Sorry! Something wrong happened behind the scenes. Refresh and try again.
[Copypasta]So you call these things "chips"?
So you call these things "chips"? Instead of crispity crunchy munchie crackerjack snacker nibbler snap crack n pop westpoolchestershireshire queen's lovely jubily delights?
That’s rather bit cringe, innit bruv
So you call these things "chips"? Instead of crispity crunchy munchie crackerjack snacker nibbler snap crack n pop westpoolchestershireshire queen's lovely jubily delights?
That’s rather bit cringe, innit bruv
(∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃▭ This is Wildcard Region Police, NA you are coming with us (∩ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)⊃▭
you will never be on my intellectual level
twitchquotes:listen until you guys have read fichte, kant, schelling, hegel, goethe, novalis and hamann in the original german, you will never be on my intellectual level, you are plebs who are addicted to reddit and think rick and morty is a deep show, your children will be dysgenic losers and mine will be serious winners and well-educated, they'll probably smack the glasses off your children for fun and then go read homer in the original greek.
listen until you guys have read fichte, kant, schelling, hegel, goethe, novalis and hamann in the original german, you will never be on my intellectual level, you are plebs who are addicted to reddit and think rick and morty is a deep show, your children will be dysgenic losers and mine will be serious winners and well-educated, they'll probably smack the glasses off your children for fun and then go read homer in the original greek.
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."