Fuck you, flan. You think you can walk around calling yourself dessert like you’re dessert, when you’re not dessert. You’re slime. You’re a fucking stack of slime.  Do you see any other stacks of slime at this dessert party? Of course you don’t, you fucking sad slippery pukepuck. Because it’s a dessert party, like custard probably told you on its way down the stairwell after its stupid colloidal ass got kicked out too. Pick a physical fucking state and get back to us when you don’t taste like stamps. Go be liqid. Go be fucking solid. But don’t fucking come back while you’re still snot. What? Oh you’re mad because creme brulee got invited?  Go to Ikea. Buy a fucking mirror. Take the mirror home. Mount it on your wall. Look at it. And tell me if it looks like you just bought a nice framed picture of creme brulee at Ikea. You didn’t buy a nice framed picture of creme brulee at Ikea. You bought a fucking mirror. And you’re looking at a monster who has ruined every fucking Mexican restaurant birthday dinner I ever had. They bring you out and sing and expect me to fucking smile because you’re free? You’re not free. You cost me my whole fucking dinner when I threw up after my first bite of you. You owe me some dinners, flan. Or you can just stop existing, and we’ll call it even.
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Fuck you, flan.

You think you can walk around calling yourself dessert like you’re dessert, when you’re not dessert. You’re slime.

You’re a fucking stack of slime. 

Do you see any other stacks of slime at this dessert party?

Of course you don’t, you fucking sad slippery pukepuck. Because it’s a dessert party, like custard probably told you on its way down the stairwell after its stupid colloidal ass got kicked out too.

Pick a physical fucking state and get back to us when you don’t taste like stamps. Go be liqid. Go be fucking solid. But don’t fucking come back while you’re still snot.

What? Oh you’re mad because creme brulee got invited? 

Go to Ikea. Buy a fucking mirror. Take the mirror home. Mount it on your wall. Look at it. And tell me if it looks like you just bought a nice framed picture of creme brulee at Ikea.

You didn’t buy a nice framed picture of creme brulee at Ikea. You bought a fucking mirror. And you’re looking at a monster who has ruined every fucking Mexican restaurant birthday dinner I ever had.

They bring you out and sing and expect me to fucking smile because you’re free?

You’re not free. You cost me my whole fucking dinner when I threw up after my first bite of you.

You owe me some dinners, flan. Or you can just stop existing, and we’ll call it even.

162 Notes/ Hide

  1. foreverneverended reblogged this from riotingfeminist
  2. riotingfeminist reblogged this from thisnameyoucanactuallypronounce
  3. thisnameyoucanactuallypronounce reblogged this from luckyshirt
  4. untilyoubelieve716 reblogged this from luckyshirt
  5. charlie-kun reblogged this from luckyshirt
  6. myshowisbetterthanyourshow reblogged this from marvinaparanoidandroid
  7. marvinaparanoidandroid reblogged this from matthewcaulin
  8. super-sassy-kenzie reblogged this from naimhe
  9. spaciouswarren reblogged this from matthewcaulin and added:
    FUCK THIS I LOVE FLAN
  10. jasonandmeganshow reblogged this from luckyshirt
  11. matthewcaulin reblogged this from luckyshirt
  12. blessed-visionary reblogged this from xansayshi and added:
    Well damn. I mean seriously, was all that hostility really necessary?
  13. xansayshi reblogged this from itsmerandi and added:
    …It’s okay Flan. I still like you.
  14. shannanissocool reblogged this from itsmerandi
  15. americas-next-top-asshole reblogged this from butnotinlove
  16. alisonfay reblogged this from meganconqueso