(via plsburydoughboy)
2 weeks ago · 3,664 notes · Source
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2 weeks ago · 1,525 notes · Source
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2 weeks ago · 6,295 notes · Source
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(via voxamberlynn)
1 month ago · 1,371 notes · Source
“
What matters is that Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs, and that’s all this woman heard. “For you I bleed myself dry,” sang their head vocalist, brilliantly inofrming us that the stars in the sky are, in fact, yellow. How am I going to compete with that shit? That sleepy-eyed bozo isn’t even making sense. He’s just pouring fabricated emotions over four gloomy guitar chords, and it ends up sounding like love. And what does that mean? it means she flies to fucking Portland to hear two hours of amateurish U.K. hyper-slop, and I sleep alone in a $270 hotel in Manhattan, and I hope Coldplay gets fucking dropped by fucking EMI and ends up like the Stone fucking Roses, who were actually a better band, all things considered.
Not that I’m bitter about this.
”
— Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto by Chuck Klosterman (via thechocolatebrigade)
(via lulz-time)
1 month ago · 50,294 notes · Source
he’s going the distance.
he’s going for speed.
she’s all alone
all alone in her time of need.
because he’s racing and pacing and plotting the course,
he’s fighting and biting and riding on his horse,
he’s going the distance.
1 month ago · 0 notes
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1 month ago · 33,802 notes · Source
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1 month ago · 6,097 notes · Source
