twitchquotes:
chat moving so fast no one will notice me seeking attention from strangers on the internet because my parents didn't give me any.
twitch chat
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More Copypastas
Rainbow 6 copypastas have to be among the worst I've seen in any esport
twitchquotes:
Also, Rainbow 6 copypastas have to be among the worst I've seen in any esport. People spam garbage over and over until eventually the mods get fed up and clamp down on spam. I don't blame them for it. Get creative and stop ruining twitch chat for everyone
twitch chat
ME ORC ME SPAM
twitchquotes:
ME ORC ME SPAM NO MOD NO BAN
ME ORC ME SPAM NO MOD NO BAN
twitch chat
MODS
When I was 13, I came out to my parents as a Morbius male.
When i was 13, i came out to my parents as a morbius male. They couldnt accept my morbality, so they sent me off to camp. They just didnt understand— i was morbed that way. At the camp, they gave us electromorb therapy to morb us into beta males. I resisted the treatment, being a morbius male, you cant morb me out of being morbed. I fooled the counselors into thinking they had successfully morbed be into a beta male, and i returned home. To this day, i live a double life— one for my parents, who still cannot accept morbality, and one where its always morbin time.
Morbius
Damn missed the TSLA pump
Damn missed the TSLA pump... just like last week... and last month.... and last year
WallStreetBets
It's not gay with socks on
When I was 13 years old a buddy of mine tried to convince me to fool around. I wasn't into it, and he told me it's not gay if you're wearing socks. I didn't believe him, went home, and asked my dad.
That's 'gentleman's gay', hardly gay at all. Don't see it much these days.
The 50s were a different time. What were we to do? We were typical boarding school boys, rich with vigor, skin slick with drying sweat and gritty earth from a game of pigskin.
At night our young, virile bodies filled the dorm with sweet-musky vapors, like game-meat stewed with apple and peppercorn. You'd awake in darkness to the hushed, melodic rhythm of two pairs of white tube socks, barely visible in moonlight, bouncing on the hardwood floor.
The deep bond of male friendship played like a thousand different human instruments. The wet claps of skin on skin, the gentle thud of heads on backboards, frenzied cries in the throes of climax. Wilbur, so fat and soft like tapioca pudding. His breasts were so like the real thing, what we fantasized of our future wives. Unwilling, defenseless Wilbur, so slow and uncoordinated in the dark. 10 of us would glaze his bare, pink flesh like a giant raspberry danish. He once had the audacity to tell Headmaster Redford. But Redford was a Deerfield boy once, he understood. So he joined us on our midnight hog hunts.
Through college and years after we'd find time here and there, away from the wives at a family lake house. But it's been decades now - the times have certainly changed. If you wanted to do something private with another man, in your socks, it wasn’t ‘gay’. It was just two men, celebrating each other's strength.