bidoofbaby reblogged

depsidase

bidoofbaby reblogged

iamoutofideas

memorycycle

they are adding a new shape to tetris called big mama and its just a solid rectangle the size of the entire screen

bidoofbaby reblogged

bidoofbaby reblogged

are you in a good headspace to receive my triple barrage hell nightmare skeleton attack right now.

adrenoceptor

its ok if nows not a good time

bidoofbaby reblogged

iamoutofideas

bewbin

just saw some loser who had their car wipers on too fast when it was only light rain. Me and the fellow drivers pointed and laughed at him

bidoofbaby reblogged

bidoofbaby reblogged

so real i always think abt this

bidoofbaby reblogged

breakingdawnpt2

mulderscully

WHEN HARRY MET SALLY (1989) dir. Rob Reiner

bidoofbaby reblogged

breakingdawnpt2

rthko

The straight woman is unsatisfied with straight studio porn. She wants to get off to something in which the actors actually emote and show passion beyond canned moans from the women and, at best, vacant grunts from the men. She turns to gay porn. She knows it's not "for her," but neither was the straight porn, and at least the actors look like they're enjoying themselves. And for a short while she is satiated by Sean Cody et al, but she runs into the same problems she had to begin with. She was not looking at sex but a simulacrum of sex, trapped in Plato's cave. Unsatisfied, she turned to vintage gay porn, harkening to a time when most gay bars still had darkrooms and reliably smelled of piss and Amyl Nitrite. Here was the real thing, in all its animalistic passion. But she still couldn't immerse herself in the fantasy. She wanted the media to engage with her own imagination and meet her half-way, rather than having it spoonfed to her onscreen. She turned to yaoi, with its elongated figures reminiscent of mannerist portraiture, then bara, including hardcore BDSM scenes. But the tactile sensations depicted in the pages didn't do justice to their real life counterparts. She turned deeper into her own imagination, this time reading erotica. No, not the poolside paperbacks sold at Barnes and Noble. The good shit. Why then, was she still not satisfied? She dug deeper, searching for the true meaning of eroticism. She studied the psychoanalysis of Freud, the cultural criticism of Susan Sontag, the feminist poetry of Audre Lorde. She took vacation time and flew to Europe, starting at the caves of Lascaux to explore the human urge to create, then traversed the Camino de Santiago on foot, along the way meeting a 56 year old carpenter from Burgos named Andrés, with whom she had an explosive affair. They both knew it couldn't last, which made them cherish each other's touch all the more. Upon flying home, she gave up. If her search for true eroticism never bore fruit this whole time, why would it now? It would take years before she stumbled upon the answer by pure happenstance: dubstep.