hot waiters make me nervous & forget what i want to order
they are the order
I’d like a piece of that ass
I was told
The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7
She picks the colors and the cake first
By the age of 10
She knows time,
She’s already chosen a gown
And a maid of honor
She’s waiting for a man
Who wont break out in hives…
If you believe that God is love, how can you also believe that God can hate a group of people?
To the man standing on the corner holding the sign that said, “God Hates Faggots”: I’ve never seen exactly who it is that you paperclip your needs, melt your hands together and pray to, but I think I know what he looks like. I bet your god’s about 5’10”. I bet he weighs 185. He probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a GED. I bet your god has a mullet. I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves, a fanny pack, and says words like “git er done.” I bet your god plays a banjo. I bet he watches Fox News, Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for John McCain, and loves Bill O’Reilly. I bet your god is a politician from Arizona. I bet his high school served racism in the cafeteria and offered hate speech as a second language. I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat and racial slurs tattooed to his tongue just to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth. I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger and Jim Crow underneath his nails. Your god is a Confederate flag’s wet dream, conceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists. I bet your god has a drinking problem. I bet he sees the bottom of a shot glass more often than his own children. I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas. He probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourettes plugged into the ocean. I bet he yells like a Schizophrenic nail gun damaging all things that care enough about him to get close. I bet there are angels in heaven with black eyes and broken halos who claim they fell down the stairs. I bet your God would have made Eve without a mouth and taught her how to spread her legs like a magazine that she will never, ever, ever be pretty enough to be in.
Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow, that you are standing in front of mirrors and worshiping your own reflection. Your god stole my God’s identity, and I bet he’s been buying pieces of heaven on eBay. So next time you bend your knees, next time you bow your head, I want you to tell your god that my God is looking for him.—"Your God" by Rudy Francisco (via mywaytoburn)
I won’t remember your birthday. I won’t remember what your mother’s name is or your childhood memories. I will be the worst friend you’ve ever had. I can go for months without talking to you or seeing you. And honestly, there are so many other things about me that you wouldn’t really like. I have…
"People always think I love Wreck-It Ralph because it’s a good movie, when really I love it because I relate a lot with Vanellope, and not really belonging and always being called a mistake."