Charlie watched the final parts of the fire signal burn out. The sun was setting and he can feel that time was up
The groaning from the zombies surrounding him got louder. With each mindless groan it gets overlapped by the sound of the walls that he tried so hard to keep up, getting so easily torn down. He keeps looking ahead of where the final bits of the smoke travel, just holding out for some kind of hope, that maybe someone may come out to help.
But no one came
yeah sorry for the rain today i downloaded a new weather app it's pretty bad
i think i just deleted the weather yea sorry i will go to sleep now maybe ill fix it tomorrow
hm yea maybe that'll fix it, i think tgere should be new weather today
fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck y
shit, yea ok idk how to fix this again sorry you're on your own lol
i love when people go "this looks like a 10k post to me" because it never works half the time and i just see them try so fruitlessly in my notes
try me bitch
..... hey guys....... uh you might wanna calm down.......
hey
hey tumblr user ctntduo
my good friend
just lemme try something here
G
crying and sobbing.
O
i saw a man at work the other day wearing a shirt that said "i was normal 2 pomeranians ago" with pictures of his pomeranians on it. important to note he had his pomeranians in his cart
artists rendition (i forgot to add the poms on his shirt but you get the gist)
Every time someone makes an artist's rendition of a weird little guy they saw in public instead of recording them without consent, an angel gets it's wings.
My three girlfriends. And yes, they smoke weed.
do they smoke weed?
Yes, actually.
you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette?
It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)
They don’t look like they smoke weed.
Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. Fuck You. I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.
Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.
I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING
Well that escalated quickly……
What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*
haha oh my god
who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.
love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.
and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.
“the goo pile that is now your body”
i’m dying over here, jesus
please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.
*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot… *leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*
this dude playin omg
Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you. I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.* Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*
“Americans believe in big portions! That’s so crazy.” Look at this European getting scammed into paying for 100 calories worth of food. Fool. Idiot. You wish you could have this 16 ounce Big Gulp and this serving of rice I will eat off for three days but you can’t. Cope and seethe.
I also love watching Italians get mad at Italian American food. You’re cranky because your hungry, aren’t you? Cranky because you don’t get that delicious olive oil and balsamic vinegar to dip your bread in before meals? Cranky because your pizza kinda sucks?
Beef? You aren’t eating, I just said that.
who has that one post that’s like “americans will lightly rib british people for their accents and brits will be like ‘your children will die in a school shooting’“
popping my back isnt enough i need to be picked up and slammed against the wall like a wet trout
You know how when you use a bendy straw you pull the bendy part up before you bend it? I want someone to do that to my spine.
unshrimp me back please
bad internet take and awful character analysis arent real they cant hurt me
great
Wait this was supposed to be a bad thing???
Listen to me. Listen to me. Listen to me. Listen to me.
I know there is a lot of discourse (tm) around this right now but listen to me
sometimes you do just have to lie to children.
If, when my toddler is, you know, toddling around saying “mama? Big ball?”
If I were lean down and say “unfortunately the big beach ball for some reason fills you with such an unadulterated rage that is beyond human comprehension that you scream until you pass out, so mama had to remove the beach ball from the premises until you can better regulate your emotions” she would simply stare at me like I had 3 heads full of equal betrayal.
So, for now, instead “big ball went night night!”
Please understand when I say “removed the ball from the premises” I mean I popped it in a fit of exhausted confusion. I murdered the beach ball.
See I’ve lied to you all too and it was better this way.
you can’t just leave this in the tags etc.
You can’t be funnier then me on my own posts, I’m in tears from laughter
🤭🤭🤭
They finally took me off my zyprexa from the psych ward. Daddy's psychic powers are finally coming back kitten
Women please survive
TERFs are reblogging this so just so you know this doesn't count you. Get off my blog
