twitchquotes:Gr8 b8, m8. I rel8, str8 appreci8, and congratul8. I r8 this b8 an 8/8. Plz no h8, I'm str8 ir8. Cre8 more, can't w8. We should convers8, I won't ber8, my number is 8888888, ask for N8. No calls l8 or out of st8. If on a d8, ask K8 to loc8. Even with a full pl8, I always have time to communic8 so don't hesit8, I hope you r8 8/8 .. m8.
Gr8 b8, m8. I rel8, str8 appreci8, and congratul8. I r8 this b8 an 8/8. Plz no h8, I'm str8 ir8. Cre8 more, can't w8. We should convers8, I won't ber8, my number is 8888888, ask for N8. No calls l8 or out of st8. If on a d8, ask K8 to loc8. Even with a full pl8, I always have time to communic8 so don't hesit8, I hope you r8 8/8 .. m8.
Bumper Ameng burger
twitchquotes:Bumper stared at the burger in his hand. Normally, he loved chowing down on his Big Mac like he chowed on these beta tanks like Swon or Muma or Super. But not today. Today, this burger was a sign of his failure. The double patties of meat reminded him not of succulent juicy beef but only the mighty veiny vascular muscles of Ameng. The seeded bread buns? It was Ameng’s cheeks as he squatted on Bumper’s face. The tomato? It was his blood dripping off Ameng’s hammer. The mayo? You know what it is
Bumper stared at the burger in his hand. Normally, he loved chowing down on his Big Mac like he chowed on these beta tanks like Swon or Muma or Super. But not today. Today, this burger was a sign of his failure. The double patties of meat reminded him not of succulent juicy beef but only the mighty veiny vascular muscles of Ameng. The seeded bread buns? It was Ameng’s cheeks as he squatted on Bumper’s face. The tomato? It was his blood dripping off Ameng’s hammer. The mayo? You know what it is
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Based? Based on what?
Based? Based on what? In your dick? Please shut the fuck up and use words properly you fuckin troglodyte, do you think God gave us a freedom of speech just to spew random words that have no meaning that doesn't even correllate to the topic of the conversation? Like please you always complain about why no one talks to you or no one expresses their opinions on you because you're always spewing random shit like poggers based cringe and when you try to explain what it is and you just say that it's funny like what? What the fuck is funny about that do you think you'll just become a stand-up comedian that will get a standing ovation just because you said "cum" in the stage? HELL NO YOU FUCKIN IDIOT, so please shut the fuck up and use words properly
Based? Based on what? In your dick? Please shut the fuck up and use words properly you fuckin troglodyte, do you think God gave us a freedom of speech just to spew random words that have no meaning that doesn't even correllate to the topic of the conversation? Like please you always complain about why no one talks to you or no one expresses their opinions on you because you're always spewing random shit like poggers based cringe and when you try to explain what it is and you just say that it's funny like what? What the fuck is funny about that do you think you'll just become a stand-up comedian that will get a standing ovation just because you said "cum" in the stage? HELL NO YOU FUCKIN IDIOT, so please shut the fuck up and use words properly
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."