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More Classic Copypastas
Kripp puts his hands on my hips and looks into my eyes
twitchquotes:Kripp puts his hands on my hips and looks into my eyes. His face comes closer as he plants his wet lips onto mine. We are locked together in a beautiful display of love. Then I wake up. I look at Kripp's stream. He is playing Tavern Brawl. Now I remember why I fell asl...
Kripp puts his hands on my hips and looks into my eyes. His face comes closer as he plants his wet lips onto mine. We are locked together in a beautiful display of love. Then I wake up. I look at Kripp's stream. He is playing Tavern Brawl. Now I remember why I fell asl... ResidentSleeper
I fucked Up DVD
Earlier today I was really horny, and I saw what I thought to be a blank DVD. I thought, DVDs have a tight hole, they might feel pretty good. So I put my soft pp into the hole of the DVD, and for a few seconds as I started getting harder, it felt pretty good, but then, once I was fully erect, it started being painful. My pp was stuck in the DVD, and I had to break it in half to get if out. It was then when I flipped the broken DVD over and realized that it was not a blank DVD, but a copy of the Pixar movie Up.. Well guys, guess I fucked up.
Earlier today I was really horny, and I saw what I thought to be a blank DVD. I thought, DVDs have a tight hole, they might feel pretty good. So I put my soft pp into the hole of the DVD, and for a few seconds as I started getting harder, it felt pretty good, but then, once I was fully erect, it started being painful. My pp was stuck in the DVD, and I had to break it in half to get if out. It was then when I flipped the broken DVD over and realized that it was not a blank DVD, but a copy of the Pixar movie Up.. Well guys, guess I fucked up.
twitchquotes:This is going to sound crazy, but someone posted that same paragraph just a minute ago. Here in this chat even. The odds of two people having the same paragraph-long thought is astronomical, especially in the same small website. Wow.
This is going to sound crazy, but someone posted that same paragraph just a minute ago. Here in this chat even. The odds of two people having the same paragraph-long thought is astronomical, especially in the same small website. Wow.
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."