My brain malfunctioned and started reading this to the tune of Cotton-Eyed Joe and then switched at the end, not to the tune of Despacito, but to the tune of All the Small Things by Blink-182.
like at the end of return of the jedi everyone else is dancing and getting shitfaced on ewok booze and shooting off fireworks because they just trashed the empire for good and luke is like, i just watched my father die in my arms and then personally threw his body on a funeral pyre… time to party pass the vodka
luke: *wanders off by himself, dissociates, sees the ghosts of his father and his teachers staring at him from the woods*
So at one of my jobs I work with this really nice woman named Liz who has an equally nice boyfriend. Thing is, I don’t know the boyfriends name because Liz only addresses him as boytoy. The term boytoy is used so frequently to describe him that not only does she have no problem using that term but neither do any of her coworkers including myself. One day Liz told me that he would be stopping by and when some dude with a beard came through the door I looked at him and said, “Mr.toy I presume.” And he just looks at me and goes; “The very one.”
the highwaisted breeches and loosely-tucked white shirt, possibly with sword belt attached, is THe hottest look available to any single human (or other), and i would be the lustiest harlot in regency England had i existed when it was À La Mode
me watching The End of the F***ing World: damn i never wondered what it would look like if quentin tarantino and wes anderson made a movie together but boy howdy here it is
im so pissed that they looked at a 50 y/o man today and was like “ok this is how we’ll model a man who’s 50 y/o in 2038” instead of looking at someone our age and going “holy fuck how are these bastards going to act at 50”
he wouldv been 600% hornier for androids if they did this right
just so everyone knows i DID get rheumatoid arthritis typing all this and i WILL die in 7 days, thank you and may god forgive me and @kassasaurus-rex