or something. Don’t clap yet. Clothes didn’t fit right, nobody could tell I wasn’t “just fatter”, and yet I still felt pregnant. Morning (eg. all day) sickness, achy, emotional, penis-hungry and fatter-looking.

Scientific Part: Standing at just under six footlong sandwiches tall ensures that a woman is able to continue pillaging monasteries and burning hovels on nearby islands, despite that her womb lays heavy with the seed of a lucky dude who was allowed to get his white stuff all up in her pink thing. My sons were born about a month early, probably because they were so stoked to be near my vagina, gross my sons, thereby saving me from the infamous ninth month fuckingkillmealready bellysplosion.

Powerful, Inspirational Part: I don’t mean to brag unless I’m bragging, which I always am, but at least four goats were sacrificed in celebration of my ability to look a bit chubby for several months—when ALL OF A SUDDEN!, a blond-haired blue-eyed male infant appeared betwixt my powerful, inspiring, powerfully inspirational get-away sticks. Tell your friends.

"My name is Edward."

   — Holler submitted by bllix responds to a Holler!Anonymous

Response

That is not a question I won’t answer.

I am very flattered by your choice to use my Tumblr thing to write down an important idea—one that you may forget and will need to recall later. Please send me your telephone number. I pledge to never call you, and perhaps send intermittent text messages to remind you that your name is Edward. This offer is only good for approximately about less than one of your Earth years, until September 11, 2012. On that day, you must bookmark this page to ensure that you never forget the important lesson which I have taught you today: your name is Edward.

This is a photo of my panty drawer. It should be used only for educational purposes, and only by very, very intellectual people who question why I never ‘go commando’. A life without slutty and/or retarded underwear is a life not worth being a total slut and/or retarded throughout.

This is a photo of my panty drawer. It should be used only for educational purposes, and only by very, very intellectual people who question why I never ‘go commando’. A life without slutty and/or retarded underwear is a life not worth being a total slut and/or retarded throughout.

Still feeling cold after donning a sweater and making a cup of coffee, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to put something in the oven. This urge was much stronger than the standard female instinct of belonging in a kitchen of some sort while utterly bereft of footwear. It came like an ethereal whisper, presumably from the patron saint of ovens, commanding unto me: “Thou shalt cook a shit-load of bacon; and thou shalt keep watch, through the holy tempered glass window to thine oven’s soul, as yon bounty of swine doth mature by heat of flame.” No spiritual quest is without sacrifice, and mine was the prospect of spending twenty minutes sitting on the kitchen floor, staring continuously at a stove that doesn’t even have a DVD player. Twenty fucking minutes? In the land of ADHD, that shit’s akin to martyrdom. What else could I do but immortalize the tale of my plight with a photograph? Plaster the photograph with pieces of clip art until it was stupid enough to share with the Internet, that’s what.

Still feeling cold after donning a sweater and making a cup of coffee, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a compulsion to put something in the oven. This urge was much stronger than the standard female instinct of belonging in a kitchen of some sort while utterly bereft of footwear. It came like an ethereal whisper, presumably from the patron saint of ovens, commanding unto me: “Thou shalt cook a shit-load of bacon; and thou shalt keep watch, through the holy tempered glass window to thine oven’s soul, as yon bounty of swine doth mature by heat of flame.”

No spiritual quest is without sacrifice, and mine was the prospect of spending twenty minutes sitting on the kitchen floor, staring continuously at a stove that doesn’t even have a DVD player. Twenty fucking minutes? In the land of ADHD, that shit’s akin to martyrdom. What else could I do but immortalize the tale of my plight with a photograph? Plaster the photograph with pieces of clip art until it was stupid enough to share with the Internet, that’s what.

Easily one of the most beautiful, non-romantic love songs you will ever hear. It’s beautiful because it’s completely full of honest. Yeah, I know, it looks like your typical date-rapist-with-guitar is going to express his feelings about some skank that banged like ten of his bros after she found out he’d gotten a BJ of marginal quality from her chubby roommate two years ago, but listen with your heart. And ears. Your heart is too busy pumping blood around to watch videos all day, god damn. Anyways, THIS SHIT’S ON THE REAL. Like, Gandalf real. You can’t get rid of that motherfucker, he just comes back as a different color of wizard! BECAUSE HE DON’T FUCKIN’ PLAY! HE A REAL-ASS WIZARD! DAMN, GINA!

How’s my sex life?! It’s pretty good! I think. Huh? “Is it ULTIMATE?” What, like yours? Um, well…I mean…I don’t have a single set of peach satin sheets, but that doesn’t make you better than me, you alluring two-dimensional magazine prostitute. Especially not at building Lego stuff or fucking off all day and laying on a bed of peach satin shee—fuck, you win. Still, we both know I’ve probably butt-fucked a computer FOR FREE at least twice. Now that was the “ULTIMATE experience”. Did you feel my elbow just now? Good. Those raunchy butt-whore computers were running Windows 7 Ultimate Edition, but that alone does not qualify as ULTIMACY. No. No, it doesn’t. Per article 69 of ‘The Fucking Manual’: Naughty butt parts must be coated in MOUNTAIN DEW CODE RED. Not familiar with this particular shade of code? Read it again. I said it all big-like. You should be able to figure it out. No? Okay: Mountain Dew Code Red is the spring break rapist version of regular Mountain Dew, which isn’t red AT ALL nor does it have a code name since it’s green instead of red. “CODE GREEN” sounds like something you rape learn on Sesame Street about taking turns. There’s nothing EXTREME about learning or waiting, so basically, all you gotta do here is carry the 1 over to the TK-421 modulation adapter coil and divide by one-quarter impulse power of the main DEW choke valve, and make sure to unplug the power cable first!

How’s my sex life?! It’s pretty good! I think. Huh? “Is it ULTIMATE?” What, like yours?

Um, well…I mean…I don’t have a single set of peach satin sheets, but that doesn’t make you better than me, you alluring two-dimensional magazine prostitute. Especially not at building Lego stuff or fucking off all day and laying on a bed of peach satin shee—fuck, you win. Still, we both know I’ve probably butt-fucked a computer FOR FREE at least twice. Now that was the “ULTIMATE experience”. Did you feel my elbow just now? Good. Those raunchy butt-whore computers were running Windows 7 Ultimate Edition, but that alone does not qualify as ULTIMACY. No. No, it doesn’t. Per article 69 of ‘The Fucking Manual’: Naughty butt parts must be coated in MOUNTAIN DEW CODE RED.

Not familiar with this particular shade of code? Read it again. I said it all big-like. You should be able to figure it out. No? Okay: Mountain Dew Code Red is the spring break rapist version of regular Mountain Dew, which isn’t red AT ALL nor does it have a code name since it’s green instead of red. “CODE GREEN” sounds like something you rape learn on Sesame Street about taking turns. There’s nothing EXTREME about learning or waiting, so basically, all you gotta do here is carry the 1 over to the TK-421 modulation adapter coil and divide by one-quarter impulse power of the main DEW choke valve, and make sure to unplug the power cable first!

Lil’ Odin is my four-year-old son’s third-best nickname, so I can only assume he somehow managed to get a record deal behind my back. Probably sold his soul to Jesus, just to make a name for himself. Jesus is going to be way pissed when He finds out that this soul is actually my soul…and it’s been in the clearance bin right outside Valhalla for at least six years now. Nobody wants to buy it because it’s cursed with rap stardom. Obviously.

Lil’ Odin is my four-year-old son’s third-best nickname, so I can only assume he somehow managed to get a record deal behind my back. Probably sold his soul to Jesus, just to make a name for himself. Jesus is going to be way pissed when He finds out that this soul is actually my soul…and it’s been in the clearance bin right outside Valhalla for at least six years now. Nobody wants to buy it because it’s cursed with rap stardom. Obviously.

STAY CALM AND LOOK AT THIS FUCKING VEST. In their original post, this person asked, “Am I cool yet?” The answer is within all of us! Somebody get this person on Project Runway before I piss somebody’s pants. I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and pot leaf almost as much as the EMINEM and Spongebob. I HEREBY ORDAIN YE, ‘HIGH-MINISTER OF THE BARONETCIES OF COOLSHIRE, COOLSEX, AND MIDDLE-EARTHCOOLSVILLESHIRETON’

STAY CALM AND LOOK AT THIS FUCKING VEST. In their original post, this person asked, “Am I cool yet?” The answer is within all of us! Somebody get this person on Project Runway before I piss somebody’s pants. I love the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and pot leaf almost as much as the EMINEM and Spongebob.

I HEREBY ORDAIN YE, ‘HIGH-MINISTER OF THE BARONETCIES OF COOLSHIRE, COOLSEX, AND MIDDLE-EARTHCOOLSVILLESHIRETON’

(Source: realmofplagues)

Anonymous hollered: "My name is Edward."