Isenstar's Blog

196,931 notes

desirethepositive:

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!
I get naked.
FULL naked.
REAL naked.
I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.
No cookies. Blatant nudity.
That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…
And there it was.
This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.
Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.
“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”
Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”
As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.
This was, nearly, one of those.
If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.
My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.
I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:
“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”
And inquiries such as:
“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”
Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?
That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.
An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

caffeinatedredhead
you needed to read this I’m crying

desirethepositive:

fuckyeahthespianpeacock:

saltheria:

yeffyaboyuice:

mythchief:

So there I was, ready to take a shower. I mean, I was dirty, a little greasy, a shower was not such a horrible idea. People take showers, amiright? Of course!

I get naked.

FULL naked.

REAL naked.

I’m talking the exact opposite reason why you ever went to your grandmother’s house.

No cookies. Blatant nudity.

That’s how folks take showers these days, right? Well, I pull back the curtain…

And there it was.

This…thing…sitting on the little soap/shower/pube shelf. Not a care in the world, like it’s been there for years. “What the fuck is that?” I think to myself.

Now, what follows is the exact pattern of thought that took me from rational human being to Sloth in 3.4 seconds.

“Is that a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit? Holy fuck that’s a Red Lobster cheesy biscuit. OMG why would someone leave that unattended. Those things are so delicious. I’m gonna eat the fuck out of it. Man, I can’t wait to see whoever left it’s face when they come back to find that someone ate their cheesy biscuit’s fuck. Ohhh boy.”

Then my brain sent a message to my arm that said, “Reach for that cheesy biscuit, bitch. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!?”

As you must already know, we are all contractually bound to make a dickload of mistakes throughout our lifetime. Some of those mistakes are so big that they forever hinder our world and warrant entire chapters in our children’s history books. However, most mistakes have the dubious providence of merely haunting one’s soul and festering amidst the subconscious for always and eternity.

This was, nearly, one of those.

If my adjacency to failure could be measured, the only possible unit of measurement to appropriate it would be “baby condoms”. And no, I do not mean those horrendous papoose-like titty-cribs that the slovenly carriage their spawn around in in Wal-Mart, I mean condoms that a baby would wear.

My adjacency to failure was roughly 1 and a half Kiddie Trojans.

I’m not sure what stopped me, be it cosmic or supernatural, but it gave my brain just enough time to ask itself some rather important questions regarding this little tub treasure. Questions like:

“WHO, THE FUCK, WOULD LEAVE A CHEESY BISCUIT IN MY SHOWER?!”

And inquiries such as:

“AND WHY WERE YOU GOING TO EAT IT, MORON?!”

Seriously, was I so hungry that I would wantonly disobey all the integral conditioning and survival imprinting my parents bestowed upon me like the ever important, “Um, don’t eat that biscuit, you don’t know where it’s been or whose it is and also you found it in the shower.” in order to satisfy something so benign as a munchie?

That, I’m sorry to say, was pretty much my reality.

An early morning introspective psychological evaluation of a sad, hungry, naked man who almost ate a bar of soap.

OMG ITS BACK

This shit needs to be published.

This is going in the monologue section and I’m not even sorry.

caffeinatedredhead
you needed to read this I’m crying

(via i-am-mishafuckingcollins)

118,015 notes

thetrekkiehasthephonebox:

fandomcollector:

electrikmoonlight:

mildserendipity:

WTF I LIETERALLY THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT DOGS UNTIL NOW I AM 20 YEARS OLD

of course it was, why would he actually sing about real dogs and why they got out

No it isn’t. It’s actually talking about the men who predate upon women in clubs, calling them dogs, not ‘ugly women’. Just look at the lyrics:
And tell the fellas stop the name callin’Yepee ah yoThen them girls respond to the callI hear a woman shout outWho let the dogs outWoof, woof, woof, woof, woof
Or if that isn’t clear enough for you that it’s women quite clearly calling the men dogs then read this next bit:
Get back gruffy, mash scruffyGet back you flea infested mongrelNow I tell meh self dem man go get angryAh yepee ah yoTo hear them girls calling them canine
It’s saying that men who attack women for being ‘ugly’ or refuse to leave them alone are worse than stray mongrels! It plainly points out that women do not want or appreciate the attention and so taunt them with the verse of ‘who let the dogs out’ because they are both unable to control themselves and vile little creatures. Learn to do some fucking research.

Oh.

thetrekkiehasthephonebox:

fandomcollector:

electrikmoonlight:

mildserendipity:

WTF I LIETERALLY THOUGHT IT WAS ABOUT DOGS UNTIL NOW I AM 20 YEARS OLD

of course it was, why would he actually sing about real dogs and why they got out

No it isn’t. It’s actually talking about the men who predate upon women in clubs, calling them dogs, not ‘ugly women’. Just look at the lyrics:

And tell the fellas stop the name callin
Yepee ah yo
Then them girls respond to the call
I hear a woman shout out
Who let the dogs out
Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof

Or if that isn’t clear enough for you that it’s women quite clearly calling the men dogs then read this next bit:

Get back gruffy, mash scruffy
Get back you flea infested mongrel
Now I tell meh self dem man go get angry
Ah yepee ah yo
To hear them girls calling them canine

It’s saying that men who attack women for being ‘ugly’ or refuse to leave them alone are worse than stray mongrels! It plainly points out that women do not want or appreciate the attention and so taunt them with the verse of ‘who let the dogs out’ because they are both unable to control themselves and vile little creatures. Learn to do some fucking research.

Oh.

(Source: ruinedchildhood, via 221bree)