HijabiRockstar
HijabiRockstar
HijabiRockstar

I’m not one of those people who get all upset about celebrity deaths. I didn’t even spend much time listening to David Bowie. But here I am, at 4 in the morning, crying like a moron.

If it makes you feel any better, I think this is more a black social justice thing than a Millennial thing.

Although I believe that within the distinct grammatical rules of the vernacular, “woke” is correct.

I’m pretty short m’self, but I think the key is to keep it proportional - make sure the waist is shaped, and the hem ends where it should.

Rock it, sister! I give you my blessing. *waves Muslim fashion wand*

Mumbling is a long standing, venerable BBC tradition, if those moody murder mysteries are anything to go by.

It’s written “fu” in romanization, but the pronunciation is somewhere between “fu” and “hu.”

From the article:

This is off topic, but I have the same pet peeve with farming. Farming is difficult as fuck, but I keep reading about 30-something hedge fund managers who “walked away from Wall St.” to start an artisan organic permaculture homeopathic lint farm.

I work in a farmer’s market in a barn by a highway, and people think we grow all the produce “out back.” And that it’s all organic, even though it’s all really cheap, and the organic stuff is twice as expensive and clearly labeled.

Your mom an I would get on well.

I saw the picture and I was like, “Wow... Tim Roth looks a lot different than I remembered.”

I am apparently the only person on this thread who would wolf down one of those 1lb Hershey’s bars.

I’m shocked. SHOCKED, I say.

Guys... what if “Lou Bostonian” IS Wells!??

He’s also like Carlo Rota in the sense that GRRRRROOOOWWW. *attempts suave wink*

False. Hannity pretends he’s having sex WITH Jesus.

“130 pound female,” he says. Bro, I’m 160 pounds at a measly 5’5”, and I am neither buff nor obese. If I started training for the army I bet I’d be a good 200 pounds at least.

“Can anyone really be president, daddy?”

Erik Erikson’s father dashes a plate of tikka masala to the ground, growling through gritted teeth, “Not today, son.”