18+ Don't like it, don't come here. Hippies and religious folk, piss off.

 

I miss you, and I love you. 

I miss you, and I love you. 

congenitaldisease:

When police arrived at Ed Gein’s farmhouse to question him about Mrs. Worden’s whereabouts, they came upon the body of the fifty-eight-year-old grandmother in the summer kitchen behind the house. Hanging by her heels from a pulley, she had been beheaded and disemboweled - strung up and dressed like a butchered deer. The stunned and sickened officers called for reinforcements. Before long, a dozen or more lawmen showed up at the farm and began exploring the unspeakable contents of Ed Gein’s house of horrors. What they found during that long, hellish night was appalling beyond belief.

Soup bowls made from the sawed-off tops of human heads. Chairs upholstered in human flesh. Lampshades fashioned of skin. A boxful of noses. A shade pull decorated with a pair of woman’s lips. A belt made from female nipples. A shoe box containing a collection of preserved female genitalia. The faces of nine women, carefully dried, stuffed with paper and mounted, like hunting trophies, on a wall. A skin vest, complete with breasts, which had been fashioned from the tanned upper torso of a middle-aged woman. Later, Eddie confessed that, at night, he would lace the skin around himself and go mincing around the farmhouse, pretending to be his mother.

streeter:

I’m glad the portrait of Ben Franklin stayed the same on the new $100 bill. There’s something about his slight, tight frown, the paternal hint of disappointment in his eyes and those pursed, sealed lips that seem to say, “I don’t approve of what you’re doing, but I can’t stop you from rolling this banknote into a straw and ripping a fat rail of white lightning in the Buffalo Wild Wings handicapped bathroom stall, you goddamn beautiful disaster.” 

streeter:

I’m glad the portrait of Ben Franklin stayed the same on the new $100 bill. There’s something about his slight, tight frown, the paternal hint of disappointment in his eyes and those pursed, sealed lips that seem to say, “I don’t approve of what you’re doing, but I can’t stop you from rolling this banknote into a straw and ripping a fat rail of white lightning in the Buffalo Wild Wings handicapped bathroom stall, you goddamn beautiful disaster.”