Tag: me

As requested by too many people: making the last post rebloggable

mastreworld:

neil-gaiman:

birdartpoetry asked: Mister Gaiman, you’re kickass. I was just wondering, what do you think is the best way to seduce a writer? I figured your answer would be pretty spectacular.

In my experience, writers tend to be really good at the inside of their own heads and imaginary people, and a lot less good at the stuff going on outside, which means that quite often if you flirt with us we will completely fail to notice, leaving everybody involved slightly uncomfortable and more than slightly unlaid.

So I would suggest that any attempted seduction of a writer would probably go a great deal easier for all parties if you sent them a cheerful note saying “YOU ARE INVITED TO A SEDUCTION: Please come to dinner on Friday Night. Wear the kind of clothes you would like to be seduced in.”

And alcohol may help, too. Or kissing. Many writers figure out that they’re being seduced or flirted with if someone is actually kissing them.

This is disturbingly accurate.

dajo42:

dajo42:

me, in the back of the room, wearing what appears to be a curtain, drinking cough syrup straight from the bottle and talking about continuity errors in popular media

i finish the cough syrup and leave. you think i am done, but i come back with a second bottle. i start talking about hypermasculinity and its toxic effects on the film industry. i am wearing a different curtain

naamahdarling:

nonlinear-nonsubjective:

no i dont want to be a billionaire to live a lavish lifestyle i want to be a billionaire to be financially secure and have enough money to give people things and support charities and fund kickstarters and leave hundred dollar tips

My lavish dream lifestyle: 200% tips at IHOP and throwing struggling artists a couple hundred bucks to sketch my latest asshole OC. I buy my cats better food. I get new underwear twice a year, including a new bra. I have my jeans hemmed, and buy name-brand crackers. Nobody I know ever has to worry about a vet bill again. I quietly bankroll surgery and binders and electrolysis for every struggling trans person on Tumblr. The zoo near me builds a 300% larger reptile house and names it the Wigglesworth Von Snakeface Rept-o-Rama, and I hire a Great Dane ninja to shit on Trump’s Hollywood star every day and post the picture to Facebook and Twitter. Snakes manifest in nazis’ houses. They are made of red-hot chains and never stop screaming. My skin is clear. I sit on my front porch and drink tea. Someone hands me a hamburger.