IT TOOK ME TOO LONG TO GET THIS AND WHEN I DID I CRIED. NO. DO NOT DO THAT TO ME.
What does this mean I don’t get it at all o.O
somebody please explain this ;-;
A photo of the rare dabadeedabatiger.
this rare species of tiger has the rare pigment “dabadeedabadie” derived from a blue world
scientists have proven that all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue like him inside and outside
I’m done with this site
This tea is awful. It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t believe that lazy shit idyllic pastoral landscape on the goddamn cardboard box. It’s a damn lie and if you drink this tea you’ll know the heart of minty darkness
Like OK I appreciate that it tries to prepare you for whats inside by a cute picture on the box. Fresh green mint leaves, and some candy cane sticks to get you in that shitty assfaced Christmas mood. Look it’s even tied with a repugnant little red bow. fuck this tea.
So if you open the box and immediately steep a cup prepare to get one of those cute lil candy canes up your FUCKING NOSE and in your FUCKING EYES because this shit doesn’t know personal space in the same way a demon from hell doesn’t know a loving God.
I hope you like drinking your throat lozenges because here’s a blistering stream an actual menthol golem would piss down your fucking throat while you gag on its candy-striped wiener.
So you lock this shit in a box for 3 months while you recover from the worst toothpaste-flavored blowjob of your life and maybe get yourself together again. You recover. You move on. Things are looking pretty up and you think back, well maybe that godforsaken tea didn’t really taste like a peppermint Siberia. So you make a cup like the foolish piece of shit you are
and you’re right, but so wrong about the character and nature of your mistake you might as well star in Greek tragedy. You pathetic bag of bollocks.
because in the months its been locked in a top-shelf tomb the life and vehement mint-based hatred for the physical world has withered and desiccated out of its soulless teabag husks.
Now what you have got in your fucking unfortunate mug is a hot steaming cup of fuck you that tastes like the inside of the birch tree on the fucking box, or maybe Santa’s tears mixed with mummy dust, or midwinter leaf litter a vaguely minty dog only rolled in once.
The aftertaste stinks of wax. Why wax? Because it wants to remind you that you’re the kid who ate birthday candles in first grade, that’s why. And every single other bad decision you now regret.
fuck this tea. fuck it, it tastes like a hollow mannequin of a tea, hot leaf swill unfit to fertilize even fake fucking flowers.Maybe you could tan leather in it. I don’t fucking know but get it away from me and the human race. Fucking shoot it at the moon where it belongs with all of the other celestial fucking seasonings. fuck
I never thought I’d reblog a tea review but here we are.
imagine a horror movie where you’re trapped in your house with a serial killer but all your lights are clappers
so you’re running for your life from this psychopath while both of you are just aggressively clapping the lights on and off
out of all my 3:00 AM ramblings you guys decide to make this one popular
Let’s make this situation even better. Both of you are wearing TAP SHOES, and all of the floors are hardwood.
When I told my mother I was going to start the treatments she said I wasn’t strong enough.
She’s said a lot of shit to me. But I can remember none of it as vividly as when she looked me in the eye from across the room and said, word by word: “You can’t do it. You’re not strong enough”
I remember the white car driving by on the road behind her. I remember the book she was reading (heja heja) and the picture on the cover.
I remember the smell of dust coming from the fireplace. The feeling of the hardwood floor under my newly washed, bare feet.
I remember it was cold and gray outside.
I remember the tone of her voice. And the fact that she ten minutes after saying it came barging in to my room. Crying on my arm. Saying she felt like she was losing me.
It was that very moment. Those very words. That made me take distance.
After all. Wasn’t she the one who told me to walk away from hurtful people?
Had she not said it. “You’re too weak” Had she simply kept her mouth shut, things would be very, very different.
And now I’m super inspired to start writing! So: HERE I GO!
Wait… which story do I write on? Continue something or… do I… I don’t know.
Start a new one?
I’ll just read through the old stuff and see if there’s anything inter- HOW ABOUT A STORY FROM THE PERSPECTIVE OF CLOUDS?
HOW DO CLOUDS FEEL WHEN THEY RAIN DOWN?
DO THEY BECOME THE RAIN AND DO THEIR CONSCIOUS EXPAND INTO THE PLANT IT WATERS?
Wait… clouds… clouds don’t have consciousness… do they?
I guess that’s off the list then.
How about a manatee?
Maybe I can fit it all in a story about some junkie…
That’d make sense.
Or maybe fantasy?
Gosh. I don’t know.
Today has presented a lot of mood swings.
Right now I’m feeling suicidal.
Just an hour ago I was so inspired to get my life together that I did a 45 minute workout and sorted the laundry.
Before that I was enjoying a nice moment in the sun, thinking how great life is.
When I woke up I felt like staying in bed until I starved to death would be a great idea.
I fucking hate this, I’m so fucking tired of it.