Game: read your favourite book for textual evidence that the main character possesses human features. Construe such evidence as narrowly as possible. Does the text explicitly establish that they have eyes? Can we prove that they have exactly two of them? How about feet? Optionally, draw fanart based on this assessment.
male singers who refuse to sing katy perry’s “e.t.” as horny as she did are cowards
i dont even like katy perry but like she! went full on alien-fucking horny in that song. a male cover in that exact voice inflection would’ve been perfect for my venom playlist. but no. straight men are always horny, except when it comes to singing about aliens i guess. cowards.
what she means: I’m so glad that our lemon tree finally grew and sprouted fruitful lemony lemons. I mean, imagine, we can make lemonade, key lemon pie, lemon merengue pie. I think it’s the most valuable of property that we have. I think we should go to the bank and get a loan, actually I think we should just get lemon tree insurance and then get a loan and use the lemon tree as collateral because it is now insured. I truly do love our lemon tree. Just imagine a life full of lemon trees, and all our beautiful lemons, endless possibilities. They’re so beautiful, I wish I was a lemon. You wish you were a lemon? If you were a lemon I would put you on my shelf and cherish you like I cherish all our lemons. That’s so beautiful, like I only hope that the whores aren’t stealing our lemons you know those naughty whores always steal lemons and we do have a couple lemon whores in this community, those damn lemon-stealing whores I hate them because no one will take our prized lemons from us. Hey, has it been about 10 seconds since we looked at our lemon tree? It has been about 10 seconds till we looked at our lemon tree. Hey what the fuck
“The evil trans agenda is being financed by a shadowy cabal of billionaires and they all just happen to be Jewish” yeah I think we can all tell who you’ve been listening to
Platonic intimacy is seeing your friend’s car in the grocery store parking lot and parking so close to him that he can’t open his door and has the crawl through the passenger’s side.
Platonic intimacy is hot gluing four copies of Resident Evil – Code: Veronica to the ceiling of his hallway closet and seeing how long it takes him to notice that there’s four copies of Resident Evil – Code: Veronica hot glued to the ceiling of his hallway closet.
Platonic intimacy is watching the graceful curve of his body as he stretches in bed, fixating on the strip of skin where his shirt’s pulled up juuuust enough that you can sneeze on his exposed stomach and then run away while he’s distracted and bewildered by how super gross and unnecessary that was.
Platonic intimacy is sending him an e-mail that says, “The Harbinger of Boy Sauce is Upon You,” instead of just, like, texting him and letting him know you’re on your way to help him do his shots.
Platonic intimacy is calling him in the middle of the night and waking him up because you heard a weird noise outside that you’re about to investigate, and you need moral support and also someone to call an ambulance if you end up having to knife fight a racoon.
No, it’s platonic. If it’s romantic, you gotta’ have a rose between your teeth and one titty out.
[id: response by @ rdprice29 reading “I’m thinking “platonic intimacy” does not mean what you think it means, lol. I’m thinking you mean more like “intimacy””]
Platonic intimacy is seeing your friend’s car in the grocery store parking lot and parking so close to him that he can’t open his door and has the crawl through the passenger’s side.
Platonic intimacy is hot gluing four copies of Resident Evil – Code: Veronica to the ceiling of his hallway closet and seeing how long it takes him to notice that there’s four copies of Resident Evil – Code: Veronica hot glued to the ceiling of his hallway closet.
Platonic intimacy is watching the graceful curve of his body as he stretches in bed, fixating on the strip of skin where his shirt’s pulled up juuuust enough that you can sneeze on his exposed stomach and then run away while he’s distracted and bewildered by how super gross and unnecessary that was.
Platonic intimacy is sending him an e-mail that says, “The Harbinger of Boy Sauce is Upon You,” instead of just, like, texting him and letting him know you’re on your way to help him do his shots.
Platonic intimacy is calling him in the middle of the night and waking him up because you heard a weird noise outside that you’re about to investigate, and you need moral support and also someone to call an ambulance if you end up having to knife fight a racoon.
No, it’s platonic. If it’s romantic, you gotta’ have a rose between your teeth and one titty out.
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