#shake your rump

[soupy-sez]

Beastie Boys – Shake Your Rump (1989)

[tylers-boutique]

Shake Your Rump - Beastie Boys (1989)

[rastronomicals]

8:17 PM EDT August 21, 2024:

Beastie Boys - "Shake Your Rump" From the album Paul's Boutique (January 25, 1989)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Psychedelic Hip-Hop

[priokskfm]

#MixOfDay #Podcast #Radioshow #LiveDjset Art Of Tones - All Night (Even Funkier Edit) - FREE DOWNLOAD A little bootleg of probably my favourite track of the year. Not done too much here as it's hard to improve on perfection, but created a few alternative sections and dubbed it out a bit. Hit the link for a free DL, and make sure you show Art Of Tones some love and purchase the original - it's an absolute masterpiece of a tune! https://ift.tt/Lp0FXwN bootleg, "disco ", "disco edit", "all night long", "shake your rump", "ride with the rhythm", "disco flip", "disco bootleg" www.priokskfm.online https://ift.tt/GZTthju

[shes-got-a-gold-tooth]

there are 2 (two) types of Beastie Boys videos:

1. Making funny faces at a fish eye camera

2. Elaborate sets and costuming with a highly developed plot that has nothing to do with the content of the song

[silvadour]

[gotankgo]

• Paul's Boutique (1989)

cassette and gatefold record

both purchased in 1989

Beastie Boys: Shake Your Rump

[faggotmox]

finally a pinned post

just ranger. he/him. older than 25. fanfic wrtier. jon moxley is a weird little guy so i devoted a good chunk of my life to him. wrestling too. wrestling is too cool. i just write fanfic & reblog stuff, mess around & joke with the little friends in my phone. fanfiction content: the majority of my fic is going to be smut, kink, & fetish based. there's quiet a few of my pieces revolving around disability. some fics about being trans. a couple abt parenthood. there's a bit for everyone but there's also stuff that isn't for everyone. there isn't content warnings on things like: blood, gore, violence, deathmatch wrestling/deathmatches or hardcore wrestling which will be heavily featured on this blog. this blog is 18+.

"never been jumped 'cause i'm known the most packinest. yeah we've got beef chief. we're knocking out teeth chief, & if you don't believe us you should question your belief keith."

ao3 (same url as here, a few things on ao3 aren't on here)

writing tag (there is stuff here that's not on ao3)

eventually maybe i'll catalog everything & put it here

[mhaccunoval]

happy mardi gras. mike got arrested for jumping on a float

[rastronomicals]

6:27 AM EST February 29, 2024:

Beastie Boys - "Shake Your Rump" From the album Paul's Boutique (January 25, 1989)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

File under: Psychedelic Hip-Hop

[lordrahlprotects]

Good morning

[priestfrommidnightmass]

i love when i make a playlist of all of my favorite songs by an artist and then i’m like Holy fuckng shit. It’s playing all of my favorite songs in a ROW

[celestialprincesse]

going home to best friend simon after a failed blind date (where the guy ridiculed you for what you were wearing, or made you feel stupid or something) and he makes you feel better by finally kissing you the way he’s wanted to for so many years 🥹

🌃🛋️🐆🎱

You hadn't been on a date in far too long. Two months, actually, nearly three. In all honestly, you'd grown sick of spending countless hours scrolling through dating apps, only to be rewarded with unwarranted dick pics and texts at stupid hours of the morning asking 'u up?'. Having had enough of small talk, and being treated like a sentient blow up doll, when your friend had offered to set up a blind date after your whining over a cheap bottle of red, you'd eagerly agreed. Surely, you'd thought, she'd vet the potential date, and you trusted her taste - which was your first mistake.

The second would be actually expressing yourself when going to meet a man you've never been introduced to before. The way he stares down at your shoes with disdain as you walk into the restaurant, or scowls when you order a cocktail is agonisingly obvious, and has you on edge the whole night. Unable to help the way you sigh in relief as you split the bill and get ready to leave, you vow to never do this to yourself again - and then proceed to cry in the cab all the way home.

Simon, conveniently, is standing in the kitchen when you get home, kicking off your favourite heels with a huff, and proceeding to further blubber when they smack against the cabinet and the heel comes loose.

"Bad date?" Your roommate questions, shaking you from the spiral of self pity you're rapidly descending.

"Why do I do this to myself," You huff, perhaps a little dramatically as you throw your purse on the counter, before sitting up on the marble surface to better face Simon - and ease your aching feet. "Like - genuinely - why do I do this to myself? Men are assholes."

Simon only provides you with an bemused hum as he rifles through the kitchen cabinets and fridge. "Grilled cheese?"

"Mhm. M' starving." You scoff, reminded suddenly of the incredulity you'd felt having paid for half of the bill - when you'd only had a salad (ordered for you no less), whilst your 'date' had gorged himself on a rump steak and fries right before your face. Asshole.

Watching Simon's back, straining against his t-shirt as he dutifully prepares you something to eat that doesn't comprise of soggy lettuce and split sauce, you can't help but to sigh, lost in thoughts of why all men aren't like him, and how if he wasn't your roommate, and if you weren't drunk and extremely fragile emotionally, you'd absolutely jump his bones given half the chance.

So distracted, in fact, that you fail to notice the plate of sizzling melty, cheesy goodness placed beside you on the counter, and the crooked smile Simon offers as he stands between your legs, resting his hands either side of you.

"They don't deserve you." He offers, perhaps - no, definitely - out of pity, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear, knuckles brushing against your cheekbone in one of the softest gestures you've felt in a long time. "Nobody deserves you."

"You do." You can't help the words that spill from your lips, worse still, your eyes darting to his own mouth, breath catching when his tongue darts out to wet them on a subconscious instinct, taunting you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid - is probably what your brain would scream at you when your lips crashed against Simon's - if you gave a shit. Which you don't.

And you're so glad you don't, because the way he kisses you back is practically sinful, all encompassing as he nips at your bottom lip and pulls you closer by the hips with such startling ease that you have to pull back. But of course, by some cruel twist of fate, or maybe just some terribly bad luck, when you go back to kiss him a second time, he stops you, a frown pulling at his dirty blond brows.

"Not now." He whispers, voice hoarse and eyes burning right through your very skull. "Not when you're feeling like this. Not because I don't want to - because, fuck, I do - but not now. I want you when you're ready - and not drunk, preferably. Eat your grilled cheese and we'll get you to bed."

🌃🛋️🐆🎱

[epigstolary]

Tough Guy

Tw: Fat shaming, toxic masculinity, gaining as femininity

I can’t believe you still try to act like the big, muscly tough guy you used to be several hundred pounds ago. I mean, come on, who do you think you’re fooling? You’re about as intimidating as a baby elephant. Sure, the deep voice and the sleeve tattoos probably probably made you look pretty tough when you were in shape and 200lbs of muscle; but baby, those days are long gone. There’s a ton of fat packed onto whatever’s left of your physique under there. Those tattoos have gotten stretched and folded over your fat rolls so much that I can barely tell what they are anymore. And I just can’t take the deep voice seriously when it comes out so husky in between the labored wheezing that passes for breathing with you. Nobody’s gonna be shaking in their boots when you’re out of breath just from sitting on the couch, are they?

And even when you do get up, you don’t exactly look like the picture of health and fitness. A slow waddle is your typical pace, all your fat shifting from side to side with each intended step, your body clearly having to fight against it to keep moving forward. And all your indulgence has left you with a wide, bottom-heavy, pear-shaped physique more reminiscent of a well-fed housewife than a strong, buff gymbro. Nobody’s going to be mistaking you for one anyway, though, since your lazy ass can’t help but get red-faced and exhausted after just a couple minutes of walking around. You talk a big game about your glory days and everything you could do if you put some time into conditioning. But let’s face it: you’re about as out of shape as someone can be, and those wide hips and thunder thighs don’t scream athletic or manly.

I know it must be hard for you, though, since that’s still the guy you are in your head. The big, beer-drinking, meat-eating, football-watching manly man. Well, you missed the part where all that beer had a ton of calories, all that meat had a ton of fat, and all that football left your fattening ass planted on the couch all weekend, every weekend. I totally thought you were going to say something eventually about not needing me to bring you so much to drink and so many snacks, but nope, you never seemed to notice that you’d worked yourself up to eating an entire party’s worth of food all on your own between Saturday morning and Sunday night. And it’s not like I was going to stop you, was I?

I’d have thought your bros teasing you about how fat you were getting would be enough for you to at least start thinking about it, too. They may not be the cut jocks they were when you were younger, but aside from a couple with dadbods, they’re all in reasonably good shape. But not you. And you let them pat and rub your belly to put you in your place every time they come over to watch the game, take their jokes about how the blobby flab inflating your arms is all muscle, let them snicker at you for finishing off the food they leave behind to keep to their diets. You think you’re still just one of the boys, when really you’re more like their fat, chubby mascot.

So here you sit, munching on nachos swimming in beef queso, eyes glued to the third match of the day. Love handles bulging over the waistband of your athletic shorts, overtaxed by the titanic rump, bulging hips, and bloated thighs anchoring you to your seat. Tits flopping across your beer belly as you shout at the refs on tv. Chubby, shapeless arms wobbling with your gestures as you criticize guys in peak physical condition, lecturing about how they should be playing when thirty seconds of that level of activity would leave you panting on the ground. And me, just smiling and nodding and agreeing, knowing those 2,500 calories of goo are going to be blowing you up even more by tomorrow.

This can’t last forever, of course. Eventually, you’ll wind up so fat, heavy, and hard to move that you won’t be able to ignore how far you’ve fallen. You’ll have to confront the (at least) quarter-ton body you’ve grown, and consider how blubbery you were when it stopped being manly. Spoiler alert: you passed that point a looooong way back. You’ll face the fact that there’s nothing masculine about a guy whose manhood is buried in several inches of soft, yielding lard. That there’s nothing macho about a guy who has to move fat out of the way so he can reach for the remote or his next meal. That nobody envies a former athlete who’s so bloated and heavy he can barely make it to the mailbox and back. That you’ve eaten yourself out of everything you used to know about yourself.

But don’t worry; I’ll still pretend you’re my manly man, and you’ll eat that up too so you don’t have to pay attention to the last of your fitness slipping away. I’ll tell you that you look so big and strong, while you’re shoveling those pork rinds into your mouth. I’ll giggle that you seem so tough and stoic, while you’re planted on the couch, huge fat rolls flowing in all directions. I’ll whisper that you’re still so fit and athletic, after you come back huffing and puffing from hauling your big back from the next room. I’ll say all the things you want to hear. Just keep eating for me, baby. I want my tough guy to be big, and strong… and big.