and bids for attention returned positively at least 70% of the t

the principal aim of lying is to accomplish your goal in as few lies as possible, and with the least amount of effort necessary to keep those lies going. It follows naturally that the world’s greatest liar speaks only the truth.

It all fits together. "All coppers are bell-ends", says the graffito in the alley, and, sure enough, the copper is a little boober on legs. A dick wielding a dick - and it's not the biggest dick that runs things, either, in this town. The cop's little chode is overshadowed by Roger's massive bell-end, his tragedy in life. Killed his own mother with that thing! A regular carrot-slinging Oedipus. Leave it to pan-headed Big Ron to set him straight (It's not the length that counts, poor Rog, but the girth.)

What, given all this, are we meant to make of the farmer's two hats?? There is a bit of a fruity lilt to his voice - In facilitating the transaction between Bessie the cow and the milk-shy lad, are we meant to infer that he swings both ways?

This shit got me feeling like Malo

look at me. listen. you need to take that six foot something transfem and you need to lay her on your chest and stroke her hair gently and rub her back and hold her tight like a beloved stuffed animal. do you understand me. you need to hold the tall girls in your life like you would anyone else. LISTEN to me

Look, I'm sorry but

"THANK GOODNESS YOU'RE HERE" IS A RITE OF SPRING

You could also call it a Wicker Man, if that helps anything.

I think the game is a serious work of art, and that it's asking a serious question, which is why The Marrow Song? Why is this culture that's supposed to be so protestant and repressed so reliably turgid in the realm of agricultural double-entendre? I drove my tractor through your hedgerow last night; ooh-ar, as they say, ooh-ar. Is it simply that country girls make do? Or is there something deeper afoot?

TGYH dares to push this question into the realm of sexterror. Clive Barker is approaching you menacingly with a suggestive carrot in his overalls. Don't tell him you're milk shy; in due course, you'll be milk shy no more.

Barnsworth is Barnsley, sure, but it's also Summerisle. The church has been left for the rats, living their simulacrum of buttoned-up keep calm and carry on Britain in the asbestos-festooned crawl space above your local Price Shaggers. In the streets there's no law but that of the Big Truncheon. Everything's bursting out all over - endless fertility, ripened to the point of rot, a riot of flies and bugs and beasts and rampantly virile weeds. We find our ecclesiastic homilies not in scripture but in the soil and its produce. Guilt is in the meat, shame in the vegetables, agony and ecstasy in the normal milk. Baptism in the soup, for crying out loud! This is a town in the grip of Misrule, and Misrule needs its Lord, which is where you come in.

There are two ways for this to end. You may end up another Bobby Odd-Jobs, with his sad memorial in the city park. Or you may end up the Mayor. If you wait for him, you'll find he's your very spit and image. It all depends on whether you're willing to work.

It's better if you stay with us. What is there to be had outside of milk and meat and butter, big pies and tiny pies? You're not going vegan, are you? I'd rather shit bed. This dance goes on forever, dawn and dusk, every season in its turn, and this is the season where we bang, bang, bang. You have to bash on every beat. Chop the tatties, grind the meat.

The only misgiving one might have as one makes one's way through town is that - yes, it's been like this forever, even Christianity a blink in the eye of the green man, but isn't everything getting... y'know... a bit shit? Why aren't the bins getting emptied? Seems like there's more litter the more you pick up. Bottles of white shite everywhere. Cracks in the walls. I'm pretty sure that hallway with "ludonarrative pissonance" written on it has sick building syndrome. And where does all that chip oil drain to?

Best not to think about it. We riot in the muck. Your Florence is working three jobs and she's nearly got her BTEC, and she and Colin are nearly human between them. I'm sure everything will be all right. Get stuck in, lad, there's bashing needs done.

so much of s2 severance was like. Okayyyyy STOP thinking about "severance" as a chilling metaphor for alienation at work. START thinking about it as a handwaved unobtanium style black box process of this world we will be treating at mechanical face value

ice cream sandwish

it was moderately difficult but i did jerk off to this

nataliecôtédefer

sandwish glacé

mageaccroàlalune

pas-doué-avec-les-émotions-malheureusement

œstrogenèse-évoliangélique

c'était modérément difficile mais je me suis branlée sur ça

I like how they translated the post into french, but then added an English image description. but only for one of the images. fascinating set of linguistic decisions

The double flan emojis make the identity theft scam just a little more enticing.

if i dated a girl i really liked and it didnt work i would simply try again later under better circumstances

together 6 years today btw

chikorita's my friend. my funny animal. my houseplant with little nails that click on the kitchen tiles.

I really really liked “can you be nice to me” so I carved em into a stamp

you've given chikorita a new emotional intensity that i adore. this is amazing, thank you for sharing lol

when i type in "tumblr" in my search bar it doesnt autocorrect to tumblr.com. it autocorrects to tumblr.com/nightpool. this is because i am always curating my personal brand, as all online influencers should be

friendship 🩷

rebellion really did say gay love between girls was the center of everything and the point of it all. and also all that other stuff about love too but let's not focus on that bit

honestly I think Rebellion was a much more foundational text to the Zizians than worm. And yet nobody's talking about that