(Source: heybitchesitscollier)
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(Source: fairwayfrank)
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Lucille Bluth, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lu-cille-Bluth: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lou. Cille. Bluth. She was Lou, plain Lou, in the morning, drinking the first vodka tonic of the day. She was Lucy going in and out of a pill induced slumber. She was Gangy at home. She was Mrs. Bluth on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lucille Bluth.
(Source: leatherpumpkin)
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(Source: fuckyeaharresteddevelopment)
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8 August 2010
Reblogged from
g-funk
