#rubber tramp

[beansprean]

TATTOO AU PUNK SLUT ARTIST LUCIUSSS! city boyyyy I love youuuuu aaaaaa

ID under cut bc I describe every single tattoo oh no

[ID: 1. full body of modern lucius as a punk tattoo artist standing with thumbs in his pockets, grinning off to the side. He is wearing a black tank top that says “if you seek Amy” under a long sleeve mesh top, studded leather collar with a gold charm imitating his canon kerchief, a studded belt, and long black smash mouth shorts with silver hoops down the sides. He has a leather cuff, black rubber bracelets, and several rings on his right hand and a modern prosthetic finger with glove on his left. He has medium sized gauges, two studs in his left cartilage, two hoops in his right, a stud in his left nostril, and two cheek piercings. His tattoos include: a Celtic knot ring and teardrop on his right ring finger, safe for work Sasuke on his right forearm, an Allen Ginsberg quote “The weight of the world is love. /Under the burden of solitude, /under the burden of dissatisfaction /the weight, the weight we carry /is love” on his inner right arm, a heart containing a hairy man’s ass in a jockstrap on his right shoulder, Roman numerals 13.3.14 (date of same sex marriage legalization in the UK) on his right collarbone, part of an arrow sticking up from his left pec surrounded by a few blood drops disappears under his shirt, the name Pete surrounded by hearts on his left shoulder, 3 black rings around his left bicep, and a pride flag down his inner left forearm, the colors dissolving together like light on water as it goes down his wrist. Text next to him points to his back and says “has an ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’ tramp stamp.” His nails, including the top of his prosthetic, are painted black. 2a. Close up of Lucius with one hand dramatically poised on his cheek, holding up his left hand with the prosthetic to stare at it in a fakey “woe-is-me” way. He tearfully says, “I was an artist…until a client bit my finger off.” 2b. Zoom out, Lucius is making a cutesy cat grin and wiggles both hands in the air, saying, “jk I’m ambidextrous.” Fang, dressed in a floral short-sleeved collared shirt, pink polka dot headband, and green apron with the logo for Queen Anne’s flowershop, smiles at him indulgently and replies “that’s what’s up bro, love who you love!” A tattoo on his bicep says “I heart Tulips”. /end ID]

#OFMD #flowershop tattoo au #lucius spriggs #fang ofmd #lupete #fanglucius #modern au #my art #fanart #image described

[hydesjackiespuddinpop]

Some evidence as to why I think T7S!Kitty and T9S!Kitty are the same person.

(T7S) Kitty calling Donna a 'slut' and a 'red-haired tramp' in S2 for having consensual sex with Eric -> (T9S) Kitty calling Leia a 'lying little bitch' for sneaking out instead of saying something like 'are you fucking kidding me' or 'oh you can't be fucking serious'

(T7S) Kitty spiking the punch at the LOPPs party -> (T9S) Kitty drugging Bob asleep

(T7S) Kitty ratting out to Fez that Eric does roller disco -> (T9S) Kitty telling Leia about rubber getting stuck to Eric's private parts

Granted Kitty didn’t intentionally mean to tell Fez but the fact that it was blurted out to the one person who couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it says a lot.

T9S has a lot of issues (Jackie ending up with Kelso, Eric being a Star Wars professor, Leo being portrayed as some creep) and a lot of character assassinations (Jackie, Kelso, even Eric being a Star Wars professor). But, in my opinion, Kitty's characterization is one of the few things that stayed consistent.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #that '70s show #that '90s show #anti kitty forman #my meta #t7s meta #t9s meta #Megan did bring up valid points about kitty seeming more malicious which is true #but I personally think they just learned to stop glorifying her as a person #not to mention there were 8 seasons there to glorify kitty #where here there are only 10 episodes

[gravalicious]

“From 1920, Garvey sent a commissioner to explore conditions in Liberia, because at this time Liberia was in debt and the American government refused to loan any more money to Liberia, because the country was being run at a rate where there was no guarantee that they could pay back the loans. The Americo-Liberians did nothing really to develop the resources of the country and to make the economy viable. So Garvey sent this mission. The Commissioner negotiated and went over the cities located where mining could be done because of coal and agriculture. There was so much wild rubber there without being cultivated. There was so much cultivating to be done in the food line, because that’s important in feeding a nation, you see. Some experts were sent over, President King [of Liberia] himself organized the whole committee right there is [sic] Liberia. No person was allowed to be a pioneer unless he had some skill, some education or a little money so that he could start and develop something. Everything was properly organized. And, of course, by the time 1924 came, another ship was being bought by the UNIA members. And I want to say right here and now that that whole slander and slogan about “Back to Africa” was a slander on the movement because, as Garvey often said, “Some of you here in America and the West Indies are no damned good to the places where you live; you’re no damned good to yourselves. Who wants you in Africa?” The idea was to develop Africa — not to have a bunch of tramps going to lay down under a tree and don’t work. So it was no “Back to Africa;” no mass migration at all. In fact, that is impractical and stupid, and Garvey is not an impractical man. He is not a stupid man. He is a realist, you understand, and a man who saw into the future and planned for the future.”

Amy Jacques Garvey (1973)

Emory J. Tolbert and Amy Jacques Garvey, “Interview with Amy Jacques Garvey,” transcribed and printed in Emory J. Tolbert, The Universal Negro Improvement Association in Los Angeles: A Study of Western Garveyism (Doctoral Dissertation, Department of History, University of California, Los Angeles, 1975).

#marcus garvey #garveyism #africa #liberia

[queersatanic]

Source of Lucy Parsons' famous quote

Thanks to u/Nepalman230 and r/Anarchism for tracking down this famous quote, which was attributed to Lucy Parsons by the Chicago Tribune on May 7, 1885.

"Let every dirty, lousy tramp arm himself with a revolver or knife and lay in wait on the steps of the palaces of the rich and stab or shoot the owners as they come out. Let us kill them without mercy, and let it be a war of extermination and without pity. Let us devastate the avenues where the wealthy live as Sheridan devastated the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah."

AN EXPRESSION OF SYMPATHY. The Socialists held a meeting last night at No. 64 West Lake street, at which there were perhaps fifty persons present. The subject for discussion was the late riot at Lemont, and Citizen Spies opened the debate with a few remarks wherein he mildly denominated the militia who did the shooting there as "'the organized banditti of law and order." They were murderers, be said, and the two men killed were wantonly slaughtered. When the Coroner went down there to look into the matter Col. Bennett, commanding "the troops, refused to answer a subpoena, and this In a country, too, where the civil was superior to the military law. Gov. Oglesby was not enough of a lawyer to settle the controversy, and consequently Col. Bennett was the victor up to date. Citizen Fielding denounced all laws as subterfuges. Gov. Oglesby could find law enough to send troops to Lemont to shoot down starving workmen, but was unable to discover any law whereby Col. Benrfett could be made to answer the Coroner's subpoena. Our laws were of india-rubber stretched for the benefit of tho rich. The workingmen should starve peaceably and quietly and the priests would absolve those who were responsible for the situation. "Money will buy either the Governor of Illinois or the Governor ol Heaven," said Citizen Fielding. Citizen Ducy said Sheriff Hanchett was the murderer of the two men at Lemont and " Hanchett ought to die. When a President, Governor, or Sheriff calls out the troops- he should die." Citizen Ducy was bloodthirsty and wanted everybody killed. Citizeness Parsons, however, had a plan at once startling, unique, and redolent with gore. “Let every dirty, lousy, tramp," said she, "arm himself with a revolver or knife and lay in wait on the steps of the palaces of the rich and stab or shoot the owners as they come out. Let us kill them without mercy, and let it be a war of extermination and without pity. Let us devastate the avenues where the wealthy live as Sheridan devastated the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah." Citizen Parsons then read some resolutions of sympathy with the Lemont strikers, denouncing the militia, etc., after which the conclave went into secret session for the transaction of private business. There were three women present last night.

#Lucy Parsons #Anarchism #19th Century Anarchism #newspaper #Chicago Tribune

[transgenderer]

He had a passionate intrigue with Joan’s washing machine. Although forbidden to come near it, he would be caught trespassing again and again. Casting aside all decorum and caution, he would feed it anything that happened to be at hand, his handkerchief, kitchen towels, a heap of shorts and shirts smuggled down from his room, just for the joy of watching through that porthole what looked like an endless tumble of dolphins with the staggers. One Sunday, after checking the solitude, he could not resist, out of sheer scientific curiosity, giving the mighty machine a pair of rubber-soled canvas shoes stained with clay and chlorophyll to play with; the shoes tramped away with a dreadful arhythmic sound, like an army going over a bridge, and came back without their soles, and Joan appeared from her little sitting room behind the pantry and said in sadness, “Again, Timofey?” But she forgave him, and liked to sit with him at the kitchen table, both cracking nuts or drinking tea.

do you think the real nabokov was also fascinated by washing machines. i want to believe

[backseat-philosopher]

who: cole & open!

where: base camp!

what: cole is sick of bonnie's music...

Cole tried to be agreeable-- he really did! Try! But hearing nothing but Madonna and Whitney for the last three days was wearing on him, making him more irritable than usual. The second their RV was in park, Cole grabbed his backpack, offered a rushed goodbye, and all but collapsed out of the front door. He was stunned for a second; half of him was expecting all the stories about the summit-- about a bigger group of rubber tramps-- to be just stories. But the camp was full and bustling with commotion. Slinking through the throng of people, Cole located his target. Leaning forward on an arm, he mustered up a friendly smile. "You got a stereo deck that's unoccupied? Or a Walkman? Mine's busted." More than he hated talking to new people, Cole needed to cleanse his ears-- to listen to some real music.

#otr:starter

[half-deadmagicperson]

And He Answered

Chapter 8

This Phic was originally for Phic Phight and wasn't finished during April.

The original prompt was by @erebecula

Warnings: Gorey Stuff, Minor Character Death (if you want to skip all that just stop reading at the squiggles ~)

First | Prev | Next | AO3

  Highschool found Danny in a difficult situation. Although the chances of him getting water on him were low, his bully from middle school charging at him with a water bottle greatly increased those chances. 

  "Hiya Fen-TURD! Ready for a whole new year of wailing?" 

  "Great. I thought highschool was supposed to make us more mature," Danny's mouth ran. The blonde jock tramped closer.

 "If I'm gonna peak in highschool, I'm gonna make the most out of it!" The bully sneered before grabbing Danny by the collar.

  "Whatever you say, Dash," Danny muttered. Dash pushed him up against a locker.

  "Now… What should I do with you? I could punch you! Orrrr I could dump this water on you. Or maybe I could kick ya!"

   Danny held his breath. The blonde retracted his fist. Danny braced for impact. Hey! That was that bad. Maybe being a half mer gave him more dense skin or something.

   Dash came in for a second round. It stung a little, but the pain quickly faded. Huh. Weird.

   The fist came swinging for a third when it was stopped by the slam of a combat boot. the jock yelped. Danny looked over to see Sam crushing Dash's toes with her giant boot.

   "Dash stop being an ass," her bitter tone lacked all sympathy. If there was one thing that Danny knew about Sam, it was that she could be really intimidating, almost scary at times. He never wants to be on the other side of that stare.

  "You got balls talking to me…you…you goth creep!" Dash retorted, poorly concealing his fear. The tension in Danny's shirt eased. His body sagged closer to the floor. Danny took this moment to escape. The rubber of his shoes squeaked on the linoleum as he darted to class.

    "Ah, Mr Fenton I presume?" His middle aged teacher asked as Danny took a seat. Class dragged on with the usual first day icebreakers. Lancer already assigned them three chapters for tomorrow. 

   Danny sulked his way through the halls before spotting Sam and Tucker. His face lightened as the trio walked together to lunch. Danny's giant water bottle bumped against his leg as he approached the lunch line.

  Ahhhhh mystery meat. At least this one slightly resembles a healthy piece of beef. Maybe it's better not to think about it. 

   The trio sat at a table in the far corner of the room. Danny started munching on his beef (?) while Tucker rambled on about his new PDA. Danny's ears picked up the sounds of footsteps. Turning around to investigate, his face met the contents of Dash's water bottle.

   Before Dash could say a word, Danny bolted for the bathroom. He heard the clamoring of jocks tailing him. Red sneakers pivoted on the tile around the corner and into the Janitor's closet. Danny quickly locked the door from the inside.

   Once he found the switch for the light, Danny grabbed some clean rags to dry off. He watched as his scales retracted into his skin. Guess school had a higher risk factor than he thought.

   After double checking his reflection from a metal tray, Danny made his way back to Sam and Tucker. 

    "DUDE!!! What was that back there?" Tucker exclaimed.

    "I thought he was going for another beating so I ran," Danny muttered. The guilt welled in his stomach as he spoke. 

   "This needs to stop. I don't get how Baxter can just get away with this crap!" Sam spat. The three walked into their next class, and Danny slumped into his seat.

   "The teachers don't want to cause conflict with the parents."

  Danny glanced at the teacher scribbling on the board. Tonight he's gotta meet up with Dora to start training. 

     The sound of chalk continued to grind on, but Danny's thoughts were elsewhere. The Ancients had given him a schedule that worked around his schooling. They gave him honors and promised to keep his land dwelling a secret in fear of it causing an uproar.

    Despite being the "Chosen One", Danny has literally no idea what he's supposed to do. He's only fourteen. He should be playing DOOMED not trying to save an entire planet. A shaking shoulder snaps him back to the classroom.

   "Dude you like marjory zoned out," Tuck whispered. Danny's eyes looked up at the clock. They only had five minutes left of class. Danny's notebook was as empty as the board had just become. Hopefully, since it's the beginning of the year, he'll be able to slide by with one day of missing notes.

    The bell rang, and students began to shuffle out of their seats. Sam, Tucker, and Danny walked towards the door. A sudden chill ran up Danny's spine. His head spun around to look through the door frame. Nothing. Must be a draft.

   The rest of the day flew by. On his way to pack up, Danny passed the classroom once again. The chill crawled it's way back up his spine worse than before. Man they really need to fix that.

    The unilluminated classroom drew Danny over to the door. Shouldn't the teacher still be here? His hands pressed against the small, glass window. The form of his teacher sitting in her recliner calmed him down some. Guess she's just taking a nap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

   Mrs. Johnson had just finished another successful first day class with some of the new freshmen. She smiled as she watched the last teen straggle out. 

    The short teacher made her way to the lab to clean some beakers for the chemistry class tomorrow. The sink water washed over the dishes as she began to scrub. 

   Once the last beaker was placed on the strainer, Alice Johnson walked back to her desk. Time to work on some lesson plans. The hum of the lights and drip of the faucet sounded in the background. The sink must be leaking again. 

   Alice tapped a pen to her chin. Roger was supposed to fix that after last year. She scribbled something into her planner. Drip. Drip. Drip. Alright this is getting annoying! The teacher looked up from her work towards the lab.

    Puddles of black sludge littered the floor. What the hell? Alice's heels clicked on the tile as she walked over to examine the substance. The black ooze shifted and swirled in place. Alice hesitantly poked it. An inky black tendral formed out of the puddle.

   "What are you?" She whispered. The tendral turned towards her. Could it hear her? Did it know she was here? The ooze answered that question by lurching towards her, pushing her violently into her chair.

    The tar absorbed her arm, burning it in the process. Alice went to scream, but nothing came out. The tendral had seared her vocal chords. Tears streaked down her eyes as she watched her skin disintegrate. She looked over at the picture of her late husband. 

  "I'll see you soon."

   She resigned to her fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The body of Alice Johnson was found the next morning by her homeroom students. The police investigation is still underway. Only her skeleton and bits of flesh still remained. Mrs. Johnson was sent to be buried next to her husband in the Amity Graveyard. 

#danny phantom #dp #fanfiction #mer!danny #and he answered #mermaid au

[theplaguedogs]

Rubber Tramp

#found #lady and the tramp #merch #disney

[sk8terboyy]

Who: Benji & Open

What: Evening drug deal gone sideways < 3

Where: Base Camp

TW: Drugs

The night is cool and riddled with clouds, the camp is quiet, and Benji’s near a deserted porta potty smoking pot. In fact, he’s waiting. Earlier in the day an eager (and hopefully loaded) drifter approached him with the request to meet for an exchange of funds. That person was thirty minutes late now. It wasn’t surprising - especially for a rubber tramp. People around here had a tendency to be flaky without reason. They all seemed to operate on a different concept of time. That’s just part of the lifestyle, even if it sucked for business. Benji pulled the collar of his flannel coat closer to his neck, shoulders hunched as the joint glowed between his index finger and thumb.  He couldn’t complain about the mild weather - nothing here compared to distant memories of his hometown’s bleak boreal forests - but he’d grown relatively soft over the last few years. The weed and tattered fisherman’s toque on his head were enough to take an edge off the chill. Seeing a person approach through the twilight elicited him to speak up, assuming it was the tardy drug seeker. “Next time you’re late I’ll raise my rates.” He took a puff of his joint. Crisp night air accentuated smoke filtering up over his cheeks. “I don’t usually wait around.”

#tw:drugs #otr:starter #sorry to anyone who gets looped into this

[hockeybabbler]

A Eulogy for a Terrible Place

Let me tell you about my rink.

Highland Ice Arena opened on December 14, 1962 and was a family business from the day it opened to the day it closed on October 15, 2022. It was, without a doubt, the second-worst rink I ever skated. Certainly Highland was the worst rink that was open year-round - the only ice I've been on of lower quality was a holiday rink at Seattle Center before the Key became Climate Pledge that was only open November through January, about the size of a Basketball half-court, and "resurfaced" only once per day after close and without the benefit of a Zamboni.

Highland was a step above that. But only just. Walking in the front door was like stepping back into the 90's. A look to your right, and you'd see their little pro shop, the NHL merchandise within slightly yellowed with age and using logos now featured on Reverse Retro jerseys. The rubber flooring was chipped and cracking, and hadn't been replaced in ages. Your walk to the rink was always dangerous because the mats rippled and waved in spots, creating tripping hazards. Looking up to the rafters, you could see the accumulated dinge, dust, and puck marks that the decades had built up.

And then there was the ice itself. Because their Zamboni drivers didn't turn off their water in the corners, there was a noticeable slope up and down when you skated laps. I think pebbled curling surfaces might have smoother ice. The roof leaked, necessitating buckets on the ice on more than one occasion. I once saw a ref attempt to repair a divot with a green plastic watering can. You had to be careful when you went to the benches, whether going through the gate or over the boards - there were a few spots where there were no mats, leaving exposed metal plates where the boards slotted in. There was also a smaller, second rink, which felt claustrophobic due to the walls directly on all sides of the rink, which was where stick n' puck normally was, the sound of pucks hitting the walls explosive in the enclosed space.

There were two locker rooms. One downstairs, where you'd expect it, behind the benches. One was upstairs. Yes, upstairs. If you used that locker room, you had to tramp down the stairs in your full gear, through the lobby, then out onto the ice. And that one was the nicer looking locker room of the two, likely because it was a later addition. The one downstairs legitimately looked like a scene in a prison movie, and not a nice one. There was a toilet in the middle of that locker room with no stall walls around it. Once, a beer league teammate said they found a turd in one of the showers, and I fully believe them. I once met another local beer leaguer who said they refused to use the locker rooms there, instead just changing in the lobby, which honestly sounds like a better idea than using either locker room.

Please don’t get it twisted: I am not shitting on the place. That was done for me, by an anonymous person in their locker room showers. No. I loved this rink. It was my rink. It may not have been the rink where I learned to skate (shoutout to the Vallco Rink, now known as the Cupertino Ice Center), nor was it the rink where I first really fell in love with the feel of ice beneath my blades (Sprinker Recreation Center, you were way too far away but it was worth the drive every time), but it was home for me from when I first moved into Seattle proper until it closed. It was where I forged an unbreakable bond with a friend who is now more like family (hey Jed!) and where I decided that it was past time for me to actually play the damn game of hockey. The place where I learned to play. Where I would nudge Jed at almost every song during public skate and say, "THIS IS MY JAM!" Where I would pet Ollie the rink dog during Zamboni breaks.

It was terrible, yeah. But it was home, and I loved it. Unfortunately, the disrepair of the rink was too much to handle. Apparently the boiler room was far from the fire code, and while it was owned by the original family, the fire marshal allowed it to be grandfathered in. Selling the rink would require the new owners to repair and retrofit it, a task with a price tag that exceeded the property's total value. So it makes sense that when Highland was sold, it was sold to developers who would tear down the rink and build up something new, something that suited their dreams and not those of the previous owners.

It's hard for me to wrap my head around the incredible loss I feel at having just lost this physical place at the same time that I am losing a virtual space which it is no hyperbole for me to say changed the trajectory of my life. That friend who became family, Jed, was a mutual follow of mine on Twitter before we happened to run into each other at a public skate at Highland. They realized it was me because I'd tweeted a picture of the rink. Jed is far from the only real friend I made on Twitter. Some helped me fundraise to get me to finish my degree. Some helped me when I was leaving my marriage, both financially and emotionally. They helped me to navigate the weird space of the quarantine, of pregnancy, of becoming a mother. They stayed through my terrible puns and shared my doodles and encouraged me to keep making things even when I thought my work wasn't worth sharing with anyone.

Twitter was and is, objectively, a terrible place. Instead of leaks from the ceiling you had random nobodies getting into your business. Instead of a turd in the shower, you might find a horrific RT on your timeline that you wish you could unsee. But like Highland Ice it was my home for a time, and I hope you'll forgive me for taking this metaphor a bit literally as it was my homepage on my personal desktop's browser. The moments of joy I found there sustained me through some incredibly tough times, and much like Highland Ice, I fear we may never see anything quite like it again.

Better options exist, both for ice rinks and for social media sites. They're just going to miss some of the old charm, and maybe that's for the better.

#RIP Twitter #RIP Highland Ice Arena #gone but not forgotten #honestly awful #but i loved them

[scotianostra]

Very sad news today, Fife rocker Dan McCafferty  has passed away at the age of 76.

This hard hitting song speaks volumes of the man’s humanity..... In the song Dan explores the thoughts of someone without a country........

You know I have no I.D I have never been free And I feel in danger Rubber boats that don't float Trucks that don't go All on my wait list I have been told by the news And by political views I'm not welcome But where I'm from is no more Looking for friendly shores There's not many

Lots of things I will miss Like a family kiss I must deal with this Lots so much on the way It's a life or death play It's that serious I can't go home My country has gone Now they renamed it Without a state I feel the hates In the stares and the glares all around me

Another night in the camp Where I live like a tramp And hopes dying Is there nothing out there Except loss and despair Is it even worth trying With the sun comes the dream And the volunteer teams Try to help me And as I look in their eyes I see no lies They see a man not a refugee

It's a new tongue to speak But things that I seek Can be found here I have somewhere to live And my heart I will give To my new land I want to live, love and be I want to be free Like I can't be I am no more refugee 'Cause this land is free Just like me

I have a home My country of new Has opened its' arms to me Love conquered hate No longer wait In the camps and the borders that held me I have a home My country of new Has given me faith

#Scotland #scottish #fifer #rock and roll #rocker #singersongwriter #Legend #RIP

[reclusiveharry]

What was your character’s go-to drink order? What is their grooming routine? What shoes do they usually wear? Describe the place where they sleep. What was their favorite holiday? What objects do they always carry around with them?

Black tea, no milk. If at the pub, a pint of pale ale.

If Harry is feeling dirtier than usual, she'll pull what dirt and grime she can off of her using her powers. She occasionally combs through her hair, or puts it in a braid to get it out of the way. The rest is... minimal.

Harry best feels connected with her powers when she wears no shoes. However, the vibrations of South Beach have recently made her have to resort to wear a pair of bright green, rubber "clogs" (a mishearing of the brand Crocs).

Harry often moves around her sleeping location, even when on the beach. She strikes up an A-frame shelter out of earth, and then shapes the dirt to the epitome of comfort. If she's feeling classy, she'll even put down a blanket first.

Harry liked Christmas Day, a quiet affair where the family came back to the homestead, boiled in the burning summer sun and spent the following days on a nice, quiet tramp in the nothing days that lead up to New Years'.

You will of course know Harry for her ratty, old, oiskin, bush hat, which has somehow survived the years on the island. She's never far without a small satchel which carries her bare minimum survival gear, a knife, a journal and pencil, some flint and dry kindling, a water canteen and whatever snacks she's scrounged about recently. In the bush, her silhouette always includes her tramping pack.

#harry answers #harry headcanons #these were really fun!!!! #all images are for vague reference not exact #the crocs should be at least 500% brighter and more neon and retina-burning

[carcinized]

i nevwr should have been presented with the book into the wild and then shown the movie. i am going to leave everything I know and become a rubber tramp now

#half joking #IM NOT GONNA DO WHAT THE GUY DID AND DIE IN THE FUCKINNGWILDERNESS #but like. once i was made aware that tramping was a thing. oh it was all over for my future #you can DO that??? spend your life traveling endlessly going where you want living day to day???? #you CAN. #only issue is that i want to do science and go to college and get smart. that sorta gets in the way with that #thinkin i’ll spend a year tramping someday or something. or just a couple months idk #it sounds nice. freeing #tobin talks

[professorbussywinkle]

So I was running a fever and sick as a dog and had a dream where I went to a gas station and they were selling something called the Tramp Stamps Lemon, and it was a rubber toy lemon that had a speaker in it and when you squeezed it would play a sound clip of one of the girls reading off one of their own replies from Tumblr asks people sent them followed by a chunky 6 second audio clip of "I'd rather die" or another one of their shitty songs

#tramp stamps #riot grrrl #fever dream

[mykatesingh-blog]