Track name: Love Sick
Artist: The Loveable Rogues
Album: The Loveable Rogues
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Played 54 times
You turn and smile, with them ‘come to bed eyes,
but all I could think of is all them pork pies,
you kept telling me night after night,
then you’d just drop your knickers after every fight.Love Sick - The Loveable Rogues (full studio vers.)
(Source: jenpero, via airandwanderlust)
There are things that make me seriously ok with not being in London for the summer.
Don’t be a stranger.
(via airandwanderlust)
Supercut of the Day: It really was inevitable:
You weren’t asking for this, but now it’s in your way: Our “Call Me Maybe” supercut video, featuring 75 of the most viral covers, lip dubs, dance numbers and artistic reinterpretations of the Carly Rae Jepsen jam that [Popdust] just dubbed the best song of 2012′s first half. If you thought the song was intoxicating before, just wait till you see it performed on accordian, lip synched by three shirtless dudes in a river, and danced to by an overzealous girl alone in a closed Burger King.
(via unitedstatesofsarah)
Nicholas Hoult & Jennifer Lawrence
(Source: mikbeth, via wednesdaydreams)
pretend this is lucid because my feeling-generating mechanisms have scutted into potshards with stick drawings of flippy-haired copywriters and beehived/queenhived partners:
This is Atia in the series finale of Rome, the empress at the triumph, perfumed & burnished & resplendent against the roar of the unknowing rabble. Only instead of Marc Antony’s charred remains on display, the corpse is Joan’s — her belief that the SCDP heads respected her for her intelligence, her belief that her bodily autonomy is more important than any account. Pete Campbell oozes to her of Cleopatra and the man who buys her calls her Helen of Troy, and there are so many names, so many names that all mean the same thing. This is her prize: Her silent coronation as a partner, a supposed equal to these men who abided her prostituting herself, these men who voted on a cash amount to buy her assent, these men who will alternately pity and disdain her for what she has done. A supposed equal to men who are inferior to her in every way.
So the else-proclaimed Whore Queen turns with ashes smeared into her lips and catches Peggy walking away, coat in left hand, thermos in right, plain and lithe and free, this wayward stoneborn protege who never did purr or hiss but sat haunch-side and roared.
And Joan, lashed to the ground in emeralds and gold, prays with grief/envy/pride that feels like grief, Take me with you.
(Source: emerald--city)
- GQ: How do you define style?
- Tom Hardy: Like this grooming and styling thing? It's fucking poodles. Human poodles. I feel sorry for a poodle because he's a dog. You know, a dog is a fucking great creature. They would do anything for you. And the poodle gets a haircut. No one asks if the poodle wants his hair cut like that. Do they? They just fucking cut his hair like that. And he just walks around. And everyone is like, "Why is that poodle so snarky?" Fuck you.
