Who Needs Love When There's Southern Comfort?

jennstarkid:

if-dementors-were-pink:

can we just take a moment to imagine little cute six-year-old hermione reading matilda

and peering into this book about a smart, bookish girl who could move things with her mind

and then can you imagine her concentrating very hard on the books on the bookshelf and slowly, slowly, getting them to move

OH MY GOD

agameofsextips:

During sex sacrifice your partner to The Drowned God because they’re drowning in the pussy 

thatbadadvice:

Dear Prudence, 16 May 2013:

Dear Prudence,
I am the middle of three boys and we are all in our 20s. Our parents separated shortly after my younger brother was born and eventually they went through a bitter divorce. Recently, my father, brothers, and I went to a camping-style family wedding together. The facilities were spartan and we all ended up in a communal shower. I’m sure this was the first time all four of us were naked together, and it was certainly the first time I’d seen my younger brother naked since he was little. In the shower, there was a definite “one of these things is not like the other” moment. While my older brother, dad, and myself have fairly similar, if modest, endowments, my younger brother’s male parts were noticeably different (and “better”) than ours in almost every way possible: size, shape, even complexion (!). It was like seeing a great white whale breaching alongside dolphins. None of us look strikingly like our parents, but we are clearly brothers, except for this newly discovered alien appendage on my younger brother. At the reception, my older brother brought this up to me immediately, and we worked out the theory that mom had an affair that gave rise to my baby brother, and his decidedly different genitalia, and the divorce. I don’t think full brothers could have such variation, and the fact that my younger brother’s package is a definite upgrade plays into the theory that maybe mom was shopping around for a better deal. We’d really like to get to the bottom of this, but we’re not sure how to broach this already difficult topic with either parent when our only evidence consists of this sensitive observation.

—No Ahab

Dear No Ahab,

Your younger brother’s giant, beautiful penis, which you had no choice but to stare at and later discuss at length (YSWIDT?) with your sibling over chicken marsala at the celebration of a couple’s lifelong partnership, is nigh irrefutable proof that your mom cheated on your father, because let’s be real, what woman wouldn’t love a big, pink schlong more than she values marriage?

The most important thing you can do in your life right now is try to solve the mystery of where your brother got his prodigious and sublime dick. Imagine how well you’ll sleep knowing that your brother’s magnificent, tremendous member is the result of infidelity, and not a random happenstance of genetics. 

Parents long to be asked about the circumstances of bitter divorces, all the more so when it involves ascertaining the size and shape of genitalia. The happiest families are those which are unafraid to talk about the hard stuff. Like, for example, your brother’s dick, which is so gorgeous.

Don’t try to get to the bottom of this situation. Get to the tip of it.

literaryreference:

You know how it is, right, ladies? You know a guy for a while. You hang out with him. You do fun things with him—play video games, watch movies, go hiking, go to concerts. You invite him to your parties. You listen to his problems. You do all this because you think he wants to be your friend.

But then, then comes the fateful moment where you find out that all this time, he’s only seen you as a potential girlfriend. And then if you turn him down, he may never speak to you again. This has happened to me time after time: I hit it off with a guy, and, for all that I’ve been burned in the past, I start to think that this one might actually care about me as a person. And then he asks me on a date.

I tell him how much I enjoy his company, how much I value his friendship. I tell him that I really want to be his friend and to continue hanging out with him and talking about our favorite books or exploring new restaurants or making fun of avant-garde theatre productions. But he rejects me. He doesn’t answer my calls or e-mails; if we’d been making plans to do something before this fateful incident, these plans mysteriously fail to materialize. (This is why I never did get around to seeing the Hunger Games movie. Not to name any names, but thanks a lot, Tom.) Later, when I run into him at social events, our conversations are awkward and lukewarm. This is because the moment we met, he put me in the girlfriend-zone, and now he can’t see me as friend material.

I must say that I find this really unfair. I mean, I’m a nice girl. I have a lot to offer as a friend, like not being a douchebag and stuff. But males just don’t want to be friends with nice girls like me. They can’t help it, I guess; it’s just how they’re wired, biologically. Evolution conditioned our male hominid ancestors to seek nice girls as mates and form friendship bonds only with the other dudes that they hunted mammoths with. It’s true—I know this because I studied hominids in my fifth-grade science class.

So what’s the answer? Should I take up mammoth-hunting in an attempt to appeal to the friendship centers of men’s primal lizardbrains? Should I keep making guy “friends” and then prevent them from making a move on me by subtly undermining their self-confidence? Should I just give up on those manipulative, game-playing, two-faced bastards once and for all? I don’t know. I mean, I’d really like to have a true friendship with a guy someday, but it’s so hard to trust and respect them when they never say what they mean—and you never know when you might be relegated to the girlfriend-zone.