If i’m telling you, “this is a hot plate.” But I make no effort to put it down, i’m internally yelling at you to move your shit. Your phone. Your keys. Your bread. Whatever is directly in front of you is from that point on is now classified as your shit. The shit you are suddenly responsibly for and I am burning my hands for. Move your shit. I’m not going to move it for you.
Shoutout to the people who see me approaching with their food and immediately start clearing the way for me. You are the real MVPs. You know what’s up. You understand.
As for everybody else. Move. Your. Shit.
Me
We see that and we respect the fuck out of you. Thank you.
im the adoptive father of like 14 different kids because im the only out and proud trans dude at my school and all the lgbt underclassmen subconsciously flock to me
me in the hallways at school: [hugs a freshmen trans girl, high fives a young butch lesbian, platonically kisses a bi dude on the forehead]
my straight friends: wow nate u have so many friends! how long have you know them all?
me: first of all these are my children and i love them and second i met two of them this morning and one last week
im starting a gang and we’re gonna go out and destroy every golf course. rip up all the grass and replace it with native plants and fruit trees and shit. we move at midnight be there or be a casualty of the revolution
