Dear people who comment on porn, why? Do you really think whoever the fuck you’re masturbating to will see “you are gorgeous I would love to tittyfuck you, it would be my pleasure😍😍😍” will fly over to your house have sex with your fatass and then fly back? No. If it ever actually does happen, I’d bet that pornstar does it a lot. Which means constant flying. Porn commenters are causing global warming.
I used to be a real ad
More Copypastas
Papparrian is disappointed in Kripparrian
twitchquotes:
Ｋｒｉｐｐ， ｔｈｉｓ ｉｓ Ｐａｐｐａｒｒｉａｎ． ＷＨＡＴ ＴＨＥ ＦＵＣＫ？ Ｗｈｙ ａｒｅ ｙｏｕ ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ ａ ＭＯＢＡ？ Ｉ ｒｅｍｅｍｂｅｒ ｗｈｅｎ ｙｏｕ ｗｅｒｅ ａ ｙｏｕｎｇ ｂｏｙ ａｎｄ ｙｏｕ ｗｏｕｌｄｎ＇ｔ ｄａｒｅ ｔｏｕｃｈ ｔｈａｔ ｓｈｉｔ． Ｉ＇ｍ ｄｉｓｓａｐｏｉｎｔｅｄ ｉｎ ｙｏｕ ｓｏｎ． Ｒｉｐ ｉｎ ｐｅｐｐｅｒｏｎｉｓ
twitch chat
Kripp
VEGAN COPY PASTA
twitchquotes:
One day I was watching Kripp and I wanted to be cool like everyone in chat, so I made my own copy pastaroni. Here it is guys. I tried my hardest to be witty, clever, and funny. This what I like to call VEGAN COPY PASTA. Please copy and paste as much as you like, as it is not only entertaining but also healthy for you!
twitch chat
Kripp
WEEB TEST
IF YOU TOUCH THE LOLI , WATCH BOKU NO PICO ⎝ 
I WANNA BE THE VERY BEST
twitchquotes:
SourPls I WANNA BE THE VERY BEST SourPls LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS SourPls TO CATCH THEM IS MY REAL TEST SourPls TO TRAIN THEM IS MY CAUSE SourPls I WANNA BE THE VERY BEST SourPls LIKE NO ONE EVER WAS SourPls TO CATCH THEM IS MY REAL TEST SourPls TO TRAIN THEM IS MY CAUSE SourPls
twitch chat
Pokemon Marathon 2018
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.