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[Copypasta]Copypastas reduce the human experience
twitchquotes:Copypastas are reducing the human experience to generic responses to certain things occurring inside the game. Doesn't people feel the need to express themselves with some level of originality?
Copypastas are reducing the human experience to generic responses to certain things occurring inside the game. Doesn't people feel the need to express themselves with some level of originality?
Hey Kripp! I want to tell you a secret. It's not very simple for me to say. Listen please! So you know... I like that porn with fetish and stuff... But when you fist your subs, I just don't need to watch that *** anymore! Because it is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen... Your sexy fist
Trevor from ChatBotsForTwitch.com
twitchquotes:Hi [insert streamer name], this is Trevor from ChAtBotsForTwitch,com. We kindly request that if you're going to pay the extra to have our employees interact with your chat, you don't make fun of them. We know you have difficulty getting real viewers and it frustrates you, but please don't take it out on my employees. Thank you, Trevor.
Hi [insert streamer name], this is Trevor from ChAtBotsForTwitch,com. We kindly request that if you're going to pay the extra to have our employees interact with your chat, you don't make fun of them. We know you have difficulty getting real viewers and it frustrates you, but please don't take it out on my employees. Thank you, Trevor.
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."