twitchquotes:Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can't free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you've broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.
Infinite poop. You sit on the toilet to poop, but the poop never stops coming out of your butt. You have to start flushing the toilet every two minutes to keep up. You try to pinch your butt closed but that makes your insides hurt. The poop accelerates. You call 911. The paramedics call for doctors. The doctors call for specialists. The story trends on Twitter. You turn down talk show appearances. Your septic tank fails. People form a cult. Your toilet is finished. Volunteers arrive with buckets and shovels. You are completely used to the smell. The poop accelerates. You are moved to a stepladder with a hole in the top step. The poop accelerates. The shovelers abandon the buckets and shovel directly out the window. The poop accelerates. A candlelight vigil forms around your house. One of the workers falls over and can't free himself. The poop accelerates. A priest knocks over the stepladder and tackles you out the window. You land in the pile. The poop accelerates. The force now propels you forward and upward. Vigil goers grab at your legs. The poop ignites from their candles. The Facebook live event hits 1 million viewers. The poop accelerates. You are 30 feet in the air. The fire engulfs the vigil and your house. 60 feet. The poop accelerates. The torrent underneath you is deafening. 5 million Facebook live viewers. You try to close up shop but your butthole disintegrated long ago. 120 feet up. Your house explodes. The poop accelerates. 1000 feet. You are now tracked on radar. You try to change your angle of ascent but you should have thought of that way earlier. The poop accelerates. 4,000 feet. NORAD upgrades to DEFCON 3. Concentric circles of fire engulf your city. The poop accelerates. You have broken the sound barrier. 30,000 feet. You no longer take in enough oxygen to sustain consciousness. 60,000 feet. CNN is reporting on all the world records you've broken. 200,000 feet. You are no longer alive. The poop accelerates. Your body disintegrates but your poop contrail remains. NASA can no longer track you. You break the light-speed barrier and we can no longer bear witness. The poop accelerates. Forever.
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink.
"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave.
Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette.
"Got a spare?" she asks.
"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles.
"Conversation with me, duh."
I laugh.
"What's so funny?" she protests.
"Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?"
"You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter.
"What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask.
"Teaching, I think."
"And if I was your student, what would I be learning?"
"Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?"
"Bermuda," I say.
"Oh wow. That's lovely."
"It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking."
"What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires.
"I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."
Natalie Portman is the reason I work out. I have this fantasy where we start talking at the Vanity Fair Oscars party bar. We exchange a few pleasantries. She asks what I do. I say I loved her in New Girl. She laughs. I get my drink.
"Well, see ya," I say and walk away. I've got her attention now. How many guys voluntarily leave a conversation with Natalie Portman? She touches her neck as she watches me leave.
Later, as the night's dragged on and the coterie of gorgeous narcissists grows increasingly loose, she finds me on the balcony, my bowtie undone, smoking a cigarette.
"Got a spare?" she asks.
"What's in it for me?" I say as I hand her one of my little white ladies. She smiles.
"Conversation with me, duh."
I laugh.
"What's so funny?" she protests.
"Nothing, nothing... It's just... don't you grow tired of the egos?"
"You get used to it," she says, lighting her cigarette and handing me back the lighter.
"What would you do if you weren't an actress?" I ask.
"Teaching, I think."
"And if I was your student, what would I be learning?"
"Discipline," she says quickly, looking up into my eyes, before changing the subject. "Where are you from?"
"Bermuda," I say.
"Oh wow. That's lovely."
"It's ok," I admit. "Not everything is to my liking."
"What could possibly be not to your liking in Bermuda?" she inquires.
"I don't like sand," I tell her. "It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere."
As a teemo main at a respectably high elo
twitchquotes:As a teemo main at a respectably high elo, this game is hard to watch. Literally cringing at some of these mistakes. If you actually want to learn teemo PM me (im gold 3 24lp) I also do coaching
As a teemo main at a respectably high elo, this game is hard to watch. Literally cringing at some of these mistakes. If you actually want to learn teemo PM me (im gold 3 24lp) I also do coaching
Avoid embarrasing incidents
twitchquotes:Hey chat, take it easy please. Sometimes I see the same message posted twice. Take your time to actually read chat to avoid embarrassing incidents like this. Thank you.
Hey chat, take it easy please. Sometimes I see the same message posted twice. Take your time to actually read chat to avoid embarrassing incidents like this. Thank you. :)
How do I get my husband to stop going āGoblin Modeā during sex?
How do I get my husband to stop going āGoblin Modeā during sex?
TLDR; My husband says āGoblin Mode activatedā when we start to have sex, growls and acts like a caveman, and then says āGoblin Mode offā when we stop, and then pretends not to remember afterward.
I really love my husband and heās always been great in bed. But recently heās been acting really weird. So, a couple of days ago, my son went on a rampage through our house and said he was in āGoblin Modeā. We didnāt really know what to do with him, so we sent him to live with my parents so he can go to a special needs school. My husband a really great relationship with our son and loved him more than anything. Naturally, he was upset when he had to leave. Heās an incredibly tough man, but this was the first time Iāve ever seen him cry. I think since then, heās been a little emotionally unwell. Iāve heard him muttering, āGoblinā repeatedly when he didnāt notice me, staring blankly into his food, and just going alone by himself to do who knows what. I feel awful for him, but we both agreed that this was for the best. Last night, the day after our son went away, we decided to have sex to relieve our stress. However, my husband said āGoblin Mode activatedā, starting growling, and went wild having sex with me. Admittedly, it was some of the best and most experimental sex Iāve ever had, but Iām worried that something might be going on with my husband. Any advice?
Edit: The problem isnāt the āGoblin Modeā, itās that he could be ill
How do I get my husband to stop going āGoblin Modeā during sex?
TLDR; My husband says āGoblin Mode activatedā when we start to have sex, growls and acts like a caveman, and then says āGoblin Mode offā when we stop, and then pretends not to remember afterward.
I really love my husband and heās always been great in bed. But recently heās been acting really weird. So, a couple of days ago, my son went on a rampage through our house and said he was in āGoblin Modeā. We didnāt really know what to do with him, so we sent him to live with my parents so he can go to a special needs school. My husband a really great relationship with our son and loved him more than anything. Naturally, he was upset when he had to leave. Heās an incredibly tough man, but this was the first time Iāve ever seen him cry. I think since then, heās been a little emotionally unwell. Iāve heard him muttering, āGoblinā repeatedly when he didnāt notice me, staring blankly into his food, and just going alone by himself to do who knows what. I feel awful for him, but we both agreed that this was for the best. Last night, the day after our son went away, we decided to have sex to relieve our stress. However, my husband said āGoblin Mode activatedā, starting growling, and went wild having sex with me. Admittedly, it was some of the best and most experimental sex Iāve ever had, but Iām worried that something might be going on with my husband. Any advice?
Edit: The problem isnāt the āGoblin Modeā, itās that he could be ill