Stanley Tucci is a creepy sexual harasser
But he’s so good in Easy A
but he’s a creepy sexual harasser
But he’s so talented
But he’s a creepy sexual harasser
I have decided Kate got her Aviator’s in an unmarked package and decided they were awesome. Melinda had seen her work and liked it, and sent her a small gift of apprecation.
(Source: rascalparadyne, via the-wordbutler)
my friend left her window open in her bedroom and came back to find this
look at his self-satisfied little face, the cheeky shit
if there was a post to describe australia, this is it
you mean to tell me this isn’t even a pet bird?
that in australia, you have wild birds that just fly from house to house with the express purpose of fucking shit up?
fucking HELL australia, what is wrong with you?
wake up australia
That’s what birds do
They fly around and fuck shit up
Do you have some kind of mysterious nice birds in your weird foreign country
Do birds in America and England fly into your house and make the bed and tidy up the living room a little bit
It’s cold here, so they just bounce off the windows and lie there and twitch spasmodically while you look for the shovel.
Basically hurling themselves at windows is the worst thing birds do
yeah man a kookaburra literally flew into a classroom at my high school and just sat his smug ass down on top of the desk for a good 20 minutes
why has nobody mentioned the fact that in australia there are 3-4 months a year where everybody just accepts that they’re going to get attacked by magpies. It is literally called “swooping season” and these birds will fly down to peck your fucking face, and people get their eyes ripped out and shit, it’s fucking brutal.
My teacher had to go to hospital and have surgery because of swooping season. It was in the parking lot of school and all the kids would do a mad dash towards the car as the magpies tried to kill us.
no but when you’re 12 years old and riding your bike like mad on the way home from school with an icecream bucket on your head with like branches and shit sticking out if it to scare them off and none of this is considered strange
what the actual fuck australia
(Source: myrrhcella, via dytabytes)
There are some friends I can think of that would LOVE THIS
Bet you could make one helluva Jaegerbomb
from Portland, Oregon, of course
I don’t even like rum all that much but I want this.
IT’S IN PORTLAND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tip for modern adulterers: If you’re planning to cheat on your wife of 10 years by awkwardly hitting on the model seated next to you on your flight out of Los Angeles, make sure she isn’t live-tweeting the entire miserable experience to her 13,000 followers;
To this amazing tweeter:
You did not ruin Brian’s life on twitter. Brian ruined his own life by being Brian.
this should be a trojan ad
I…you know, my normal assumption would be that this is fake, but…considering the sheer amount of stupid shit that comes out of his mouth, I’m perfectly able to believe it.
He has said rape happens for a reason. So, yeah, not out of the realm of possibility.
Anonymous asked: clint/coulson crossdressing porn
"Your…everything…is a bit much," Maria says to Clint when she tells him he’ll be Phil’s back up when Phil goes undercover. "You’ll be too obvious."
"Too obvious for what?" Clint asks.
"Too obvious to pass as a woman on short notice," Maria says.
Clint chokes on his water, sending dribbles down his chin and onto his t-shirt. “What?”
"Not that you couldn’t with some work," Maria continues like Clint’s on the verge of hacking up a lung on her office carpet. "But Phil’s easier to dress properly last minute."
"…okay," Clint says, and he tries to picture Phil in women’s clothes. He can’t, he discovers, not even a little.
An hour later, when Phil walks into Maria’s office, Clint damn near chokes on his water again. It is not, it turns out, that Phil can’t look like a woman; it’s that Clint was picturing the wrong type.
"Well?" Phil asks, and he places his hands on his hips in an entirely different way than he usually does, a movement that is lighter, somehow, though Clint can’t say where the movement changes exactly.
Phil is wearing a navy maxi skirt and body skimming sweater. There’s a hint of breasts in the way the sweater curves over his chest, and the sleeves are loose enough they make his biceps look softer while still making it clear he’s fit. He’s wearing a gold locket, three bangles, and a faux emerald ring on his right hand. The boots on his feet have a short heel, and the wig he’s wearing gives him hair to his shoulders, an angled bang setting off his cheekbones.
"Okay," Clint says. "I wasn’t expecting that." Phil cocks his head and looks so unquestionably Phil that it resets Clint’s brain, files away what he’s seeing with what he knows and just gives him a whole composite he easily understands. "You look good," he says, and Phil grins at him.
"You’re his back up, Barton," Maria says. "You need to get him out of there, make a scene."
"Can do," Clint replies, and he offers Phil his arm. Phil rolls his eyes.
"You still need to get in costume," Phil tells him.
"I’m your back up," Clint says.
"You’re my date," Phil responds.
"Wait. What?" Clint asks.
"Don’t act surprised," Maria says. "It’s not like you’re not his date regularly."
"Off hours, yes, but on the clock? Don’t we have a frat rule for this?"
"Maybe?" Maria says with a shrug. "Probably tomorrow and yesterday, but for today, Fury says we don’t. We need both your skill sets in the field for this, so we’re doing it."
"I’ll go change," Clint says, and Maria rolls her eyes while Phil gives him a small smile.
Their cover is as follows: Phil is Amelia, a woman as far as anyone knows. Clint is Tim, her devoted but quiet partner. Amelia is a charmer, laughing and throwing her hair, playing her locket back and forth as she talks politics with a couple of mid-level targets. Clint’s not even sure why he’s in the room for this until he spots the very hidden cameras, and then both their skill sets make sense. Phil distracts, and Clint makes mental notes, figures the necessary angles to discover the blind spots and reports back how they rob these fuckers blind.
They play their roles well, as they always do, but while Clint runs the geometry on angles and texts them on his phone like he’s checking sports scores, he steals a few glances at Phil. Phil’s got a glass of champagne in one hand, the other pushing his hair out of his face in a delicate move that highlights the faux emerald on his right hand and also allows him to take a photo of their targets’ face with the self same ring. He inches up his skirt to show a woman his boots, bites his lip as he pretends to try and remember where he got them from, and Clint sends the last equation for the angles, waits for the all clear from command, and then cuts across the room to Clint.
"Melly," he says, crowding close against Phil, sliding an arm around his waist. He’s carful to let the sweater stay as loose as possible around Phil’s middle, let it keep helping feminize Phil’s figure. "Almost done?"
Phil gives Clint an indulgent smile that simply does not exist in his regular repertoire and says to the people gathered around them. “He’s a dear to let me drag him out. I thank him by taking him home when he’s worn out.” A couple of people chuckle in understanding. Phil says goodbye with a wave, curls himself close against Clint’s side, and lets himself be led away with Clint’s arm tight around his waist.
Clint gets them outside, gets them three blocks over, drops their earpieces with the mobile unit, and looks at Phil. “Wanna head back to HQ and get changed?”
"I can make it home like this," Phil says, and he uses his normal voice, but the way he touches the locket around his neck is light and ladylike. The mobile unit doesn’t notice, just bids them goodnight and heads off. "Can you make it home like this?" Phil asks, and he leans in close, lets his hand skim past Clint’s waist.
"Easy," Clint hisses. "Cameras are probably still hot." He knows that even if they are, there’s no danger Phil’s not blocking them from view, but he likes the way it makes Phil grin at him, saying he’ll play along if that’s what Clint wants.
"Come on," Clint says, and he tucks Phil’s hand into his arm and leads him away at a nice, slow pace. Just a man and his lady out for a walk. At least until they’ve gotten four more blocks away and Clint’s found an alley with truly awful camera coverage. Then, he’s pulling Phil into it and pulling him close and kissing him over and over until Phil’s lipstick is completely gone and his wig is askew, and Clint’s got one hand up under his skirt and—
"Jesus," Phil hisses. "You’ve got to untuck me, Clint. It’s going to hurt in a minute."
Clint runs his fingers back and forth against the crotch of Phil’s underwear. It almost—almost—feels legitimate, but Clint can feel Phil’s cock straining and knows Phil is fighting to keep himself from getting hard. “You’re so beautiful,” Clint says. “Like this. In your suits. At home in your jeans.”
"Clint," Phil groans.
"Are you taped?" Clint asks.
"No," Phil says. "Just…do you have your knife? Can you cut them off?"
"Yeah," Clint replies,and he pulls his butterfly knife from a sheath in his boot, crouches down so he has a good vantage point. Phil holds the skirt up so he can see better, and Clint slices through the underwear. Phil shudders and relaxes, and his dick and testicles move to their natural position. Clint cups Phil with one hand as he closes his knife with the other, and as he does, Phil starts to harden in his hand.
"I need to get off before we do anything else," Phil says.
"Oh, no," Clint teases. "How will I ever manage that?" Before Phil can call him a smartass, Clint starts jerking him off, then leans in and starts sucking him off. Phil’s got his skirt in both hands, shoulders pressed against the wall of the alley. When Clint sucks him down further, Phil groans, and his hands flex, and the faux emerald earring scrapes lightly against Clint’s cheek.
"Sorry," Phil murmurs, and Clint grunts to let Phil know he’s okay and keeps sucking until Phil presses his whole body against the wall and fights back a moan as he comes.
"I can wait," Clint says as he gets back to his feet. He takes the skirt from Phil’s hands and smooths it back down for him, adjusts Phil’s wig so it’s centered again. "You mind keeping the whole thing one when we get home?"
Phil smiles, lazy and satiated. “How could a girl say no to that?”
Classic strip from The Calvin and Hobbes Lazy Sunday Book by Bill Watterson, published by Universal Press Syndicate, 1989.
I love his evil face. By the way, for anyone shopping for the comics (::cough::ub::cough::), Costco’s got the huge, hardcover collection right now.