Untitled

Mr Cadbury met Miss Rowntree on a Double Decker. It was After Eight. They got off at Quality Street. He asked her name. “Polo, I’m the one with the hole” she said with a Wispa. “I’m Marathon, the one with the nuts” he replied. He touched her Creme Eggs and slipped his hand into her Snickers. He fondled her Flap Jacks and she rubbed his Tic Tacs. It was a Fab moment as she screamed in Turkish Delight and he shot his chewy centre. But 3 days later his sherbert dib-dab started to itch.Turns out Miss Rowntree had been with Bertie Bassett and he’s got fuckin Allsorts..

“

—	The Other Tribe ? (via hukurou)

butchwalker:

Hi. I guess by now the cat is out of the bag about me having a book coming out this month. “Drinking with Strangers” is coming your way for some quality nightstand reading or bathroom literature. Hey, I’m no Hemingway, but this shit is pretty accurate and sometimes funny. Here’s the first chapter to reel you in, hopefully. That’s what they said in the marketing meeting anyways….

B

Head over to my Facebook page to download the first chapter.

If you’ve got a problem, tell me to my face. Stop being immature and bitching to your friends behind my back. I give up, can’t be bothered any more. Let me know when you’ve grown up, although I probably won’t be waiting around for you.

R.I.P Amy Winehouse

jordanelectro:

Some people are being way to harsh on the subject. So what if she did drugs, she lived her life how she wanted and there’s a big difference between suicide and accidental suicide. It’s a shame that people are ignorant towards the matter and can’t sympathise. Music has lost a great artist and a family have lost their kid

jordanelectro:

I’ve learned

Don’t know what to do. And the one person I thought would care, fucked off when they had a better offer. Hate myself and what I’ve become… And hate myself for thinking that because it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks, but it does. it really does…

I fucking hate this.

It’s actually quite fun hearing people talking bullshit when you know the truth… For a while anyway, then it just fucking hurts.

I have no idea what to say to that.: No I’m not, but I don’t know why. Don’t know what to say that is worth saying or that you’d give a damn about, so I doubt I’ll answer… “/

I’m like one of those wrecking ball things; destruction happens everywhere I am. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t speak to me again, wouldn’t blame him: somethings fucking suck. Ruined the night, wish I’d never asked anyone to go out. Wouldve been better then.