Strawberry Rivals (sweet gay romance)

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I now realize what a baby queer I really was! Also, I thought my love of British women in suits with glasses was because of Sue Perkins. I now realize it was T. Honey all along. Like watching hour after hour of the new Strawberry Shortcake with a 4 year old.

I used to avoid boredom by imagining fictional lesbian relationships between the characters…. Do you miss Richard? Related: cartoons. Heather has written articles for us. You need to login in order to like this post: click here As someone who has never seen Strawberry Shortcake in her life I was very much a late 80s Care Bear person, except they always made me cry because they loved sooo much and my heart would explode — This was so trippy!

He, too, grew up marginally in a damaged city; he lost his mother at More than any of the Beatles, and indeed more than just about anyone you can think of, he has radiated happiness and contentment and not in a self-satisfied way for most of his life. He was in the biggest-selling band of the s, and was probably the biggest-selling artist of the s as well. He was also — how to put this?

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He smoked marijuana heroically most of his life, and lived a great love story with his wife, Linda Eastman, until her too-early death in If Paul McCartney has a dark side, it is the voice inside him demanding that he dominate every genre of pop music with his cosmically pleasurable, almost ridiculously facile skills.

Here, a number for toddlers. And some people say he was a humorless moralist.

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But there was a way in which he was always on parole, and over the years his resentment grew. Docked another five notches for having basically the same title as another, even worse, song on the same album. This one, by Roy Lee Johnson, is a genuine oddity, partly crooned, party wailed. He has an amazing voice. In addition to the lulling arrangement and production — novel and relaxing, spectacular and subtle — we have Paul mulling things over, a step up from grinning platitudes about nothing.

The argument against it is that it is in the end an argument for the status quo. Given his place in the universe, of course Paul McCartney liked things the way they were. You might think the song is directed at rich, complacent hippies — but the rich, complacent hippies in the Beatles would never write a song about that, would they? The very antithesis of a moon-spoon-June love song. Lennon grew up a striking artistic personality, living, it needs hardly be said, at a time and in a place where this was barely recognized.

Without getting too psychological about it, you can say this left him with lingering anger and displacement issues, manifesting in lots of drinking and random acts of cruelty many never forgot. As the Decade of the Beatles wore on, a growing realization of some of these issues put his sensibility on a collision course with the unprecedented circus of a professional life he had inadvertently found himself in.

The result in the latter years of the s was a lot of growing up, and out, in public, via this or that very personal, and sometimes not very attractive, artistic statement on the matter.

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This is a takeoff on Animal Farm , and anything but subtle. Funny voices, too. This is a slow grinder, sung earnestly by Lennon. Way too much echo on the track, though. Painfully plain, this is one of the first complete songs McCartney and Lennon wrote together. Simple is not the word; there are exactly 17 different words in the song, three of which manage to extend to two syllables. If you grew up with Abbey Road you probably still love it.

This is a less interesting, blaring track. The animation film Yellow Submarine was built around it years later. The film was not written by the Beatles, and does not feature their voices either, but their inspiration made it a highly enjoyable cinematic experience, then and now.

And no one could reproduce the inherent manic feel of the Beatles. I respect that Lennon is trying to strip down his work to elements, lose his ego, profess his love for Ono, and disappear to be reborn, all that shit. The outro is interminable, undergirded with a roar of white noise, a nice effect. It finally ends, abruptly, with a sharp cut, mid-note. Later, Emerick came to feel Lennon was right.

What came to be called the Get Back sessions featured songs like this — a guitar or two, bass drums, maybe a keyboard, with natural voices on top.

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You want to like songs like this — and particularly this song, with two of the most familiar voices in the world winding around each other with obvious pleasure. The documentary made of these sessions, Let It Be , is an engrossing, wan, sometimes joyous, but ultimately troubled look at four friends who could no longer get it together to record earth-shattering music. The band shelved the material and eventually re-formed to record and release Abbey Road.

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The Get Back session tracks, by this point a red-headed stepchild, were later refashioned to varying degrees by Phil Spector and put out under the name Let It Be , which inadvertently became, in the eyes of the public, the Beatles sad swan song. This is one of them. With a sober nod to the past, they played it during the recording of Let It Be.

Its official name is merely The Beatles. Side one:. Side two:. Despite the conceptual problems, there are striking moments in the first half, not least the cutaway to the credits, and of course the conceit of the foursome going home to a row of townhomes, all of which were connected inside. The Help! There are various stories about whom or what this song is really about, but in the end the critical undertones seem sophomoric; after all, the Beatles had been surviving on amphetamines for nearly a decade.

The intro is one of their drabbest. Too many of his songs consist of the title words repeated over and over in the chorus. The band played it on the famous rooftop concert in Let It Be , but it was left off the album. The song, famously written as he waited for some friends on Blue Jay Way in the L. Some nice sounds though. Those who shelled out money for them at the time could take comfort only in the fact that they must have been more tedious to make than they were to consume.

Indeed, Harrison has three songs on the album. Sound and music and meaning came together for the band here in a way that it never would again. They were adults with an ever-changing, ever-more-pointed way of looking at the world; at the same time, the extraordinary tastefulness of the production techniques instilled by George Martin gave them powerful tools to capture those impressions.

This has a hummable melody, a decent bridge, a rambling bass track by McCartney, and really not much else. I guess this is a minor Beatles song, from the period just before things started to get really interesting, but the melody and the arrangement mix, here, as in so many other songs in their oeuvre, in a lovely and highly likable way. The Shut Call always took a shower on the last shift; it wouldn't be hard to go then, considering most everybody avoided the Shut Call at all costs because of his unpredictable temper. But here I was, about to offer my virgin ass to a potential psychopath on a fucking silver platter.

But I wanted to get out of here without being gang-raped by every fucking scumbag in this dump, so being the bitch of the most powerful person here made more sense than whoring myself out to who knew how many other inmates. I turned my attention over to the table, my eyes going wide as I saw the pink-haired man sigh dramatically, pushing glasses farther up his nose as he said, "I know, Aizen-sama. What the hell was he doing? I saw Szayel's hands work at the pants of Aizen's jumper, his hands pulling a ready cock free. My eyes went wide as Szayel immediately went to work, licking and sucking on it so fiercely it made my mind spin.

What the hell kind of poker prize was that? Aizen continued to clean up the cards on the table, putting them into one big stack and shuffling them, like he was completely unfazed at the blowjob, "Sometimes I think you lose on purpose, you little whore.

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There was a giggle from under the table and I couldn't look anymore. Gin had a knowing look on his face. I nodded my head at him, standing up, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but…thanks. Gin chuckled as I left the room, and I didn't stop or turn back even as he said, "Don't thank me just yet. If ya change yer mind, don't drop the soap. Here it was, the moment of truth.

I stepped into the steaming shower room, butt naked and extremely self-conscious. I'd been here a few days, but I'd been taking my showers in the morning to avoid as many people as possible, always keeping my ass to the wall and my eyes on the floor. I guess you could call me crazy, then, as I walked into the farthest part of the shower room, choosing a showerhead as close to the blue-haired Shut Call as possible.