#prell shampoo

[stone-cold-groove]

At Last! A liquid shampoo that’s extra rich! Prell shampoo ad - 1956.

[stastrodome]

King Lear and his daughters (the part of Cordelia being played by a bottle of Prell shampoo).

[contac]

[mikasuxxx]

I love butcher i truly do but i just know that (and yall can feel free to debunk or correct me on this) this man has a bar of irish spring in his shower thats hanging on by a thread, quiet literally. microscopically thin and may or may not have some hair on it

[wordfromoursponsor]

"Hair is so sparkling-clean after Prell--so shiningly radiant" (1940s)

[misforgotten2]

When the doctor said he needed to see for himself if you were shampooing correctly he was hoping you would do it in the shower and not fully dressed.

As is typical of Madison Avenue and Hollywood they squeezed all the could out of Tallulah the Tube and then tossed her aside.

Woman's Home Companion   October  1949

[ms-demeanor]

My aunt Darla died 20 years ago. Her heart rejected (weird that two people i love so much have had transplants), and months before she died she had to move and packed up a bunch of stuff.

A few months ago, my dad started emptying his shed. One of the things he pulled out of the shed was a box of things from Darla's house. I finally sat down and sorted through it and it was full of wonderful photos (pride 2000! Family trips! Lesbians fishing!) And a bunch of weird nonsense (a soap dish and toothbrush holder carefully wrapped in shirts and towels, a shrink-wrapped copy of a book about the day princess Diana died). There were some very 90s pillowcases and I've put one on a pillow and it has been twenty years and it smells like men's deodorant, prell shampoo, leather, and cigarettes, and it smells exactly like a house i still drive by sometimes and wonder who's living there now.

There was a totally sealed, brand new CD copy of Dookie still with stickers from tower records in the bin and I guess I'm going to be listening to Green Day for a while.

[whitefeathers]

mdni.

cw: SOMNO, NON CON, daddy kink, size kink, mean!billy butcher, doggy/face down ass up. Billy basically takes u while you’re sleeping and you wake up to it … reader is into it but also butcher knows he’s being awful so …

Waking up in the middle of the night to a man in your bed, your ass arched up into the air - kept there by his strong hands pinning you down, his cock fucking you into place. He’s big and all you can feel is fullness and ache, being taken from behind in the middle of the night in your poor tiny cunt without proper preparation.

You can smell him. He smells like Prell shampoo, sweat, and cigarettes. His hands are the same thick hands you shyly watch around those said cigarettes. He’s aggressive and stern and his thrusts are as harsh as his grunts. You know exactly who is doing this to you.

“B-Billy?”

“Oh, we awake now, sleepin’ beauty?” Butcher grabs your hair in a fist, close to your scalp, and smushes your face into the pillow, shaking your head into it to keep you down and submissive. You whine, arching deeper.

“This hurt? This too rough for ya? Good.” His voice is gruff and comes out in pants, his hips working with an aggressive, self-serving rhythm. You’re still sleepy and out of it, as confused as you are fucked out, but he doesn’t care about your comfort or pleasure, ignoring your confused whimpers. This is for him.

Luckily enough, his dick is fat, and he’s smashing your poor g-spot to pieces in this angle. He doesn’t need to worry about your pleasure for his thrusts to fill you up and pound you just how you like.

Your pussy drools around him, making the slide wetter, stickier, messier. It’s fucking disgusting, filling the air with the smell of sex.

“Why? Wha- nngh, fuck, fuck- wha’s happenin’?”

“Rapin’ ya, sweetheart. Too fuckin’ good to resist,” he slows down for a second, watching the slow drag of his dick in and out of you, watching how your little hole stretches and drips around him forcing himself on you.

“I’m sorry baby, I know. Just shut up ‘n take it. Ya gonna let daddy have his fun, m’kay? Gonna be daddy’s dumb little cunt?”

You know you should shake your head no - he’s violating you, you can’t give in, even if deep down you rub your clit thinking about that exact word - daddy - coming from Butcher’s mouth.

You squirm but he just laughs at you and pins you down with a hand on your back, shoving you into the mattress deeper.

“Gonna play like that? Let’s fuckin’ play like that then, bitch,”

And he lets you fucking have it.

[burntsaltsblog]

watching the new episode of the boys while wearing my oversized hawaiian shirt (im pretending i stole it from butcher because im delulu) and im sniffing my prell shampoo (im also pretending i stole it from butcher) like potpourri 

[stone-cold-groove]

Save 5¢ when you by any size!

[taxi-davis]

Liquid Prell Shampoo 1960s-1970s "Isle of Green"

[contac]

[oldtimesnew]

Prell Shampoo (1947)

[darkmaga-returns]

... and apparently swinging straight into the Harris coffers.

Oct 25, 2024

Growing up going to sleepaway camp every summer, I always brought with me the same slippery pink sleeping bag, the same clunky Kodak camera, and the same gnawing, crippling fear. I wasn’t worried that a snake would slither into my cabin and strangle me in my sleep (it would get the gal on the bottom bunk first) or that I’d be picked dead last for every sportsball team (that was a given). I wasn’t even all that vexed by the knowledge that I’d be forced to venture out into the forest and trot back to base camp with my very own rodent/reptile/arachnid/amphibian to enter into the highly competitive Critter Crawl (yes, this was a thing in the ‘70s) that was the highlight of the week for everyone who wasn’t me and the hallmark of camp’s final, festive night.

No, my dread centered around the phobia that a fellow camper might hijack my shampoo bottle and replace its contents with a depilatory cream.

Can you imagine?

I slept with one eye open and my precious bottle of Prell tucked safely beneath my pillow.

Fast forward forty-five years and I think it’s fair to say that Bill Gates is to humanity what Nair is to a spectacular (or even mediocre) head of hair.

This week, one of the planet’s wealthiest and most perverse fauxlanthropaths donated a cool $50 million to the Harris campaign, a (relatively) tiny token of affection he hoped to bestow on the sly. [Insert every Scooby Doo villain voiceover ever: “And I would have gotten away with it… if it weren’t for you meddling kids!��]

Why would the relentless pusher of deadly pharmaceuticals, the catalyst for countless caustic public health initiatives, the passionate pusher of The (Not So) Great Reset, the mastermind behind using AI to suppress free speech and combat damning truths “misinformation,” a miscreant who’s just been indicted in the Netherlands for lying about the safety of Covid vaccines, the poster boy for depopulation, be so keen on seeing Commula in the Oval Office?

[renee-writer]

Young Turks Chapter 14

AO3

He lifts her up, to her amusement, and carries her over the threshold.

 

“Tis’ tradition, isn’t it? This is our first real married home.” 

 

She giggles as he sits her down. They both look around. The tiny house is tidy, having been straightened up by Ellen, who dusted, swept, changed the linens, and stocked the kitchen.

 

“Wow!” Claire declares as she opens the door to their bedroom. The curtains are white and lacy, blown gently by the breeze coming in through the half opened window.

 

Jamie focuses on the bed.  Not only because it is the first place they have been totally alone, but also due to what covers it.

 

“It is our family ‘s tartan.” He says, walking in and placing his hand on it. “It has been in our family forever.”

 

She places her hand by his. “That is brilliant. It means they really accept us.”

 

He nods. “They do. Come, Mrs. Fraser, let’s get unpacked.”

 

They put their clothes away, in the closet and the old dresser. It is scarred up but it’s drawers pull out easily. Jamie knows that his dad has done some work on it, to grease up the rails. Again he smiles. Small but important things his parents have done to make them welcome, are evident.

 

In the bathroom, they find more welcoming items. The Prell shampoo that Claire left at her house the night she left, sits on the side of the tub. She squeals when she sees it. Jamie finds the razor, that he inherited from his grandfather. The grin at each other.

 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Fraser.” He says and soundly kisses her.

[consolecadet]

Gareth Last, private detective, assumed Judy O'Connor's case was just another marital infidelity job. He was wrong. He also didn't realize it would break down the wall he's been building for over a decade, the wall behind which he hides his painful, pathetic crush on his best friend Luke.

Gareth has been good at lying, hiding, and sneaking around since he was a boy in Alamance, NC, sneaking away from his abusive father to take solace in the anonymous arms of the gay men of Burlington. He snuck away for good as a teenager, choosing Philadelphia because it was where Drum Magazine came from. Since it was the 1970s, the money he made as a drug store clerk was enough to pay for community college. There, in a math class, he met Luke.

Luke's kindness, attractiveness, and willingness to pay for fast food broke through Gareth's distrust. They became friends for life. Now he's trying to figure out how to tell Luke he photographed his wife meeting with his client's husband.

Gareth values bravery and honesty, but often fails to be anything but cowardly and deceitful. He is dominated by fear and shame, which by turns lead him to retreat and act impulsively. Sometimes he reassures himself with casual sex, but he doesn't feel good about that either. Especially now.

Despite his flaws, he's driven and loyal; his persistence has resolved many cases, if not always satisfactorily. He is sensitive enough to handle awkward work situations with empathy, which matters because he has caught a lot of partners cheating on each other and discovered that a lot of missing persons were either dead or never wanted to see their parents again. When sensitivity fails, he can throw a decent punch. When that fails, he owns and can use a gun about which he feels deeply ambivalent, and which he has never pointed at anyone.

Gareth smokes constantly. He eats mostly scrambled eggs, bagel sandwiches, Lucky Charms, and Mexican food, and listens mostly to Depeche Mode and Pink Floyd. He uses Prell shampoo for its gender neutrality. If he were in his thirties in the modern day, he would probably identify as non-binary. However, it is 1984 and he has so much shit internalized he can barely admit he's bi.