theraginazian:

desmond-the-creppy-bear:

srsfunny:

Soft rocks…http://srsfunny.tumblr.com/

can you imagine though
you send your enemies a rather large amount of these in various sizes. you leave no return address or explanation. they open all the boxes to discover these wondrous pillows. they are reluctant to keep them but eventually they give in and integrate them into their home like the above pictures. after a few weeks or even months, theyve gotten accustomed to having them in their home and routinely relax in a large pile of the odd pillows. until one night you just take every single one back and replace them with actual rocks of the same dimensions so that when its time for them to relax and unwind from their day day fall into a pile of hard unmoving boulders. they break their spine and are paralyzed. you have won

What the fuck is wrong with you…

theraginazian:

desmond-the-creppy-bear:

srsfunny:

Soft rocks…
http://srsfunny.tumblr.com/

can you imagine though

you send your enemies a rather large amount of these in various sizes. you leave no return address or explanation. they open all the boxes to discover these wondrous pillows. they are reluctant to keep them but eventually they give in and integrate them into their home like the above pictures. after a few weeks or even months, theyve gotten accustomed to having them in their home and routinely relax in a large pile of the odd pillows. until one night you just take every single one back and replace them with actual rocks of the same dimensions so that when its time for them to relax and unwind from their day day fall into a pile of hard unmoving boulders. they break their spine and are paralyzed. you have won

What the fuck is wrong with you…

(via barraco--barner)

"

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the sound I heard when I was 9 and my father slammed the front door so hard behind him I swear to god it shook the whole house. For the next 3 years I watched my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think part of her died. I think he took her heart with him when he walked out. Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess or cracked ribs and depression pills.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s all the blood in the sink. It’s the night that I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was going to be okay, after the boy she loved, told her he didn’t love her anymore. It’s the crying, and the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood. So much blood.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the time that I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex. I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained onto her cheeks. I think when you love someone, it never really goes away.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s the six weeks we had a substitute in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn’t handle getting out of bed. When she came back was smiling. But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, you could see that something was broken inside. And sometimes when things break, you can’t fix them. Nothing ever goes back to how it was. I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read any essays.

It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s that I do.

"
- It’s not that I don’t love you.  (via extrasad)

(via thetherapeuticchainofevents)