Morally Superior Titties

💖 porn bots will be blocked and reported fuck off 💖

Hey, now that that’s out of the way, call me Coco!

Here are some personal tags to help you find and filter stuff on my blog:

coco speaks - chit chat and updates about my own life and what I’m up to

coco writes - my fiction writing!

coco does art - drawings and sketches by me

coco sings - my music tag! Contains both audio and videos

coco covers six - my specific tag for my covers of songs from Six the Musical

another party favour from the sack of nightmares - my health tag. The sack of nightmares being my body.

coco will not shut up about this one - stuff (mostly politics, sometimes fandom wank) I feel particularly passionate about

ask coco - asks people have sent me!

I generally tag common triggers (bugs, alcohol and drug mention/use, body horror etc.) but if there’s something specific I post about occasionally that you’d rather not see, please shoot me an ask and I’ll see what I can do!

Enjoy perusing my silly little corner of the internet!

Addition, 3/9/21: I freaking love ask games. And tag games. And regular asks, although I keep anon off due to some death threats some militant vegans were sending me a while back. But yeah, never fear that you’ve sent me an ask game too old! I love ask games so much I will literally scroll back in my blog to find it so I can answer for you ^-^

Addition, 17/3/22: Please remember that most banter-y Tumblr posts are made by people who chat outwith their dashboard. If you see me bantering with someone, we’re probably chatting about it somewhere else and you’re just seeing the funniest parts of the conversation. It’s okay for them to make fun of me because it’s probably an in-joke. If I don’t know you and you make fun of me, it reads like a straight up insult even if you didn’t mean it that way. Tumblr etiquette, people.

Addition, 13/6/22: I’m not fussed by folk under 18 years of age following me, whatever, if you’re digging the content That’s Grand. But please curate your own internet experience! It’s not my fault if you don’t like something I reblog - this is my wendyhouse and it’s fucking weird for you to try to tell me what colours I’m not allowed to paint the walls.

bootdork:

bootdork:

bootdork:

How did you come out to friends/family?

I sat them down and told them straight up

I made it so obvious that they came to their own conclusion

I left a written note/email

Other method (leave in notes)

I never came out

Not queer/show results

Please reblog if you answer so I can get more people interacting with this 🙏

The notes on this saying “Oh it was just so obvious I never even had to say anything” do you know how blindingly jealous I am (also go you!)

I have been wandering around, CUFFED jeans, SHAVED mullet, CARABINER AT THE HIP, RAINBOW pin on my lanyard at work, and my mother is still trying to set me up with my male friends.

(via theladyfae)

0lemat:

benignhumor:

skeletonbonecurse:

ilikeit-art:

Artificial intelligence makes accurate sheep counting.

(via hazlezah)

wanderer-chronicles:

crazy-brazilian:

Holy shit he’s back

(via icelily17)

whitepeopletwitter:

(via hazlezah)

lesbianbajoran:

lesbianbajoran:

lesbianbajoran:

Let me add, I was craft service manager for a streaming TV series once (don’t ask me what it is, I legally cannot tell you, I don’t want to get sued). I was paid around $2 total. I received checks for literally cents each. Crew members aren’t paid JACK nor SHIT.

I also worked on a lifetime movie (again don’t ask me which one, I cannot say) where I was paid less than minimum wage for 14 hour days. The film industry doesn’t even want to pay the crew most of the time, which is why the union is NEEDED. I wasn’t a union member and they took full advantage to fuck me/pay me basically nothing. This is a cruel industry. Please continue to support the strike.

I’m posting this so yall know that this isn’t just some thing on TV that doesn’t affect anyone you know. It affects my family (my partner works in the industry full time). It’s so important we all support the strike. Okay I’m done this time. For now.

(via icelily17)

When I was 13, my dad gave me a leather jacket and a pair of purple velvet trousers.

queer-cosette:

I was super excited to have them because they were what he wore when he was in a punk band in the 80s and 90s (with no shoes, no shirt and several watches strapped around his ankles. To better the image I will also mention he had a bleached highlight in his black hair, which he wore in a braid down his back. My dad was cool). For reasons I didn’t know back then, he smiled a lot when I announced I intended to wear the jacket and trousers on my class trip to Germany. The trousers were fitted enough that they just about stayed up if I wore suspenders, but the jacket nearly dwarfed me. I didn’t mind, because it has about a million pockets - including one my mum had sewed on the inside originally for a passport, which was big enough to hold my Walkman (yes, I still used a Walkman in 2013. In fact, I continued to use it all the way through high school and college).

(I proceeded to wear that jacket the next Halloween along with a borrowed pair of cargo shorts (dressed as Duncan from Total Drama), and I had so many pockets I didn’t even need a bag for candy! You can imagine why I, in this world of fake pockets, am so attached to that jacket.)

Then, when I was 15, my History class began studying the cold war. My dad was very interested, but I didn’t think much of it at first because he’s a teacher and was always interested in what I was learning. But then he brought down a box of stuff from the attic. It included a bunch of old money notes and coins and his passport from when he was in the band, as well as a lipstick-sized chip of stone with remnants of coloured paint on it. The notes and coins were all East German, and the passport had a stamp from the Soviet Union.

And my dad told me how in 1987 he and his bandmates were in a van, driving to West Berlin to play a couple of gigs as part of their European tour, and how they’d had to stop at a checkpoint so the Soviets could see their papers. How they’d walked past cages full of snarling Rottweilers ready to attack. How for about 50 feet of land, they’d had no identity, and could have simply disappeared forever if their papers weren’t good enough.

Luckily, their papers were all in order and they got them back, and my dad tucked his passport, now with a stamp from the Soviet Union, back into that pocket in his leather jacket. And he went to play a gig in West Berlin, wearing the leather jacket and the purple velvet trousers.

(He’s still involved in the punk band - The Primevals. They released a new album a few months ago, and would have gone on tour in Sweden back in April if not for COVID.)

A few years later, in 1991, they were on tour again, and on their way to West Berlin to play a gig - same drill as last time, but with a new album to promote. They reached the checkpoint.

It was empty.

They drove on.

When they reached Berlin, they realised what was going on, and hurried to join in with pulling the wall down and dancing on top of it. They played their gig the next night to a celebrating crowd, because Berlin was whole again, and so was the rest of Germany. And the whole time, my dad was wearing the leather jacket (but he only wore the purple velvet trousers at the gig). And when it was all over, he took home a little bit of the wall. We still have it!

I wore that jacket to school every day for my entire 3rd and 4th year, not caring that it made me look even skinnier than I was, or that the sleeves were too long for me, because I had a bit of history - both world and family - to wear forever.

(Also, the passport pocket made it much easier to carry my Walkman.)

heycrabman:

heycrabman:

Hey has anyone seen Oscar anywhere recently? My friend Oscar?

The grouch.

(via queer-cosette)

heycrabman:

tapireye-deactivated20220708:

Green Faux Fur Mules by Maison Margiela

Oh dear god

(Source: heroine.com, via queer-cosette)