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bitchcraftandwiggatry:

It’s officially gone too far now.

RE: Arm Knitting

Been looking at other people’s arm knitting projects and wondering why my stitches are so loose. Then it hit me. My arms are as big around as some grown dude’s thighs (Mmmmm … thick sinewy soccer thighs. About the only thing I’m going to miss about The World Cup. See you in four, international hotties!) Thus the big stitch. About to experiment with finger knitting. Yeah, my digits are about the size of an infant thighs but  they should make for a tighter knit.

Up at 6 am and thinning out the yarn stash with more arm knitting. Was going for dystopian chic with this wool and tarn combo cowl. Enjoy playing with the different types and textures. Nap time!

3rd attempt at arm knitting. Third was a charm and pretty simple. As was the first. The second attempt? Not so cute. Yarn too thin. Looks like a net. On the bright side, when the zombie apocalypse goes down, I can make a net. My cardio game sucks so I can slow them down a bit.

Speaking of Police … Someone Please Dial 911

The response to #askthicke wasn’t punishment enough for the aural abomination that is Paula.  Not Deen but Robin Thicke’s new album/stalker manifesto. Alan or Gloria, one of you need to come get your boy.

I miss free-wheeling and dirty Jesus looking Robin Thicke. Although “When I Get You Alone” has been tainted and sounds a little more scary thanks to poppy and predatory “Blurred Lines” and Paula.

Dear Word Police,

I don’t have a television show at stake. If I did, I’d like to think that I wouldn’t get into Instagram beefs with randoms and drop the “C’ bomb.  However I am a porker who is trying to get back on track towards a healthier lifestyle. I’m also a porker partial to portmanteaus ( and as evidenced, alliteration— and assonance!). Since thinspiration is a no-no, I was wondering are you all cool with me using thintention?

Edited to add: Kinda nice soccer thighs be damned. I am in no way defending Adam Richman and his misogynistic vitriol. He didn’t have to alter his initial post, but he should have just had a nice warm cup of shut the fuck up after the word’s possible connotation was pointed out to him.

RIP: Meshach Taylor.

Outside of a flamboyant cousin who the family talked about in code  (“sweet” and “sugar” sounded so sour sometimes), I think the colorful Hollywood Montrose was the first queer of color I laid eyes on. I loved me some Mannequin and even Mannequin 2. The goon in the low cut tank top with the muscly man tits in the second film only added to my sexual awareness but Hollywood let me know I didn’t have to be invisible. To hell with Albert! I’ll always love you and your fat hips, Hollywood Montrose.

video snatched from Dlisted.

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