Gravy makes everything better.
The book was good as shit.
This misguided online asshattery is the result of powerful boredom, innate cornballhood, and a remedial grasp of Blackness
Like booty play, it may be a tad uncomfortable before the ecstasy happens.
Alex came, he saw, and he conquered dozens of glorious plates of cheesy decadence
Even when I’m spiraling and stewing in anxiety, I can (usually) scrape it together enough to jump into those tights, get pon the train and get my tondu, my port de bras, and my pas de bourree on
It was like discovering an artist, and everything you hear by them makes you twinkle with delight, as if their work was produced entirely for you.
I beseech thee, person excited by the idea of a crazy, sexy, cool peppermint moment down by your fuckparts: do not do that shit
Black people are everything
Grief is a hard process. Especially when it comes to the death of your necessary technologies.
It feels dope as fuck to feel worthy and capable of the beautiful shit that’s happening in my life right now.
Whenever I’m visiting a new city, my first step is always locating the best food because I have my priorities in order
Analyzing every instance of racist terribleness is a thankless, never-ending undertaking. So, on occasion, before you do, don’t. It’s totally fine to opt out.
Since spending five months in New Orleans eating and playing Uncle Alex to the most precious lima bean in the world, my love of little Black humans runneth over
Sometimes, dammit, I just wanna go to a delightful place where one can do the Electric Slide while devouring fried chicken skin in the moonlight