[Copypasta] Trumpet Skeleton of the Abyss

twitchquotes: πŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€ IF YOU SEE THIS MESSAGE WHILE SCROLLING you have been visited by trumpet skeleton of the abyss. good bones and calcium will come to you but only if you reply "thank mr skeltal" to this message and pasta it to 3 times!! πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸŽΊπŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€πŸ’€
twitch chat
August 2015

Classic

I used to be a real ad
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Gr8 b8 m8

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.
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October 2014

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Unseen donger is the deadliest

twitchquotes: (ΰΈ‡ Ν  Ν Β° Ω„Νœ Β°)ΰΈ‡ α΄›Κœα΄‡ ᴜɴsᴇᴇɴ ᴅᴏɴɒᴇʀ Ιͺs α΄›Κœα΄‡ α΄…α΄‡α΄€α΄…ΚŸΙͺᴇsα΄› (ΰΈ‡ Ν Β° Ω„Νœ Β°)ΰΈ‡
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June 2017

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Only the chosen one can hold his donger

twitchquotes: 8=====> Only the chosen one can hold his donger ⎝ PogChamp ⎠
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February 2016

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As I type this I have my modded PS2 running a track IP script on your post

You fucked up kid. As I type this I have my modded PS2 running a track IP script on your post. Once I have triangulated your position in the world, my PS3 will release to your router my very own Pandora box virus. You won't notice it at first, but soon your lame PC will begin to work against you in ways you can't even imagine. First your graphics card will start to emit the flu virus, your ram will be uploaded online so everyone will be able to use it, your motherboard will slowly secrete acidic resin which will fry the electronics. The processor will be fine, just to give you hope. You will be left with a husk of a machine, all because you decided to critique my mental ability... was it worth it? Not even your mummy can help you now fuck boy
January 2021

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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."
January 2021

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