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Your only friend is Twitch Chat
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THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU REALIZE THAT YOUR ONLY FRIEND IS TWITCH CHAT
THAT MOMENT WHEN YOU REALIZE THAT YOUR ONLY FRIEND IS TWITCH CHAT
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I sexually identify as a single Pringle
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I sexually identify as a single, Pringle, ready to mingle. Ever since I was a potato I dreamed of being thin sliced, covered in disgusting oil then heated in a medium oven until reaching climax at the micro second of golden-browness. People bully me, and say things like "what the fuck, you aren't a Pringle", but I know deep down they are just jealous of my inner beauty.
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I sexually Identify as
Baconator Jr. really has my boyhood trembling
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Christ Almighty, the Baconator Jr. really has my boyhood trembling. The crisp, Smokey bacon atop that seductive, square beef patty. What is there not to adore? And not to mention the smooth, melted cheese, and paired with fries and a frosty, you’ll be soaking through your chef’s apron in no time. Truly a masterpiece. A steamy, moist, delicious masterpiece.
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NairoMK
So you start reading a copy pasta...
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So you start reading a copy pasta... wondering when it will get good. It's a large wall of text, there must be something of substance somewhere in here, right? You scroll up to stop the chat elevator so you can finish reading it. But then you realize... It's just a waste of your time. It's just a large wall of text that is completely useless. It's a waste of everyone's time... Regardless, you highlight the text, Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V and hit Enter...
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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."