Let’s not beat around the bush here…
OR SHALL WE?!
Why the fuck is she cuddling with Tampax at what appears to be a pool that is also the ocean?
I want a tampon commercial where the women are fighting zombies or some shit.
And they’re all beat up and bloody and shoving tampons into bullet wounds to stop the bleeding.
And I want one of the ladies to full-on decapitate a zombie with a machete or maybe a scythe.
And then I want her to look directly into the camera with blood running from an open wound on her forehead and say,
“For the fighting spirit.”
^ That commercial would win all of the Oscars.
That commercial would make more sense that all this faffing about through the fields of daisies and cuddling your fucking tampons bullshit…
What are you talking about?
I sit by the pool/ocean cuddle my tampons all the fucking time.
Who wants to start a tampon company with me just so we can make that commercial?
What would it be called, Tampocalypse? I’d be game if it were called Tampocalypse.
reblogging for the priceless notes
The Tampocalypse
FOR THE FIGHTING SPIRIT.
Well periods aren’t all ‘Let me parade around in my motherfucking white bikini at the beach and shake my ass around in front of the hot boys while snuggling my tampon box”
IT’S LITERALLY A BLOOD BATH!!
IT’S A WAR!
IF YOU GET IN MY WAY, FUCKER I WILL KNOCK YOU THE FUCK OUT!
Tampocalypse.
I love the internet.
I would buy the shit outta that.
This made me laugh my ass off this morning - I love this! I would buy the shit outta this.
Let’s all take a moment and appreciate the people of tumblr.
no matter what blog you have, i think everyone will reblog this just because it is that fucking great…
*Dying because all of this*
For all the women I follow because this is fucking awesome.
This needs to happen.
Alos, what’s with the bullshit “Mother Nature here with your monthly gift”?
Fuck man, if mother nature had a tangible form and was all like HERES YOUR PERIOD BITCH I’d punch that dumbass in the throat.
In which C stands for Cockblocker.
“Tell Barton the next time he decides to sleep off-base, he needs to call in.”
“Um…what?”
“We know he’s with you, and no one cares, but he needs to remember protocol.”
Bruce waves a hand to get Clint’s attention. Clint’s nearly dressed, jeans hanging low on his hips as he tries to find his shoes. “I’ll tell him,” Bruce says and hangs up the phone.
Clint pauses, both shoes in his hand, jeans an inch lower than they were. “I should—”
“He says next time, you have to remember to call in. Protocols or something.”
Clint freezes. “What?”
Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Is there something…should we not have done this?”
“No, no.” Clint drops his shoes and knee-walks on the bed until he’s curled up against Bruce. “No, it’s fine. There’s nothing against it. I just thought…”
“I was going to make you breakfast,” Bruce says. “I wasn’t intending this to be a one night stand.” Clint’s silence tells Bruce that Clint thought it was going to be one. Bruce shifts where he’s sitting. “Did you—”
“No! Breakfast!” Clint says a little too loudly. He gives Bruce an embarrassed smile, and then ducks his head against Bruce’s shoulder. “Breakfast is good,” he murmurs.
Bruce smiles and loops an arm around Clint’s back, pulling him even closer. “Good,” he says. “Good.”
