Hand jobs and blow jobs are called jobs because they’re tedious and dicks are gross. Going down on a girl is called eating out because it’s a privilege.
Haha
Dicks aren’t gross, and while I get your intention of “Yay, eating pussy is great!”, this is not the way to go.
And before someone gives me the “learn to take a joke” line: This is not a good joke. The attitude that dicks are gross is pretty strongly prevalent, especially in puritan, sex-phobic ‘Murica. It’s probably one of the reasons that genital mutilation (aka circumcision) is still such a big thing even outside of communities that promote it for religious reasons. And I refuse “taking a joke” that calls part of my body gross, as well as that of every other cis-man and many trans folks. So cute that shit out.
@poetofsmut
You have a fucking porn blog about beating women and dick worship. Fucking degenerate.
i used to think that a foot of parchment was a lot and feel bad when harry potter characters were assigned to write that much
but then i realized the paper i write on is 8.5 by 11 inches.
so a foot of parchment is the equivalent of like, a page and a half of paper.
they complained SO MUCH about essays that were like
a page and a half
wtf guys
get your shit together
No wonder Hermione always got onto the boys for not doing their homework.
it’s honestly not even a foot and a half it’s just one sheet of paper. a foot is 12 inches. like dang if i had to only write one page long essays in school about cool magic shit then i would have been ecstatic.
also 12pt times new roman— the standard assigned size and font for a lot of essay assignments— produces significantlysmaller text than a muggleborn teenageer with a pen and ink quill would be able to manage on the regular, no matter how dedicated she was. ron and harry are frequently noted to be using large handwriting on unlined paper. their homework would have been about three short paragraphs if they were feeling studious.
no wonder hermione was so fucking exasperated! muggle students their age would have strangled them.
Did I ever mention the time that I found out my lecturer was the ghost in one of my classmate’s home town?
Righto. So a couple years ago I took a Myths and Legends class for uni. The lecturer was this really incredible guy. Loved history. Dressed, everyday, to the nines. Top hat, waistcoat, leather shoes etc. In one of the introductory classes he had us share stories we had heard, local myths and legends from the towns we grew up in. I was studying in Ballarat, an Australian town with a rich ghost history and so it made sense that a lot of people had answers. This one girl, however, grew up in a small rural town a couple hours away and talked about the ghost she knew of from when she was in high school. Every night, at the same time of night (about 3am), people recounted seeing a Victorian man walk across the golf field. This one was particularly interesting because she had seen herself. That is, where other people had just heard these stories, she knew that what had been talked about was real.
This was when he turned red. It had turned out that when he was studying for his undergrad he was living in this particular town. Not many people knew him because he didn’t grow up there. He would spend countless nights up late working and so to wind would go on long late night walks. At 3am, every night. In the full garb he wore everyday.
It had turned out that him being the stand out that he was, had birthed a legend. He had known about it but never did he think it would catch up with him.
Calling people TERFs is a really successful silencing tactic because if you called them out more specifically, like, “OP has sexual boundaries involving penises” or “OP believes in biological sex” then most reasonable people wouldn’t care! Or at very least they probably wouldn’t think they were irredeemably bad and no-platform them. But everyone knows TERFs are supposed to be evil so if you instead say “OP is a TERF?” Then you can get the results you want.
trans activists every day: race is not at all like gender, transracial is not comparable to transgender, stop comparing race and gender
trans activists, also every day, somehow: not dating trans people is like not dating black people, not allowing trans people in bathrooms of the opposite sex is like race-segregated water fountains, saying trans women are not women is like saying black women are not women, calling a trans woman he is like calling a black person the n-word
“Let me stop you right there. No, it doesn’t have any special powers. It’s not particularly smarter than a regular horse, I can’t communicate with it telepathically, and I can’t summon it out of thin air. It’s just a horse.”
“… I guess I don’t see what makes that a super power, then. How is having a regular horse a super power?“
“Look behind you.“
“Why, whaholyshitit’sahorse.”
“See?”
“When did it get here? How did it get here?”
“Haven’t a clue. She just tends to show up whenever I need a horse.”
I think this could probably be considered summoning it out of thin air, though.
Not at all. As far as anyone can prove, the horse always gets there on its own, by perfectly mundane – albeit frequently unlikely – means. Granted, that doesn’t rule out the possibility that the horse was indeed conjured, and the evidence of its arrival fabricated, but, well, when your competing explanations are “she’s a godlike reality bender who uses her powers exclusively to retroactively insert one particular horse into incongruous situations” and “she has a horse with freakishly good timing”, most people opt for the second one!
Y’all think being in a goth relationship means wearing white makeup together but Mary Shelley lost her virginity on her mother’s grave so maybe step it up.
Mary Shelley carried her husband’s heart around and lived in a crypt after he died. No one will ever be as goth as Mary Shelley.
The passenger steamer SS Warrimoo was quietly knifing its way through
the waters of the mid-Pacific on its way from Vancouver to Australia.
The navigator had just finished working out a star fix and brought
Captain John DS. Phillips, the result. The Warrimoo’s position was LAT
0º 31’ N and LONG 179 30’ W. The date was 31 December 1899.
“Know what this means?” First Mate Payton broke in, “We’re only a few
miles from the intersection of the Equator and the International Date
Line”. Captain Phillips was prankish enough to take full advantage of
the opportunity for achieving the navigational freak of a lifetime.
He called his navigators to the bridge to check & double check the
ship’s position. He changed course slightly so as to bear directly on
his mark. Then he adjusted the engine speed.
The calm weather & clear night worked in his favor. At mid-night the
SS Warrimoo lay on the Equator at exactly the point where it crossed
the International Date Line! The consequences of this bizarre position
were many:
The forward part (bow) of the ship was in the Southern Hemisphere &
in the middle of summer.
The rear (stern) was in the Northern Hemisphere & in the middle of
winter.
The date in the aft part of the ship was 31 December 1899.
In the bow (forward) part it was 1 January 1900.
—
This ship was therefore not only in:
Two different days,
Two different months,
Two different years,
Two different seasons
But in two different centuries – all at the same time!
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