i have a suggestion for a new usta rule:”all players with washboard abs must change shirts during changeovers” #napavalleychallenger #ustaprocircuit #yummyeyecandy #andohyeahgoodtennis

i have a suggestion for a new usta rule:”all players with washboard abs must change shirts during changeovers” #napavalleychallenger #ustaprocircuit #yummyeyecandy #andohyeahgoodtennis

omg that last one

(Source: lolgifs.net, via mymutantsuperpowerisnotverysuper)

kingcheddarxvii:

If someone says “I love u” and you say “I love u 2” back, make sure you add “no Bono” so they know you mean that you love them too, not just the legendary Irish rock band U2

(via col-pr0lly)

undefinedarchetype:

best six second exchange i have ever seen in my life

(Source: lildicktornado, via tittybangbang)

typette:

laurenmaccoll86:

mrsimon:

Brooks’ initial reaction to the animation [Top] was “This is shit.” Afterwards the room almost cleared.

Brooks may be a good writer, but he knows fuck all about good animation.

That and Fox keeps on milking the withered, dried up, slowly and painfully dying cash cow.

haha, oh, remember the time when the movie was announced and for a blissful moment we all thought they’d give it the budget it deserved and animate it up properly, and every single fan who has nostalgia for this show would’ve paid to go see it?

gangsterdoodles:

J Dilla - Donuts

gangsterdoodles:

J Dilla - Donuts

peperomint:

nail polish on fingernails: 2 days
nail polish on toenails: 200 years. ur ghost will have glittery toes. ur descendants will come out of the womb w/ revlon 791 midnight affair perfectly applied. infinite

(via de-bra)

"He is wearing a North Face fleece and sunglasses made of neon-orange plastic. He will come, he will see, he will conquer. He will vomit out the window of a taxi. He is the American Bro. He is on the phone with someone named Ryan or Tyler or Kyle. He is grinning as he walks along club lines he thinks he can cut. His shirt has come untucked, it never fit in the first place; he is thinking about Rachael, and cumming in Rachael’s mouth, and then ignoring Rachael for the rest of her life. But he is also thinking about where the fuck can I get something to eat? No one goes as hard as he does; no one has killed it like he has. He never gets hangovers or takes no for an answer or fucks the ugly friend. He crushes that next-level pussy, bruh bruh, only the finest. He is pinstripes and full Windsor knots, smashing bottles and spiking footballs, things that are irrepressible, things that smack you in the face. He goes all-in; he gets shredded and ripped and defines his life by aggression and competitions. He buys the hamburger that comes with two other hamburgers and a chicken cutlet on top of it. Why? Because it’s three hamburgers with a chicken cutlet on top of it. There is no stress in his life, no obstacles, nothing impeding this path to pussy and alcohol and beige, deep-fried carbohydrates. All toughness is an affectation, manufacturing INTIMIDATION and REALNESS with tribal tattoos, distressed jeans, Timberland boots, dog tags, pit stains. He is in San Juan or Key West or Señor Frog’s or some cookie-cutter debauchery enclave. He needs another country to sustain his biological need to be awful. He is going HAM on jet skis, trips to Cancun, theme parties in off-campus apartments, tailgating, quoting Will Ferrell movies, drinking shitty light beers that he can disparage for being shitty, though he feels proud because he drank them anyway. He is at the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, at Santacon, at happy hour on Cinco de Mayo, in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. He owns more hoodies than there are torsos throughout the entire planet. His Facebook cover photo is a picture of an automobile. Not one he owns, necessarily, just an automobile—a thing that drives, a thing that is bright and loud, a vroom-vroom box with engine make noise go fast. He is never calling her back, he is texting his friends that he never called her back, he is moments of solitude when he wishes desperately that he had called her back, and then he is doing 75 pushups because NO REGRETS. He uploads thousands of pictures: no one tagged, no captions, just there, documenting his need to be ON at all times. He is doing vulgar things to statues, pretending to fuck them in the ass, pretending to make them suck his dick. Putting them in a headlock. He needs to make you gasp. He needs to be thrown out of somewhere. To be banned. This is his dream. This is his life. He is the worst person alive, and he has no idea."

Excerpts from “This American Bro: A Portrait of the Worst Guy Ever” (via subwaytoken)

(via de-bra)

deceptinyan:

dazko:

daemontool:

image

image

image

(Source: oxbowb, via tittybangbang)

wsjhouseoftheday:

Atriums and Sunrooms

x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x/x

Read More

(via typette)

chirobe:

Peach-faced Lovebird and Galah

chirobe:

Peach-faced Lovebird and Galah

(Source: terriblycute.com, via mizoguchi)

sun-of-morrow:

Artwork for Metal Gear Solid 2 by Yoji Shinkawa. I was looking through his art until I found Penguin Snake. I love Yoji.

(via icecreamstories)

The song recounts a specific sexual assault (“One of the most shattering experiences of my life,” Grimes, who was born in Vancouver as Claire Boucher, told SPIN in 2012) by describing the psychic fallout: “And never walk about after dark/ It’s my point of view/ Because someone could break your neck/ Coming up behind you always coming and you’d never have a clue,” she lisps in her high, pinched voice. It’s a dazzling, paralyzing performance, in part because Boucher sounds almost playful, and in part because the skronking behind her—the song’s springy, propulsive synth line was one of 2012’s most unforgettable—indicates something other than victimization. “See you on a dark night,” Boucher repeats. […] But what “Oblivion” ultimately offers is victory. It’s the sound of one woman turning personal devastation into not just a career-making single, but a lasting anthem of transformation.

Grimes’ Oblivion is the best song of the decade - so far.

(Source: ozhin, via de-bra)