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barred
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ons
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proper
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cuteness
martini glass
martini glass 

    
                    

                

            
        
    

    
    
    






            

            
            

                

                    
                

                

                    
                    
                    

                        


	


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        Being Alone, Crying, and Dude: thejorie:

xilast-zurvifferman:

thejorie:

jackbecq:

thejorie:

19leahjade96:

thejorie:

madamekagamine:

thejorie:

gccgrimm:

thejorie:

gucciballs:

thejorie:

peble:

thejorie:

My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed.

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? 

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

        

            
            

                
                
                    Being Alone, Crying, and Dude: thejorie:

xilast-zurvifferman:

thejorie:

jackbecq:

thejorie:

19leahjade96:

thejorie:

madamekagamine:

thejorie:

gccgrimm:

thejorie:

gucciballs:

thejorie:

peble:

thejorie:

My three girlfriends.And yes, they smoke weed.

do they smoke weed?

Yes, actually.

you mean she isnt just smoking a cigarette? but a weed cigarette? 

It’s called a bunt…. Not weed cigarette… And yes, it is a weed bunt. They all smoke weed bunts before we kiss. (They are my girlfriends,)

They don’t look like they smoke weed.

Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.Fuck You.I’m so angry you are so lucky my three weed smorking girlfriends are rubbing my shoulders to calm me down I’m so mad.

Your “weed smoking girlfriend” has a Hello Kitty tattoo on her belly. The one in the middle.

I printed out a photo of your avatar and taped it to my punching bag that I punch and I mutter your URL with every strong punch I punch you twerp…. Don’t ever Talk about Blaiz or the wicked Tat(tattoo) I drew on her ever again I Don’t wanna see you standing outside my home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again ok leave us alone this is the FINAL FUCKING WARNING 

Well that escalated quickly……

What, was that? Hmm? Come again. *Blaiz grabs my shoulder* Come on Jory, they aren’t worth it, please. * I jerk my shoulder shaking her hand off* NO! NOOOOO!!! *starts to just pummel you with my big fucking fists. With each blow I let out a furious yell. The blows come quicker and harder and the yells get louder. I’m yelling so loud and now I’m crying. BREAKING POINT. The week was hard and I can’t take anymore. I’m opening sobbing at this point while you blood gurgle. All three of my girlfriends struggle to pull me off and they finally succeed and lead me away from the goo pile that is now your body*

haha oh my god

who even is this dude? someone needs some anger management classes.

love how he keeps reminding us that “I HAVE THREE GIRLFRIENDS”, “THEY ALL KISS ME”, and “THEY SMOKE WEED HURRP DURR”.

and let’s not forget the “Blaiz” and her “wicked tat”, or that he doesn’t “wanna see you standing outside [his] home at 3 am holding your weird dripping brown bags ever again”, and that this is “the FINAL FUCKING WARNING”.

“the goo pile that is now your body”

i’m dying over here, jesus

please, Jory, come challenge me to a bout of internet witticsisms; i promise, it’ll be fun.

*shoots you dead* Heh, idiot…*leaves with my three weed smorking girlfriends to go hold hands and kiss.*

this dude playin omg 

Come again? *The bar falls silent. No one dares to make a sound, as you have just said a very poor choice of words at a very dangerous time. I remain slumped over the bar, not looking back to you. One hand limply holding an almost empty bottle, the other hand cradling my head. I repeat the question, this time louder.* Come again?! *You can hear me slur the words, the sentence sounds like a real struggle for me to get out. I’m clearly intoxicated. A bead of sweat rolls down your face as you realize you might have just fucked up in a very major way. Everyone else in the bar is pretending to not notice what is going on. The bartender idly washes a mug with a cloth. His eyes are closed and he’s muttering something to himself. A handful of people hurriedly leave. One person looks back at you, a look of sorrow on their face. They almost say something, but shake their head and cast their eyes down to the floor, and leave. But not you. You stand, petrified. A quick look at me reveals I’m still  at the bar. You look to the exit, there’s still time. But there’s not, there’s not, there’s not. Your fate was sealed the moment you opened your mouth.* Mother fuck.. what did you say?! *I slowly rise from my stool and being to lumber over to you.  I look a mess. My hair is unkempt, I haven’t shaved in what looks like months, there are dark heavy bags under my eyes, my shirt is stained and has holes in it, and I’m missing a shoe. But the main thing you notice is the gun tucked into my jeans, and my massive muscle arms that look like they were made for punching. You know that song about the boots that were made for walking? Yeah, it’s like that only instead of boots it’s my muscles and instead of walking it’s punching. As I drunkenly sway over to you, you think of your family… Will they mourn you, or will they try and forget this blotch of stupidity, that their child insulted the Jory publicly, ever happened to their family? Your thoughts are cut short as I now stand face to face with you. I grab your face and pull you even closer.* Playin?! There was nothing playing… no playing you fuck. No playing… it was real.. the realest thing I’ve ever know.. felt… Love. I loved them… Blaiz…. Chas-Chas… Funk… I loved all three of em… but they…*My face is wet with tears and I’m blinking constantly in vain to hold them back.* They left me… left… *Almost instantly the sadness leaves my face and is replaced with pure anger.* Playin? Playin?! *My hand leaves your face and starts to head to what you think is the gun. You close your eyes and see God looking at you, shrugging. ‘Pft, you brought this upon yourself dude.’ He says as he waves his hands at you dismissively. But instead of the gun, my hands grab yours. Your eyes jolt open and the anger is gone from my face. There is only sadness.* Left me… * I fall to the floor and sob.*Wow, grow up. *You say before you leave the bar but are hit almost immediately from a car and are killed upon impact.*

                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
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        Clothes, Comfortable, and Crying: professorpineapple
 you're an art model does that mean you're
 NAKED?
 yeah
 whoa....those lucky artists:)"
 .buddy
 professorpineapple
 idk who started the idea that life drawing
 classes have anything sexy going on like
 there's at least ten people in the room and
 we're all tired and covered in charcoal
 the dude in front who's staring at my boobs
 has been trying to get the shading right for 10
 minutes. he's almost out of paint. he is crying
 askfordoodles
 burg
 branch-and-root
 The ice burg being frozen solid because there
 are NEVER ENOUGH SPACE HEATERS
 angryfishtrap
 I was an artist's model in uni since it paid
 better than any other student work position.
 Did a life drawing class one semester
 despite it being an unheated old building in
 the winter evenings, because the instructor
 was a decent fellow who always had extra
 space heaters. So there I am one evening,
 exhausted from my team's afternoon practice
 but I'm in a comfortable position on a padded
 stool, ready to hold the position for like
 fifteen minutes. Space heaters all around me
 spotlights on me to get shadows in interesting
 places.
 Beyond the red glow of the heaters and the
 hot-white of the spotlights, the massive
 drafty room is dark and quiet, broken only by
 the instructor's whispers and the scratch of
 charcoal on paper. Me, I'm just dozing, cause
 my ancient dorm was heated with creaky old
 steampipes that never really got warm, and
 with the new extra-powered space heater
 alongside the others, that night was the
 warmest l'd been in a month. I dozed, basking
 in the glorious warmth.
 And then I fell asleep.
 And then I fell off the stool.
 I woke up rather abruptly on the cold wooden
 platform, and looked up to see an entire ring
 of terrified and worried faces around me
 Everyone had their hands up, ready to help
 me up, except no one had touched me. Naked
 chick laid out face-down on the floor, and all
 the men and women were suddenly acutely
 aware they couldn't just grab a half-asleep
 dazed naked chick.
 Fortunately someone had the bright idea to
 tear the sheet down from the backdrop, lay
 it over me as a wrap, and then everyone was
 quick to help me up.
 After that, the instructor and students got
 used to taking turns talking to me, just
 to make sure I wasn't dozing off. Which
 was weird, at first, because l'd done two
 semesters just being a silent prop, and now
 I was interacting. It gave the class a vibe
 completely unlike any other I'd modeled for
 and it ended up one of my favorite modeling
 experiences.
 postscript: months later, walking on campus
 with someone who'd eventually become my
 spouse, we passed some guys on the main
 path. One of them stopped, peered at me
 and then said hello, excitedly, saying, "sorry, I
 didn't recognize you, I've never seen you with
 your clothes on!
 whitebear-ofthe-watertribe
 This is honestly so delightful and accurate
 thenightingalelily
 The only situation where saying "T've never
 seen you with your clothes on" is a completely
 normal thing to say
 Source: professorpineapple
Art modelling
        

            
            

                
                
                    Clothes, Comfortable, and Crying: professorpineapple
 you're an art model does that mean you're
 NAKED?
 yeah
 whoa....those lucky artists:)"
 .buddy
 professorpineapple
 idk who started the idea that life drawing
 classes have anything sexy going on like
 there's at least ten people in the room and
 we're all tired and covered in charcoal
 the dude in front who's staring at my boobs
 has been trying to get the shading right for 10
 minutes. he's almost out of paint. he is crying
 askfordoodles
 burg
 branch-and-root
 The ice burg being frozen solid because there
 are NEVER ENOUGH SPACE HEATERS
 angryfishtrap
 I was an artist's model in uni since it paid
 better than any other student work position.
 Did a life drawing class one semester
 despite it being an unheated old building in
 the winter evenings, because the instructor
 was a decent fellow who always had extra
 space heaters. So there I am one evening,
 exhausted from my team's afternoon practice
 but I'm in a comfortable position on a padded
 stool, ready to hold the position for like
 fifteen minutes. Space heaters all around me
 spotlights on me to get shadows in interesting
 places.
 Beyond the red glow of the heaters and the
 hot-white of the spotlights, the massive
 drafty room is dark and quiet, broken only by
 the instructor's whispers and the scratch of
 charcoal on paper. Me, I'm just dozing, cause
 my ancient dorm was heated with creaky old
 steampipes that never really got warm, and
 with the new extra-powered space heater
 alongside the others, that night was the
 warmest l'd been in a month. I dozed, basking
 in the glorious warmth.
 And then I fell asleep.
 And then I fell off the stool.
 I woke up rather abruptly on the cold wooden
 platform, and looked up to see an entire ring
 of terrified and worried faces around me
 Everyone had their hands up, ready to help
 me up, except no one had touched me. Naked
 chick laid out face-down on the floor, and all
 the men and women were suddenly acutely
 aware they couldn't just grab a half-asleep
 dazed naked chick.
 Fortunately someone had the bright idea to
 tear the sheet down from the backdrop, lay
 it over me as a wrap, and then everyone was
 quick to help me up.
 After that, the instructor and students got
 used to taking turns talking to me, just
 to make sure I wasn't dozing off. Which
 was weird, at first, because l'd done two
 semesters just being a silent prop, and now
 I was interacting. It gave the class a vibe
 completely unlike any other I'd modeled for
 and it ended up one of my favorite modeling
 experiences.
 postscript: months later, walking on campus
 with someone who'd eventually become my
 spouse, we passed some guys on the main
 path. One of them stopped, peered at me
 and then said hello, excitedly, saying, "sorry, I
 didn't recognize you, I've never seen you with
 your clothes on!
 whitebear-ofthe-watertribe
 This is honestly so delightful and accurate
 thenightingalelily
 The only situation where saying "T've never
 seen you with your clothes on" is a completely
 normal thing to say
 Source: professorpineapple
Art modelling
                    
                
            

            
            
        

    

    

        
Save