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[Copypasta]I like spamming copypastas
twitchquotes:I like spamming copypastas. It's my favorite activity. When they're dank, I think to myself "yes". When they're removed, I think to myself "no".
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ KappaPride DAMN THIS NEW SPAM IS FABULOUS KappaPride ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ஜ۩۞۩ஜ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
What are these mods doing?
twitchquotes:What the fuck are these mods doing? The whole chat is being spammed and absolutely nothing is being done about it. This is the worst fucking stream I have ever watched. I have wonder why anybody would purchase a subscription to this shit hole. This message will probably be drowned out by the circlejerk going on in chat. Fuck you, you fucking spammers. You ruined my fucking day.
What the fuck are these mods doing? The whole chat is being spammed and absolutely nothing is being done about it. This is the worst fucking stream I have ever watched. I have wonder why anybody would purchase a subscription to this shit hole. This message will probably be drowned out by the circlejerk going on in chat. Fuck you, you fucking spammers. You ruined my fucking day.
I'm not gay but I want to live with Kanye West
I want to live in a log cabin in the woods with Kanye. We won't ever have sex, but there will be a simmering erotic undercurrent as I stand in the kitchen window watching him tighten his ass as he chops wood, shirtless, sweat pouring off his body. I'll run upstairs and masturbate, the entire time forcing myself to think of women while my thoughts drift back to Kanye. I won't be able to climax and I'll eventually go back downstairs, angry. Sometimes we will look across the table and catch each other's eyes, and in that second, anything is possible, but we both deny ourselves and go back to what we were doing. One day one of us will die, and the other will bury him outside the log cabin. Then they'll go inside, pen a brief missive to their departed friend, and commit suicide, never able to deal with life without their one true platonic love.
I want to live in a log cabin in the woods with Kanye. We won't ever have sex, but there will be a simmering erotic undercurrent as I stand in the kitchen window watching him tighten his ass as he chops wood, shirtless, sweat pouring off his body. I'll run upstairs and masturbate, the entire time forcing myself to think of women while my thoughts drift back to Kanye. I won't be able to climax and I'll eventually go back downstairs, angry. Sometimes we will look across the table and catch each other's eyes, and in that second, anything is possible, but we both deny ourselves and go back to what we were doing. One day one of us will die, and the other will bury him outside the log cabin. Then they'll go inside, pen a brief missive to their departed friend, and commit suicide, never able to deal with life without their one true platonic love.