QUALITY CONTENT

I'M TYPING IN ALL CAPS BECAUSE I AM SO TIRED AND I'M HIGH ON EASTER EGGS, SO ENJOY MY 12-YEAR-OLD BOY SEX CONTENT (IN A NON-PEDOPHILIA WAY) THAT'LL MOST CERTAINLY DWINDLE ANY SEMBLANCE OF RESPECT YOU HAD LEFT FOR ME.

ESSENTIALLY...

I OPENED UP THIS FREE THESIS STATEMENT GENERATOR AND TYPED IN A BUNCH OF RANDOM SHIT, SO HERE THEY ARE.


Words: poop, chill, fuck you, yes.

Even though poop, chill because fuck you and yes.

Words: gay, 12-year-old, hipster, butthole, turd.

Since hipster and butthole, 12-year-old.

Words: chlamydia, boob, noob, noot, pengu

Since noob and noot, boob.

and

Whereas pengu, boob given that noob.

I DON'T KNOW IF IT'S JUST BECAUSE I'M A 12-YEAR-OLD BOY OR IT'S PAST MY SANITY-DETERMINED BEDTIME, BUT I FOUND THESE EXTREMELY FUNNY.

Love to bits and back,

         Everything and Anything.

P.S. I'm sorry if you're a 12-year-old; not if I've offended you, just... for having to be a 12-year-old boy... It's a hard time~

Parties Ages Past

I know, I am the gayest gay to have ever gayed, but if you don't like that then you are clearly in the wrong blog.

Sex xeS

The budding question of howwhywhen resonate and denote my brain as I stare at this person. It's a confusing fucking process.

So, to make it easier on you little sluts, I've compiled a list of how to know when sex will be fun and not a traumatic experience you'll have to dull just to get yourself out of bed every morning.

           1. They don't make you feel like shit. (Pretty simply, but some people still don't get this??)
           2. They aren't a friend's ex (I'm a hypocrite... Don't base your sex life off me. You'll end up with an icepack on your hoohah and PTSD)
           3. You are physically AND mentally attracted to them (It won't be fun if they're only hot)
           4. Sex is fun, sure, but only when the person doesn't suck balls (I mean... well, you know what I mean...)
           5. You feel comfortable around them, physically.
           6. You feel comfortable around them, humorously.
           7. You feel comfortable around them.
           8. If you're someone who has had sex before and isn't sure if this other person is right for you, make sure to sort your brain out first. Just because you're not a 'virgin' (dumbass concept by the by) doesn't mean new times can't scare you.
           9. Your best friend approves. (Seriously, don't roll your eyes, do not have sex with them if your friend thinks they are a shitty person, because they are right about your partners 99.99% of the time.)
           10. Do not have sex with them if you feel like they are the kind of person who will act differently after. (If it's just a one time thing, but you want to remain friends with that person, make sure they're the kind of person who wouldn't ruin your friendship over your naked body)

And, in addition, always be prepared. And I'm not just talking about protection, shave your... well everything you want to shave and for the love of God, have a mint.

Love to bits and back,
              Everything and Anything

P.S. Make love not war, you bunch o' whores.

She Said, He Said

Growing up I never really had many friends, even though I thought I was popular (yeah, let me know if you figure out how that works) and I spent a lot of time in the library, reading away the lunchtime with some Andy Griffith.

It wasn't until I was older that I realised most kids were actually, you know, outside during lunch and it was then I realised that maybe I wasn't normal...?

In grade 8, however, normality had become such a significant paramount, I decided that diversity and nonconformity were unacceptable forms of identity. Normality had become my norm.

This harrowing streak of normalness was brought to an abrupt halt in grade ten, however, once I realised everyone hated me and I hated everyone and I had morphed into one of those grunge punk kids that looks back on their grunge punk selves and cringes in regret about the horrible screamo music.

Once again I found myself in the school library, this time reading away the lunchtime with some John Green and Michael Buckley.

Now, this is when rumours started spreading.

When I broke up with my boyfriend and fell asleep for a day a rumour spread that I had runaway like an attention seeking arse wipe. When I hugged I boy I knew from forever ago I was called a slut (?) and when I stood up to the teachers in the last week of school a rumour spread that I had been expelled or suspended. The truth of the matter is none of this happened and people talk no matter what.

Growing up I still don't have many friends, but at least the ones I have now aren't backstabbing, rumour-spreading, gossiping, two-faced teenage girls.

I feel as though mean girls will always gravitate towards the anti-drama supporters, no matter how old we get, because mean girls don't mature, they just get older.

Love to bits and back,
              Everything and Anything

P.S. I am wreck.

The Anxious Adventures of my Bedroom

Endeavours in Japanese Literature

She sits on her bed

Eyes closed, meditating on

The mediation

Normality of

This life in suburbia; 

The existential

Japan, paper cranes 

Hang whimsically from the

Highest mountain peak

Looking down on Earth

From the bridge above water 

Drowning, broken skulls

Never ending tales

Of the life beyond our own

Take hold of our minds

My stained-glass window

Mirrored reflections of my

Inner dress and tie

Purple lightening 

Streaking the hair of young girls

Individuals

All gender humans

Help us, breathing, drowning, help

We are, we are lost

Love to bits and back,

         Everything and Anything

P.S. I am a cultural pleb. 

A Stranger's Inn - an original poem

People and fashion swirling on pages

Covered in plastic and photo shopped faces.

Streaks of blue lightning dementing school hair,

But only on girls with flower crown cares.

Shadow tinted nails and Trojan beauty

Mask pretty girls, who judgementally

Discuss his mind and his body at war.

Identity senses locking all doors

Keep him common and his family 

Sane, for plastic makes storm 

Clouds see through the rain.

His hands a blur of tucked away crisis

Keep phobias on point to stare down devices.

These broken Amen’s that got lost in torn pages

Stare at his waist being chained to ribcages. These 

Skyscraper blisters on feet not his belong to a stranger in 

One stranger’s inn. But white noise and static have warned us 

About needleless points and men in nightgowns. And although 

These broadcasts resonate weird, he stands in high heels that the 

Devil has feared. Then every morning when streaks meet his eyes

He smiles at puddles in padded disguise.

Love to bits and back,

           Everything and Anything.

P.S. tm nerds, please.