so far this year i've blazed for a grand total of four days
i have no idea when i'm going to get stoned again
:( :( :( :(
when covid-19 is over the whole board is immigrating to new zealand and we're all going to smoke mad weed there so
sorry labelle brazilian tour bus extravaganza was cancelled due to dictatorship :(
come to new zealand, it's the future there
That's absolutely fine, i've been looking for an excuse to get away from here.
Buzzard told me they have few immigration restrictions and they will be nice to us. I think we should all do it.
Here's all the info, RBG!
If we could please get your upper arm circumferences, that would be much appreciated. It can take up to weeks to design a unique tribal pattern and this is especially so in the case of an influx.
Keep Jacinda in President 2020
Do we, really?
I remember when Jacinda was a fresh candidate, campaigning in my electorate at twenty-eight.
She got towed around in a caravan, asking that people come up to her with questions and/or unkissed babies. I never would have guessed that she'd be taking the lead on dealing with our worst mass murder and a global pandemic crisis only about a decade later.
Sorry mates rich people only
so im chilling here sippin on some coffee when my dad goes "blah blah blah MICHAEL CAMPBELL blah blah"
my gooch immediately tensed and i was like say who?!? and they were like michael campbell. and im like which michael campbell? my michael campbell?!?
and they were like yup.
you sound surprised your parents were talking about a household name
anyway, Wendy's spicy avocado BLT chicken sandwich is a fucking glorious lunch item
“I can’t see ’em coming from my eye, so I had to make this poem cry.”
—Jimmy McMillan, an incarcerated poet in California’s prison system
You can chain the body, the face, the eyes,
the way hands move coarsely over cement
or deftly on tattooed skin with needle.
You can cage the withered membrane,
the withered dream,
the way razor wire, shouts, yells, and batons
can wither spirit.
But how can you imprison a poem?
How can a melody be locked up, locked down?
Yes, even caged birds sing,
even grass sprouts through asphalt,
even a flower blooms in a desert.
And the gardens of trauma we call the incarcerated
can also spring with the vitality of a deep thought,
an emotion buried beneath the facades
deep as rage, deep as grief,
the grief beneath all rages.
The blood of such poems, songs,
emotions, thoughts, dances,
is what flows in all art, stages, films, books.
The keys to liberation are in the heart,
in the mind, behind the cranial sky.
The imagination is boundless,
the inexhaustible in any imprisoned system.
And remember—we are all in some kind of prison.
If only the contrived freedoms
society professes can flow from such water!
The path to peace is art,
arrows puncturing the phantoms
that haunt ghettos, barrios, trailer parks,
reservations, migrant camps,
forcing poverty of things into
poverty of spirit.
Drugs, belief-systems, illusions
of a world magnitude,
are not as powerful or lasting
as the solidity of dreams.
So, when you can’t see a tear
drop from an eye,
let a poem cry,
the paper bleed,
an image or chant exorcise
the demons of despair.
The lifeline is inside each of us.
I've never seen terror like my daughter's when I emerged from the bathroom with a clay mask on. Poor thing.:rofl:
I actually kinda hate baths.
I don't understand how they are meant to be relaxing. How does anyone feel relaxed contorting themselves into a tub like that? Is any bathtub actually made to fit a standard-sozed human? I'm not even tall, I'm a fucking manlet.
And they are only nice and hot for a few brief moments. After that, the temperature drops to "not being hot enough to feel nice, but not being cool enough to not feel all sweaty and uncomfortable."
I also like the idea of the dirt and dead skin cells I'm cleansing myself of going directly down the drain, instead of just floating around me and becoming part of the broth I'm stewing in.
TL;dr: I'm team showers
I agree. Showers are golden. Golden showers for everyone!
hey guys I fixed my drain so guess what that means!
Golden showers for everyone?
ima shower in the shit ayyyyyyyyyy
so, you guys like poetry?
there once was a peculiar fellow
whose name was more red than yellow
his drain he did scour
to shit in the shower
whenever his bowels felt like jello
when i'm in the shower
the pee streams down my legs
in twin brooks of gold
to mingle with poop
nestled in my toes
In the stall, trickling down the wall
I lift a leg, and void it all
I try to sit, try to shit
But my log succumbs to this clog
two cups of joe
make me go
a muddy morning flow
Your father's arse I'm spanking
Slap it hard, make it red
His insides feel like a loaf of bread
I essentially never take a bath, unless I'm sick. My bathroom doesn't have a tub, only the main bathroom (in the hallway fsr) does. I also basically never get to shower alone, so the entire experience is definitely not relaxing for me. I still love it though, because I'm obsessed with shampoo fragrances. So nice.
in a typical bathtub i can only fill it enough to fit just my legs & butt in. toes usually stick out of the water. upper body has no hope of being submerged.
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