Why are you following me?

I fucking hate you

fuck-bitches-get-money:

How Twilight should end.

sabrinabeaudoin:

justamisguidedghost:

anthonygreen-:

 Click on the squares in whatever patterns you please. Turn your speakers on.

This is amazing and made me happy.

reblogging again for the hell of it. ^_________^

(via fuckyeahalbuquerque)

THIS IS SO MUCH FUN.

fuckyeahtattoos:

Gustav, the party ghost. He’s done in black light, and only shows up when the party’s goin down.

I am, I have, I love, I would love to be, I dislike.

thesecretlifeoftaylor:

ocean-avenue:

jennephurrr:

I am:
Happy. Sad. A good friend. Adventurous. Shy. Confident. Procrastinating. A male. Bored. Anxious. Clumsy. Sociable. Always punctual. Selfish. Intelligent. Funny. A female. Sarcastic. Insecure. Sick. Beautiful. Articulate. Loud. Kind. Even tempered. Honest. Short. Tall. Medium height. Proud of myself. Loving. Witty. Down to earth. Outspoken. Determined. High maintenance. Pretty. Assertive. Organized. Selfless.

I have:
Brown hair. Brown Eyes. Blue Eyes. Curly hair. Long fingernails. Braces. Chipped nail polish. Long legs. Straight hair. A fringe. Long eyelashes. Sore feet. Freckles. Dark skin. Medium skin. Green eyes. Blonde hair. Dyed hair. Short legs. Red hair. Big boobs. Rosy cheeks. Wavy hair. Black hair. Small-ish waist. Tattoos. Piercings. Big ears. Short hair. Long hair.

I love:
Flowers. Kisses. Summer. Coffee. The rain. Candles. Incense. Late night talk shows. Insects. Hugs. Attention. The beach. Chocolate. Music. Beanies. Harry Potter. Twilight. Facebook. Black and white photos. Sleeping in. Driving. Narrating my pet’s thoughts. Opening gifts. Buying gifts. Halloween. Cute texts. Apples. Compliments. Country music. Hip hop. Sushi. Sports. Art. Singing. Seeing my loved ones happy. Surprises. Sunsets and sunrises. Skinny dipping. Horror movies. Simon Cowell. Family Guy. Garlic. Hearing somebody talk in their sleep. Being right. KFC. Abstract photography. Concerts and festivals. Tanning. Oversized t-shirts.

I would love to be a:
Police officer. Lawyer. Doctor. Teacher. Fruit picker. Mother. Father. Greenpeace volunteer. Hippie. Groupie. Rockstar. Footballer’s wife. Therapist. Singer. Actor. Diving instructor. Lottery winner. Company owner. Housewife. Nurse. Builder. Race car driver. Website developer. An inspirational talker. Music teacher. Artist. Chef. Makeup artist. Hairdresser. Restaurant owner. Homeless shelter volunteer. Fitness trainer. Vet. Radio show host. Band manager.

I like to eat:
Fruit. Vegetables. Fast food. Sushi. In bed. Rice. Sandwiches. Subway. Chicken. Cakes. Seafood. A lot. Pasta. Rice crackers. When I’m bored. Cheese. Ice cream. Garlic bread. Peanut butter out of the jar. Eggs. Lots of ethnic foods. Pancakes. Honey. Lunch. Bread crusts. Low calorie foods. Soy products. Gluten free products. When I’m hungry. Toast. Breakfast. Pizza.

I dislike:
Cold mornings. Baths. People dissing my taste in music. People in front of me walking really slowly. Having my personal space invaded. Cleaning. Going to bed early. Wine/beer. Religion arguments. Coffee. The beach. Rain. Children. Having my photo taken. Drama. Gossiping. Hip hop. Cooking shows. Drugs. Cats. People singing happy birthday to me. Selfish people. Social networking sites. Swimming. Snow. Eminem. Seafood. One word text messages. Awkward silences. Alarm clocks. Hypocrites.

I love you, bubbie <3

Summertime.

No school, no homework, no worries, no beef, no regrets.

Pool hopping, greatest girlfriend in the world, skateboarding, longboarding, skinny dipping, marijuana, shrooms, Rock The Bells, Newburyport, Boston, parties, barbecues, alcohol, fireworks, making music.

This will be the best summer of my life.

calm the fuck down you annoying twat.

(via wavesofhappiness)

over dramatic teen with the personality of a rock

what a shame

You’re a fucking joke hahaha

you think your words mean anything? I’m just brushing you off my shoulder because I think you’re the most annoying piece of shit on the planet, like most of our school thinks

Boredom leads to story writing

D lifted his head up suddenly, he had it. He knew it. He went to the mirror and practiced, he squinted, ONLY THE EYES. Move anything else and the bitch’ll think you’re crazy, they can see. X-ray bitches. X-ray sluts. Space alien bootshit. X-ray whores. He liked that. X-ray whores. He said it to himself. in front of the mirror.

He took his right hand and, with two fingers, opened up his eyeball to inspect it. Where was the fire? You read these books, they have nothing better to say, they immediately go for the fire-in-the-eyes. “He had a fire in his eyes,” they’ll say, or, “He had eyes that burned,” or some other crap. But you read anything enough times you’ll believe it. D looked into his right eye. He couldn’t see anything. There was no fire? But there HAD TO BE. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t like these others. Nuh uh. He HAD A FIRE. He could feel it. D felt a warmth in his gut. He smiled. He looked at his teeth. Liar teeth. Liar eyeballs, no fire. He was hungry, that’s all. That’s no fire. That’s some primitive yip-dog bullshit.

He heard girls in the hallway. Laughing. So he laughed too. He laughed the hardest, loudest laugh he could. It was hilarious! - all the people! - all the laughter! No one could understand it, any of it, what was it? What was it? He had a genuine laughter! No he was no liar! I am a Diogenes! Give me my flashlight! I will go out and cram it down their throats and say, “Nope. Nope. Nope. I am looking for an honest man, get out of my way, assholes! Nope, nope. Nope!” So D laughed. College, what a joke. Land of the dead! Dust in your eyes! Breeding grounds! You are the cows that walk back to the slaughter! So D laughed and laughed. They would hear his honest laughter and be brought to tears and at once their whole moral framework would collapse. At this laugh. He had to pee.

D opened the door and went outside. Here was his chance. 3 or 4. All girls. He looked at the ground as he walked. Lost in thought, he told himself. What a joke. What a joke I am. He smiled. No one saw his smile. He walked towards the bathroom, he walked towards the girls. They were laughing. When D got near them they shut up. X-ray whores. Worth nothing. Worth 0. Zero dollars. In the marketplace. Hang them by their hair on big hooks. Hold them up, “Zero dollars! Only nothing! I want to get rid of all of them, please. Fresh meat! Zero dollars! They are destroying my life! Zero cents! Take all of them! Take one! Take anything! Zero dollars! Hang it all!”

As soon as he got near them he looked one straight in the eye. Could she feel it? He imagined she could. She was burning up right now. The fire. Fuck Liputin. (Did Liputin have fire? Maybe it was Nikolai. Nikolai Stavrogin. What a guy! It probably was Nikolai.) Fuck Nikolai. He had nothing on me. She’s burning up. She was laughing a second ago but I am killing her. I am killing her with my eyes. Feel it, bitch. X-ray whore. Look inside me. Get way in there. I have everything. I will make you scared. I have a thousand match heads going off every second, what have you? Dry wood, pah! Trash heap, pah! I will burn you inside-out. I will kill you. I will kill you and you won’t even know.

So he walked. And he squinted, and she was about to fall victim to his burning, godly, unflinching honesty, fall into his arms, limp and gasping for breath, and they would ride the magic carpet of that all-holy-fuck together, she was about to, but right as he squinted she turned away and whispered something into her friend’s ear.

D walked to the bathroom, took a piss and called it a night.