miscellaneous

Rancho Cucamonga

 

ya

 

no

 

1

 

2

 

3

 

5

 

0

 

pls send 10 dollars to my paypal account oli_fth@yahoo.com

I will also rward you with 5 stars. This is cheap deal.

Thanks

Pothead & Samuli

 

Lmao

 

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

 

how i get a scar like that from eating pussy man?

 

i told you not to fuck me tony!

 

? really

 

really really.

 

.

 

Baginas everywhere! Moo.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

SHE BANGS

SHE BANGS

 

I BANG

I BANG

 

I found the world's longest sentence.......

Once upon a while back there was an ambitious contortionist who made up his mind he would try to conquer the twenty-seventh highest dead volcano on Neptune, with his tongue secretly hiding behind his overweight postman's Swedish Hi-Fi set and the shoelaces of his Persian Ugh boots stubbornly caught on the corner of the round Toongabbie equestrian sports complex, while he would try to breed miniature brown cicadas inside a quickly rotating water-heater with seven silk pillowcases hanging from his uneducated vacuum cleaner which would be chained around his navel, and ask if his second grand-stepfather has heard of any orange-flavoured Portuguese atomic submarines in the neighbourhood lately that have precisely half of their crews attempting to break the 1958 record for mass voluntary electrocution whilst being sponsored by the dangerous chrysanthemum division of Interflora, who have recently gone bankrupt due to the discovery of an overcrowding of rebellious screwdrivers in the Martian stratosphere last week, when salamanders controlled nine hours forty-seven minutes of the 1978 Pakistani croquet final between the lower Philadelphia fishmonger recruiting officer and Karl Marx's younger brother Harpo, who has not seen his bedroom since the Mexican figure-skating champion booked fourteen tomatoes for exceeding the post-war speed limit and lost his balance whilst trying to hunt abominable snowmen at the Olympics with a soggy sultana hidden inside his chaperone's nightshirt which, in 1947, when John Lennon first washed his face and socks in the same country, had its only steel-plated sleeve melted off by the self-appointed chairman of Doubtful Drainpipes Destruction Company under the New Moscow Harbour Bridge which is, at present, rusting severely, due to a heavy downpour of talcum powder over at Disneyland and also due to sixteen undernourished lizards going into a deep, meditating coma without asking their mothers, who were not about to stand for this caper and sat down immediately, squashing Winston Churchill's scale model of Albert Einstein's theory of relativity, which was about to be tested for leakages by the Unemployed Dandelion Research Institution of Dublin, the only city in the Northern Hemisphere to have nine-tenths of its population with an I.Q. less than the average shoe size of the Australian woman, which is seven, but would be more if Neil Armstrong, the best marbles player to walk the surface of the moon, had not decided that he would accept the challenge to be the first and only man to extract his own eardrum while suffering from severe cramps in the left thumbnail, because Franklin D. Roosevelt once put on his coat inside out, which did not seem like a particularly good reason at all, but, considering the fact that the great tennis ball makers' strike of 1904 was, in fact, a fraud, he felt that he could not let the United States of America down who had already bet four buttons and a can of coconut milk on his success and hoped that he would survive the operation which had full, live television coverage by the Ethnic Ethiopians' Broadcasting Commission (E.E.B.C.) in a program with five different commercials showing how to get sperm whales with thick dandruff out of your backyard swimming pool by calling the "sperm Whales with Dandruff in the Backyard Pool Removal Service," who instantly give a free measure and quote, on the condition that the sperm whale to be removed is not suffering from gravel rash, a symptom quite often associated with Outer Mongolian malaria, the only disease in the world except, of course the 'flu, to pass the standards of the Waterloo Water Board, which were introduced six weeks ago because of the invention of shockproof, water-resistant, anti-magnetic, nuclear-explosion-proof sideburn trimmers (the greatest thing since sliced bread), and because of the remembrance of the first Anti-sliced Bread Protest March, which had to be cancelled due to a lack of support on the same afternoon as Norman Gunston's attempt to capture a smart Irishman which, while being unsuccessful, had to be satisfied by a blowfly of about the same intelligence extremely quickly, because the net profit of the experiment had to finance a joint venture between ESSO and BHP in which Norman's aunt's second husband's greengrocer's friend's hairdresser's mother-in-law was to have her false teeth removed by means of voodoo, which is at present practised only by an almost extinct race of politicians found only in the remote valley of Canberra who are trying very hard at the moment to keep the economic sky from falling on to their heads and subsequently avoid a quiet democratic dismissal by the public in a never-ending search for truth, justice and a cheap Christmas dinner which is not surrounded by enormous overheads comprising mostly of a few million dollars profit thrown in for the Artificial Christmas Turkey Company to make the industrial road smoother, and for good old Uncle P.M. in his private, mental straightjacket to tax merrily so as to have enough money to pull his head out of the clouds and his fingers out of his public image money box, which is the largest of its kind in the known world according to the latest annual survey carried out by N.A.S.A., which also showed that there has been a drop in the number of people willing to explain to their bosses why their two-week sick leave lasted nine years and why, when they are rung to be questioned about the reason for this peculiarity, the phone is always answered by a stuttering grandmother trying to persuade the inquirer into thinking there is something wrong with their telephone or that he has been dialling the wrong number for the past eight years eleven and a half months and when, after these possibilities have been overruled on the grounds that the phone was checked last year and that the inquirer has never rung a wrong number before in his life, an elderly vacuum cleaner salesman makes off with the telephone, never to be seen again by anyone alive, except his fellow vacuum cleaner salesmen, who arranged and secretly planned the whole operation without any help whatsoever from Berlin's newly elected Mayor - Mr Jerry Lewis Jnr who received this appointment because of his love of South American curry powder, since the prime ingredients are, of course, peppermint and Manhattan mushrooms, with no artificial flavouring, colouring or preservatives usually found in American suntan lotion worn by most of the population of Miami Beach, where a film appropriately named "The Fourth Return of Son of Son of Jaws XIX" (repeat) is being shot by a team of highly paid, unqualified voluntary producer/directors, who cannot really keep their greedy eyes off the admirable feminine figures that make up practically all of the film's screening time of forty-three hours sixteen and a half-minutes, except for the part where the tedious hero goes into an underwater cavern to search for lost victims of this pathetic shark, which is really half electronics, thought up simultaneously by one hundred and forty-two brigadier-generals, which may seem amazing, but is really nothing compared to the incredible twenty-three cents amassed over seventy-two years of solid devotion by eighty-six members of the Royal Philharmonic Choir in an effort unsurpassed since the year of completion (1978), when an enormous celebration was prepared that turned out to be as difficult to accomplish as dissecting an experimental nuclear warhead with a dried mosquito wing, with the complete collection of Status Quo's albums obstructing the view that is needed to perform this difficult operation, which once, and only once, was performed by the one and only John Smith, who is no relation to John Smith or the other John Smith, well known for his attempt to beat the monstrous rate of inflation by changing the price tag of every retail item in the country, which happened to be a miserable failure because the price tags were so well hidden by the shops concerned that he failed to find more than the six left exposed on the last remaining loaves of bread in the state of Queensland, which he did not buy, leaving them behind for the next seven hundred shopping-mad housewives to tear apart ferociously, trying to get as many crumbs as possible for their starving families waiting in the cars outside hoping for their darling mother's safety for the secret reason that they did not have anything else to do, as the family mother-in-law just passed away and there is a unanimously undecided decision to mourn with deep regret while celebrating joyously, with a mysterious reign of utter confusion governing the whole situation, which is also governed by the "No Small Talk Just Small Print Insurance Brokers", whose business is rapidly increasing because it has just been announced that they have insured Marty Feldman's eyes against normality for $600,000.63, an enormous sum of money, as the "600,000 dollars" part is profit for the insurance brokers, and actually only the "63c" part is the payment really made to poor old Marty, the funniest looking beetle ever to attempt to ski up a steep gravel road with no snow, no skis and his arms and legs tied behind his back since the ex-tap-dancing coach of Dizurted Island escaped from the Federal Penitentiary after serving a sentence nearly as long as this one for actually voting in a federal election, which might have been bad enough, but of course he had to go and make the whole ordeal worse by buying a bus ticket without accusing the bus driver of highway robbery or a similar offence, such as insulting the referee present at the gala day for the premier Czechoslovakian Embroidery Team who were undefeated in the season preceding the present one, where they lost only those two games because the teams they played in those games had decided to be cruel and turn up to compete with them in what is now proclaimed as being the most exciting competition sport in the known world, and special stadiums are rapidly being constructed all around the globe to cater for the millions interested in this fascinating, enthralling and totally mind-blowing spectacle being promoted by bee-sting scratching supervisors all around the world who do not want any new people joining the already overcrowded International Embroidery Association, because already multitudes of over-enthusiastic potential world champions are forgetting their life ambitions and running away to any one of the forty-add thousand clubs belonging to the I.E.A., or beginning new clubs, which is an original concept, but there are still the seventy club houses and gymnasiums being set up in Darwin alone that cannot be forgotten, but seeing that they ARE in Darwin, the club houses are therefore full of people not worth talking about, except for one drunk from (quote) "somewhere out behind that big, red rock by the name of Ayers" (unquote), who believes that the first life form on earth was a bartender, which is a slightly unusual view, but he backs up his argument by saying that the bartender must have been very successful because he had no competition in those days and who else could have begun the idea of forming the multitude of bartenders alive today which this drunk needs constantly but which Alcoholics Anonymous abhors, preferring Real Estate Agents much more, because, according to A.A., a Real Estate Agent - or rather his dog - was the first life form on earth, and that dog's master was not very successful because, although he could sell all the land he could see, he could not actually sell it to anybody, a complication which made him extremely depressed, and he started taking his frustrations out on his dog, who ran away to join a circus - or rather form a circus - because, of course, circuses had not been invented in those days, the days before the ages of watermelons, bread knives, letter openers, curtains, sunflower seeds, and thermo-nuclear disasters that wipe out entire street lights in one blast, a phenomenon which the manufacturers of the dog-repulsers surrounding the bottom of the telegraph poles involved are trying to have abolished, arid the efforts of one man, a Mr It-was-an-Accident-Sir, have contributed enormously to the success of their project which, in fact, was a failure due to the destructive influences of Mr I-Can't-Remember-My-Name Constable, who is also the proud owner of a set of twelve volumes of the International Orange Peel Preserving Encyclopaedia, which he won in a quiz show entitled "How much can you lose in thirty Seconds?", where Mr Constable lost over ninety thousand pounds, to become the night's winner of the worthless encyclopaedia idiocy, which is all a typical example of the heights to which people will go just to say that they have actually won something, even if they did lose more than they won, but nobody hears about that side of the story, except if it was somebody else's fault, which would result in the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, with a few odd lies coming out in a court of suit, very similar to a normal law court, except that in a law court where a murder case is being held, there is a general pandemonium in progress about who killed whom, and why or why not, with a geriatric judge quietly reading girlie magazines whilst some frantically emotional barrister calmly interviews a terrified witness who does not really know what happened and will not tell anyone anyway, because some queer fool of a colleague located next to this apparently brilliant barrister is repeating everything said by the latter with the utmost tedium, a factor of many which end up making the judge resentful, the barrister irritated, the opposing barrister still more irritated and a little furious, the witness not sure what the questions were about in the first place, the jury not sure about what they are doing there anyway, the audience sleepy, the government poorer, and the defendant guilty, a promising prospect for a certain potential murderer who is seriously considering making a full-time trade of depriving a human being of the right to reach senility, but there is a chance of his managing to escape the several thousand loyal policemen, several hundred self-loyal detectives, several million eager members of the general public looking for a scapegoat, several unsuccessful private detectives, and a mother-in-law who is still chasing him for injecting nitro-glycerine into her meat tenderiser in an attempt to make her stop sending him those tasteful beef casseroles which he accidentally fed to his four, once valuable, now paraplegic, German shepherds while trying in vain to remember what Dustin Hoffman gave the United Nations for Christmas in 1958, and at the same time the poor dogs were trying to imagine why their master gave them a bowl with a desk diary in it to drink with their meal and why he was wrapping up a box of water addressed to "The United Nations, c/o Everywhere", which the postman duly collected and lost in the carburettor of his new 1981 Lamborghini, that alone cost £46,000 new, but of course he did not buy this essential component new but second hand for a mere 1,410,000 Lire, because the previous owner wanted a fast sale as he was going abroad, which all goes to show, not that if postmen can afford Lamborghinis then postmen get paid too much, but that Lamborghinis are too cheap and therefore their price should treble so that only doctors, barristers, politicians and milkmen can afford them, in this way separating the rich from the poor in the community, so as a con-man would know with whose wife to become involved in a secret, close relationship lasting about $10,000, or if she really loved him then maybe about £46,000, or 1,410,000 Lire if the current rate of exchange stays stable as long as that, which is very unlikely, because the price of custom-built biorhythms is skyrocketing, due to the increased demand for them by heroin addicts and high-school teachers, who cannot cope with life by themselves, so they have to rent, buy or steal some extra biorhythms just to be able to keep themselves from having a nervous breakdown, or from shaving their legs and spleens, which a lot of them will do because their television told them to, but which a lot of them will do because their horoscope revealed to them that Venus was closer to Jupiter than that day's weather report, so that all Sagittarians would have a tremendous lift in their sex life, and that because the stars of Alpha X-74C-5, or ABCTV-2 were not in view (not counting the fact that a tree was in the way) then all Virgos would undergo a nose transplant, or twenty-four percent of all Geminis would find their true purpose in life at the bottom of a forty-foot snake pit confronted by an arm-wrestling champion, when all that is really going to happen is that astrologers are going to get richer and all the people who believe that their life depends on where a U.F.O. has decided to park are going to get poorer, but if some of them were Americans, then they could probably go on getting poorer indefinitely, seeing that the Americans, with their super-sophisticated technology, their thirty-foot long go-carts, their thirty-foot wide wallets, their air-flavoured pollution and their milkmen, have done everything except find an answer as to whether God (Amen) is communist, socialist, capitalist, democratic, or bored, whereas God (Amen) has really decided to become an independent state, not being ruled by the President (Amen) of America, and has gone to live on an island somewhere in South Andromeda, away from all the hustle and bustle of the modern bridge game, but unfortunately Mrs God (Awomen) does not like South Andromeda, as there are no shopping centres, bridge clubs, knitting needles or milkmen established in the immediate vicinity, which is almost completely occupied by one of the biggest schools in the galaxy, where Mr and Mrs God's family (Amass) can go and disrupt class just like all good little gods and goddesses, or boys and girls as well, who apparently grow up to be men and women according to the Irish National Bureau of Statistics, who have recently revealed that hordes of top scientists from that country are working on a brilliant invention that they are appropriately naming "the wheel", and they feel sure that it will be of infinite benefit to our modern-day life, according to a spokesman, who also said that they are going to sell the valuable patent rights to the Soviet Union for at least £48,000 or maybe, if they are lucky, 1,410,000 Lire, depending upon whether the Soviet Union needs the use of a wheel or two in its industry of making intercontinental ballistic missiles, international disagreements, lots of snow and not many milkmen, or depending upon whether the weather of the island of "Oh, Where on Earth am I" is going to remain at a constant tropical heat of about -68° Fahrenheit or whether the weather is going to become cold, which could lead to the beginning of another Ice Age, similar to the first one when man had only just crawled out of the primeval slime and was just beginning to wipe it all off, but he had to wait until he thought of inventing Kleenex before patiently continuing in what seemed to be a never-ending uphill battle until the invention of soap and sandpaper, which helped tremendously to clean but did not succeed in stopping the re-application of dirt by man again, and even to this day men are still trying to wash off this persistent filth in a strange ritual called a bath, performed in controlled situations called tubs under extremely high temperature absurdities by one - sometimes two, or maybe even three - persons if the World Cup final is on television, the television is in the bathroom and no one has had the intelligence to think of actually moving the television out of the bathroom so that the rest of the less intelligent bathroom inhabitants have an opportunity to get themselves into a living-room or similar room and in the end find out that the World Cup final has been cancelled and that they have to put up with two hours of solid commercials for everything under the sun except milkmen, who never advertise on television as they cannot afford to after purchasing their new Lamborghinis from a leading used car dealer in Harlem, New York, where Lamborghinis are nearly as expensive as Central Park mugger detectors, that are so expensive because the only users of them are the only inhabitants of Central Park - two squirrels and a car park - who really use the mugger detectors because they are shaped like yo-yos, so that the users can throw them into the nearest bush to see if a mugger has camped there for the night, and if one has, then the yo-yo will theoretically hit him on the head, betraying then his unique hiding place to the operator of the ingenious device which was thought up by a crack team of thirty practical jokers employed by IBICTUACITY (I Bet I Can Think Up A Crazier Idea Than You) Proprietary Limited, who are also available on an international long-playing record that is guaranteed to be the wrong size, the wrong shape and the wrong speed, so that the buyer ends up with a piece of worthless plastic that he can either burn or break, in which case he would break a world record for the most useless recording of an insane yo-yo manufacturer of Central Park, New York, an effort of which he could be proud, but for which he would get no recognition, on account of the fact that nobody on the known part of the globe would be interested in that record being broken, except a group of fanatics on records called "The Guinness Bureau of Records", who put out a best-selling book called "The Guinness Book of Records", that uses a special type of ink of very high quality in its printing to make sure that a person buying the book will be able to read it, this then giving the Book a considerable advantage over most of the other world-wide publications, which are usually illegible to the reader, even if the reader is of the same nationality as the writer, which is not very likely anyway, as writers are almost invariably the wrong nationality and speak the wrong language, a particularly difficult obstacle to overcome on the reader's behalf, except if the reader was an aardvark, which speaks every known language, strangely enough, with consistent fluency, which makes it an invaluable addition to any zoo, as the aardvark can instruct the zoo keeper as to what cage deodoriser it would like used on its cage on a certain day of the week or how many autographs it would like to sign for little girls with little grannies who visit the zoo on the condition that the proprietors of the zoo let the little granny play with the larger pythons and the exciting starfish, and the little girl play with Monty Python and the exciting stars, who are determined not to reveal to her their secrets of success or their recipe for strawberry pudding that only that one group of professional idiots are permitted to prepare, according to the Margaret Fulton's International Cookery Book edition of 1979 which has outsold "The Complete Book of Chewing Gum", which is distributed by the same people that organised the first official U.F.O.-spotting ceremony, where the person who spots the most unidentified flying objects in ten minutes wins the lucky door prize of a trip for two, one-way, to the planet of the winner's choice, where he can visit the historic origin of quite a few extra-terrestrial beings and become one of the many suckers to fail for that publicity stunt by "Acme Flying Saucer and Distant Planet Corporation" who, because they are the sole manufacturers of the incredibly intricate, sophisticated, patented garbage tin lid, and because they have claimed rights to any misapprehension arrived at by a member of the general public after seeing a shooting star or a lost reindeer in the upward vicinity of the universe, have found it very easy indeed to influence the media into thinking that there is, in fact, a thriving colony of green men of various sizes orbiting the Earth and bas been throughout the history of the gullible consumer and his parents, who are a vital element in the stability of the belief in these approximately 50%-absolute absurdities of the heavens and who will solemnly swear that they are definitely descended from - or even living with - Napoleon, George Washington and Lord Nelson, and that they have all had a close encounter of the third kind with their favourite unexplained monster from the Loch Ness, the Himalayas, and/or the forests of southern Canada, when everyone knows that all three have been captured and put into Parliament to extrapolate the fundamental laws of human existence and support the theory that man did, in fact, evolve from the Tyrannosaurus Rex and not, as previously believed, from one of the more intelligent species of tinned apricots in syrup, which is a totally ridiculous idea, as Tyrannosaurus Rexs are infinitely more brainless and therefore perfect candidates for the title of "Dinosaurian Enemy No 1", even though they never ate tinned apricots in syrup, which is probably why they became extinct and why man is still thriving, because man eats tinned apricots in syrup every now and again, so that Ardmona, SPC and the rest can consider themselves the saviours of the species, as they are all the producers of the apparently vital part of man's diet, without which man could never have survived the Second World War, according to a self-proclaimed nutritionist, who believes that the Second World War, with its day-centres for Nazi prisoners-of-war, with its various air forces testing out their own anti-enemy firework displays - on the enemy, with its couple of million disguised civilians running around in funny uniforms seeing how close to the enemy they could fire their guns or throw their hand grenades without actually killing them, all falling miserably, with its super-generals all pretending that this little folly is really a dress-rehearsal for World War Three, and with its milkmen running around looking for work, was a complete waste of time on behalf of everyone who had anything to do with creating or inventing it, because no one had permission to have fun in the 1940s from the person in charge of international sport and recreation, who apparently has just retired after a frustrating succession of almost-fatal heart attacks and several quite nasty doses of cancer, which nearly drove him to drink, but was rescued from this boredom by a team of about seven hundred thousand doctors working around the clock for nearly six months without even enough rest to have a quick glimpse of the uncut fifty-one hour version of "War and Pieces of Things that are Not Really Anything to Do with War at All", which is a less successful rendition of the epic movie, "War and Percy", which described Percy Ivegottaluvalybunchofkoconutz's escapades during the Industrial Revolution, where he was barracking for all the industrials and their allies and was fighting whatever the industrials were revolting against, which eventuated in his being put in a lovely room with cushions all over the place and a couple of heavy locks on the door, with plenty of people looking after him and, strangely enough, all wearing white coats and looking much like traditional physio-chemists except for one minor detail, and that is that they were all wearing defence mechanisms to protect themselves from many of Percy's roommates, who appeared to be absolutely mad and quite unaware of the fact that Percy happened to be quite sane and wondering why all these people clad in white had classified him in with all these other weirdos when he was really as normal and sensible as, for instance, Mr E. Rattic, the current president of "Bigots Anonymous", who organises all socials where top-class bigots from all over the world come to degrade minority groups and try to win arguments in the longest possible time with the shortest amount of cocktail breaks or police rails that inconveniently interrupt this apparently jolly good get-together of world-champion, anti-social, chauvinistic, human letdowns, and discouraging Mr Rattic from shooting the lot of them if they laugh at him - or even near him - without consulting the extremely accurate "El Cheapo Bureau of Laws" (ECBOL) to see if laughing at Mr Rattic is currently against the law, or whether it is merely illegal and punishable by being sent to an Ita Buttrose (Amen) rock concert where forced to listen to a musical version of the recipe for next week's fascinating Women's Weekly, that includes an enthralling article on what to wear to the crowning of the next King of England, and how to dig up mushrooms if they get lost as a result of a sudden shower of larger pieces of hail than a dictionary updater would be led to expect, considering of course that a normal, everyday dictionary updater has only a limited intelligence and therefore could not be expected to expect a larger-than-expected size hailstone in the next sudden shower, provided the expected blizzard was conclusively not in April, in which case the dictionary updaters would be the first, if not the only, people to be able to predict the exact weight and diameter of an average hailstone falling in the region of Kuala Lumpur or Morocco, which would not be too difficult to predict, because, as everyone knows, no hailstones fall in Malaya or North Africa (at least not during public holidays), but petrol, by the gallon, or - if most of the residents of Morocco and Malaya have already received instructions from their respective leading petrol station operators to go metric - by the litre, which results in all the petrol sinking into the ground where it lies until some fool of a firebug throws a match in Morocco's general direction so that there is an instant flame that results in the whole of Morocco becoming unbearably hot, permitting the growth of larger than expected hailstones and encouraging the growth of masochists, who really love being tortured beyond recognition and cannot stand being pampered or having a good time, preferring having a really bad time which is how they go about having a good time, which confuses them because they can have a good time only by having a bad time, and good times are totally against their principles, so they have to have a good time which they cannot do either, so most of them kill themselves, resulting in a very large death rate for masochists, nearly as high as the corresponding rate for contortionists, who do really strange things like conquering volcanoes on Neptune in outrageous positions, so as to try to keep up with the already victorious original mountain-climbing contortionist, who really sped up that challenging peak, exhausting himself to the extent that he did not even have enough energy to compile, write, edit, publish and print a record-breaking sentence, since writing sentences of absurd lengths is thoroughly exhausting and not to be tried unless in peak physical condition, since people have tried (ABC NEWS INTERRUPTS THIS SENTENCE TO REPORT THAT AN UNKNOWN CONTORTIONIST, PARTS OF WHOM IT IS BELIEVED HAVE ORIGINATED ON NEPTUNE, HAS ATTEMPTED TO SCALE A FAMOUS MOUNTAIN IN THE SAHARA WITH A GRAND PIANO TIED TO HIS ANKLE. THANK YOU).

 

:|

 

oooh chimpanzee that monkey news

 

I know you cringe rose, but it wasn't in an effort to "raise" my post avg. It was actually an interesting find. The sentence contains over 5k words, and is apparently grammatically correct.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

smoke me.

 

reply

 

POT IS FOR LOSERS.

 

Post

 

Post

 

Post

 

Post

 

Is it Postal?

 

No post office

 

Yes it´s right there.

 

shalom

 

lol

 

Shalom

 

Shalom

 

Shalom

 

I barebacked Nosferatus mom!

 

me too

 

me three

 

me four.

 

I am the fifth bot to have sex with nos's mom.

 

chinese chicken

 

slowly roasted lamb

 

succulent King prawns pan-fried with shells on after marinating in garlic and chilli then finished with a touch of brandy, served with fluffy basmati rice and and a rustic fresh bread roll.

 

hi, im a windumper. FEAR ME

 

Ebola?

 

pothead is amazing and i love him.

 

gg

 

gfg

 

nipple clamps

 

bump

 

Woop Woop

 

WAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

boo

 

boo

 

boo

 

boo

 

lol

 

adw

 

uh oh

 

a

 

a

 

a

 

a

 

ok

 

a

 

http://i.imgur.com/p9lG2ss.png

 

ok

 

ok

 

dawwd

 

So rusty!!!! School is crazy... have not had internet at home for a year, getting it soon...so maybe i will start playing again!

 

Hey

 

Awkward

 

ok

 

daad

 

f

 

aye dog

 

grrrr

 

dawwa

 

fffff

 

...

 

awdawd

 

awdawd

 

awdawd

 

awdawd

 

a

 

a

 

a

 

boo

 

a

 

I am legend.

 

BOO!!!

 

Waaargh!

 

yeah

 

boo

 

boo

 

Weeee

 

1

 

Oh yeah!

 

Another!

 

Another???

 

hhmmmmm

 

a

 

hmm

 

aa

 

a

 

post.

 

juhogiocfoucghgjhk;hgdsffdfygulh;'gf;posidsyfduf

 

aa

 

a

 

a

 

a

 

.

 

where we're going, we wont need roads.

 

Don't read this

 

Hola

 

Que tal hombre?

 

ok

 

0

 

1

 

1

 

much xp. So level.

 

.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ

 

Queef

 

Beef

 

-Riot

 

-Sunset

 

-Don't like

 

-Faded

 

All Hustle No Luck

 

For Fun

 

no

 

Yes

 

.

 

a

 

b

 

boring

 

Idjits.

 

buy meeeeee capitano welfare!

 

buy meeeeee capitano welfare!

 

buy meeeeee capitano welfare!

 

buy meeeeee capitano welfare!

 

shwoop

 

da woop

 

BOOM SHAKALAKA

 

BOOM SHAKALAKA

 

shelf stacker!^

 

-

 

Marko is a very handsome man

 

herp derp

 

dyuuurp

 

Where is Walter White?

 

iiiiiiiiiiiii

 

:)

 

foolish

 

Knock Knock

 

Ham Burger

 

Hamburger who?

 

The Hamburgaler

 

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boo!

 

Alright

 

Its a holiday

 

in Cambodia

 

y

 

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aaaaa

 

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cc

 

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666

 

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Obliterate

 

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aaa

 

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GAH GAH URGH URGH SPIT

 

[15:55] bust it, im about to make this mic shortcircuit [15:56] this beat is wack as hell, this shit fits you perfect [15:56] don't say shit, im havin a bad day bitch

 

hi im new here. anyone wanna help?

 

ok

 

Knock Knock

 

no post

 

snake massage in israel

 

207

 

All I see is Christian’s unruly mop as his head dips lower between my legs. His usual M.O. is to circle my clitoris with his slick, crackerjack tongue but tonight he’s doing something different and – it’s exquisite!

He presses his tongue flat against me as he laps at me with long strokes. He starts at the bottom and sweeps it upward in lazy, even lengths. Every time he comes up, I catch his eyes, blazing fire with pleasure and thick desire. Fuck! As always the pressure is just right and as he stops and re-connects with me again – there, yes! Right there! – I get a 1000 volt jolt, straight to my core.

I moan, almost scream as he flicks over my whole slit again. I so much want to grab his head and force his tongue to stay on me and stop this maddening teasing but both my wrists and ankles are tied to the bedposts. I buck my pelvis into his face but his leisurely pace doesn’t change. The heel of his right hand is firmly pressed down onto my pubic bone creating a delicious pressure. His left thumb is rubbing slow circles on my inner thigh, my whole being willing him to move it up – just an inch – and slip it inside.

I glimpse his rippling shoulder muscles glistening with his perspiration in the dim light. He’s so freaking hot. Oh…! I’m so close. He senses my quickening and two fingers glide roughly through my wetness and straight to my sweet spot, the other arm snakes up my body where he pinches my nipple and twists violently. I shudder and groan in ecstasy, thrashing my head about as I detonate my release.

Holy fuck! My eyes fly open and I jerk up my torso, vaguely surprised that my restrains aren’t holding me back, where is Christian? My body is covered in sweat and I’m breathing like I’ve run a marathon. I look around confused; I’m alone, in my bedroom, in my apartment. My body’s still weak, jittery from my grinding orgasm, apparently induced by yesterday’s events and my flaming hormones, finding an outlet, the only way it knows how – in a dream.

I flop back onto my bed, grab my pillow and drag it over my face. I force in a deep breath and let out a primal shriek whilst kicking my legs wildly, giving in to my child-like tantrum. The yell morphs into sobs and then hysterical giggles. What am I going to do? My way forward is completely blurred as a flash back of yesterday’s events play through my rattled mind.

The picnic was amazing, Christian was so gentle with Chris, he is such a kind and natural father. We left the park quite late and Taylor drove us straight onto the tarmac of the Miami International airport to board the Grey Enterprises jet. By that time Chris was exhausted. Christian gave him a quick tour, revelling in his innocent, awed excitement; he even let him sit with the pilot for a bit.

By take-off his little eyelids were hanging heavy and low. Christian fussed over him, strapping him securely into the reclined seat and covering him with a soft blanket so that he could sleep. It tugged so hard at my heart that I had to look away at times, unable to watch how, after just one day, he was doting on his son. The melancholy bled like black ink into water.

After a quick, 40 minute flight, one of Christian’s new men met us upon arrival in Savannah. Christian introduced him as Collins. He was a perfect Taylor clone, bristling with efficiency. I briefly brooded over what might have happened to Sawyer. I hoped that I wasn’t the reason for his absence, that Christian didn’t fire him for failing to stop my covert escape but I was grateful that he wasn’t the one to collect us – if Taylor was mad at me, how mad would Sawyer be?

Christian carried a sleeping Chris from the plane straight into the booster seat of yet another waiting SUV. His sleepy eyes remained resolutely shut. That’s what a day of fresh air and excitement will do for you when you’re four. The thought had me smiling, warming my heart.

Collins drove to my mom’s house without the aid of any directions from us and dropped her off. My subconscious took the opportunity to remind me that Christian was indeed the ultimate stalker and I shrugged, undaunted – it’s not like I didn’t know.

I gave mom a bear hug and I felt her warmth along with her well wishes for me in our embrace. She knew how edgy I felt about Christian visiting our home.

The next stop was mine and the churning in my belly told me exactly how anxious I really was. All too soon Collins parked in front of my building and carried our bags up to the fourth floor. Christian lifted our son from the car and held him close, Chris’ head resting on his broad shoulder.

In an effort to dispel my angst I started jabbering as we walked. Even to my own ears I sounded overly chipper as I told him about Jo-Anne, the neighbour to the right of us. I mentioned that she had a son, the same age as Chris and how they were best friends – like only children can be. I stumbled through a list of all the good things I could tally about the building, that we’ve never had problems with crime and that it was well maintained – all the while feeling unreasonably defensive of the home I’ve made for us.

What will Christian think? The pressure was eating away at me.

At the front door I fumbled clumsily with the keys and wondered where the flowers I ordered were. I was expecting them to be waiting, ready to put me back on an even keel, restore the balance of power between us and maybe gain a clue to the depth of his reticence about our relationship. Oh well, nothing I can do about that now.

Collins placed our bags in the hallway, nodded his goodbye and left to wait in the car. I quickly made my way to Chris’ room with Christian tailing behind. I turned down his bed and closed the curtains. Christian laid him down, ever so gently. He just stirred and turned on his side, still far away in the land of nod. I pulled off his shoes and Christian asked if he could tuck him in and sit with him for a while.

“Sure,†I said and smiled to hide another lump I had to swallow past. I scurried to the kitchen to do some deep breathing and find my collected self. I made a pot of tea and started on coffee for Christian when he joined me in the kitchen.

The atmosphere between us was awkward and my conversation stilted: “Uhm,†I cleared my throat grappling for something to say. “Thank you for a lovely day and for dropping us back home.†I had my back turned to him but I heard him pull out a chair, taking a seat at the cosy kitchen table.

“You’re welcome Anastasia.†His tone was soft, hesitant and I could feel his eyes burning into my back.

I joined him at the table and we nursed our drinks, staring at nothing, lost in a maze of jumbled, hesitant thoughts.

“What’s wrong Anastasia?†His index finger slipped under my chin and he lifted my gaze to meet his.

I closed my eyes for a beat and basked in the small point of contact between us. I sighed, “I’m so confused Christian.†I answered him honestly and shook my head, “I understand your reservations, why you turned me down,†my look dipped down, studying my knotted fingers. “I know how much it hurt but why…†I faltered; too coy to say it out loud.

In that moment I seriously doubted my ability to read him, maybe I had misread the signs and he’d scoff at my presumption. I drew a bolstering breath, mustering all my courage as I squared my shoulders, “why are you so flirty with me?†I locked onto his eyes, pleading with him. “You’re… leading me on, torturing me.†I breathed, my face instantly blooming into a blush as I uttered the question that’s been nipping at my mind.

“Anastasia,†he began, running a hand through his silky hair and his grey look turned darker, “I can’t hide my attraction to you any more than you can hide yours from me. What’s the point?†He shrugged in resignation and continued: “we both know it’s there, we feel it all the time.†He was still watching me closely, looking to read the responding cues on my face.

Ahh!

“We torture each other,†he leant back against the chair, gaze still intent, “it’s always been like that with us.†His mouth set in an uncompromising line.

I started to shake my head no, but he interjected: “you torture me by defying me and I torture your body.†His head inclined to the side, the words tripped of his tongue in such a casual manner that he could have been talking about the weather.

“But.., but if that’s how you feel, why can’t we try?†the pleading desperation in my voice was very thinly veiled. I stopped my heart and breath while I waited for his reply.

He snorted, “I may not doubt your attraction to me Anastasia,†his brow quirked and offered me a pointed stare, “but your long-term staying power – that’s another story.†His full mouth twisted into a wry smile and he broke the lock of our eyes, the pain too close to the surface for him while he shook his head, compounding his refusal even further.

It was like an icy wind that swept through my entire body, chilling as the blood drained from my veins. My heartbeat was suddenly sprinting; was he saying that there was no hope for us, ever?

A knock on the door made us both jump and his brows shot up in surprise. “I’m not expecting anyone,†I quickly replied to the question his eyes held; my tone a little defensive and weary of the subtle anger I thought saw lurking there.

“Yohoo darling, are you decent? Yohoo?†The familiar throaty voice was echoing through my small apartment.

Uh-oh! It’s my other neighbour, Miss Dee, the one I neglected to mention because I wasn’t sure how Christian would feel about us living next door to a six foot two transvestite. I pushed back my chair and made for the passage in an attempt to head her off but her long legs closed the distance way too quickly and she caught us in the kitchen.

“My daahling! You look fab, welcome back!†She air kissed me in her exaggerated manner and shoved a lovely bouquet of flowers into my hands. “These came for you daahling, thought I’d keep them safe for you.†Her purple taloned hand batted playfully in my direction and she gave me a salacious wink teamed with a broad, super white smile.

Ah, the flowers I ordered for myself.

“Dee!†I said, overly bright, “thank you! Look at you!†I gave her an appreciative once-over. She was wearing the skimpiest of purple lycra dresses and her blonde wig was a mass of curls. Her eye make-up matched the colour of her outfit exactly and the glitter platform shoes added at least another 10 inches to her already towering height.

She was a wonderful, warm person and I could truthfully say that I liked and trusted her. She worked as a computer geek in the day, which usually only started somewhere after 1pm. If you saw her then she could probably pass as a fairly regular guy, lounging about in sweats, her face displaying a roguish stubble but at night, she lived her true passion as she transformed herself into Miss Dee Licious for her evening show at some trendy drag club.

“Dee, this is my friend Christian.†I didn’t dare use her full stage name, I was hoping that he wouldn’t notice that she really was a he but I thought it unlikely, Christian usually didn’t miss much.

My subconscious was quick to point out her prominent Adam’s apple, the ever-present five o’ clock shadow and her masculine build, no way was Christian going to think she’s a girl. She folded her arms across her chest and sneered nastily at me.

Miss Dee’s long lashed, sparkly eyes turned to Christian and lit up with delight and curiosity. She cheekily wolf whistled straight at him, “what a delicious morsel Ana, where have you been hiding this fine, fine man?†She pointed an index finger at him, flicking it up and down in a zigzag motion as she devoured him with her eyes.

Christian stood and extended a hand to shake hers, his expression thankfully bemused. “A pleasure Miss Dee,†his reply was polite before he shot a quick glance in my direction.

“Why hello there, mh, mh, mmhh! It’s Miss Dee Licious daahling.†She drew the words out, squeezing as much flirtation into them as she could. She took his hand but instead of shaking it she turned hers up so that there was no doubt that she wanted him to kiss the back of it.

To Christian’s credit, he hesitated only for a second before giving her an exaggerated, extravagant kiss on the back of her hand, bowing his head slightly. His stunning eyes had softened and were light with amusement. I had to stifle a fit of giggles thrashing to burst out.

“Hmm, hmm!†She smacked her lips in approval and threw her sheer purple scarf over her shoulder. “Did you send these lovely flowers? You should be careful, don’t spoil the girl so much sugar, she’ll start expecting it from you!†she gave a throaty, roaring laugh at her own joke, winking at me while she patted my arm good-naturedly.

From that moment our day took a swift nosedive. Christian’s expression turned from amused to sour in a nanosecond, “no, unfortunately that pleasure was not mine.†His voice was gruff and his eyes precipitously cold. With hostility vibrating off him he tilted his head in question to me, expecting an explanation.

“Oooh, an admirer!†If she heard the change in his tone she ignored it and made an exited grab for the card before I could even think of taking it. I cringed and flushed every shade of red.

“Welcome home – from: you know who,†she read it out loud and turned the card over to check the back. “It’s got two kisses girlfriend!†She was buzzing with excitement on my behalf. “Who’s the lucky man that’s captured the ice queen’s heart?†She speculated suggestively, teasing me only because she knew that I didn’t date and Christian snorted sarcastically at the mock nickname.

I took the cups to the sink to hide my scarlet mask, “ah, just a friend.†I called over my shoulder as I tried frantically to sound nonchalant, unaffected. Did I really think this was a good idea?

“Well, it’s about time! A fine little thing like you can’t sit on the shelf forever!†another throaty laugh from her and my mortification was complete, glowing on my face and my ears. She had no idea of the history between us and all the heavy, unsaid things filling the room so I couldn’t be mad but I knew the time had come to get rid of her.

“Are you on your way to your show?†It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, steering it away from my non-existent love life.

“I sure am honey, it’s good to have you back, tell the little prince I’ll see him tomorrow,†her eyes crinkled at the corners and she smiled a warm smile mentioning Chris.

She turned to Christian pointing a long nail at his chest. “You better move fast honey, if this one,†she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at me, “is interested in someone, I think he’ll be pretty special. You’ve got yourself some stiff competition.†She put both hands on her hips, persuasive in her particular brand of romantic advice.

It’s was my turn to splutter and I found a renewed urgency to get her out. I took her by her muscly upper arm and curled my mouth into a grin I wasn’t feeling. With more force than I intended I started to steer her out of the kitchen. Fortunately she went willingly while she waved her goodbye back over her shoulder. “Bye daahling, I’m just next door if she won’t give you any lovin’!†She roared with that raspy laugh and wiggled her waving fingers.

Back in the kitchen I found a cool Christian leaning against the counter, both hands on the edge of the top, arms bent at the elbows. His long legs were stretched out on front of him and crossed at the ankles; his burning intensity was seriously opposing his casual demeanour.

“Nice neighbour,†he said dryly.

I was shaking in my boots, speculating about the level of his anger? “I like her,†I kept my reply even, my voice low and my eyes away from his.

“Are you seeing someone Anastasia?†His voice took on that whispering quality that he assumes when he went thermo but trying very hard to supress it. He was cutting straight to the chase.

I felt a fearful shiver scrape down my spine as I swung my gaze to his, my head cocked to the side. “No, I’m not. He’s just a friend.†I hope the lie wasn’t apparent; I also couldn’t miss the dangerous fury in his eyes even if I wanted to.

“Like Jose was just a friend?†He spat at me, face distorted with distaste.

Oh crap! I didn’t want to dwell on Jose! I shook my head and bit my lip; fear had stolen my voice, all I could do was stare at him, holding out for the fallout.

I could virtually hear the cogs turning and grinding in his head as he considered the repercussions of not taking me back, of me being free to see someone else. The internal war he was having was spilling across his features but he played it unruffled – always in control.

“You can see who you want,†his sculpted mouth bent into a disapproving line as one hand waved me off, dismissively. Still the relaxed arrangement of his body looked unaffected but his eyes were scorching with hostility and he’s jaw muscles were working overtime, bunching at the sides of his face as he clenched repeatedly.

My inner goddess rubbed her hands together and grinned, he’s jealous, he wants us! But my subconscious snapped at her, at what cost, you overeager fool?

“Don’t you date?†The hint of irritation in my tone wasn’t intentional but his reaction surprised me, he was no monk.

He regarded me coolly for an unbearable minute before he spoke in a menacing baritone, “I see that you’re still not listening to me.†He let the words hang between us, never taking his focus off me while he waited for me to find some unknown comprehension.

Huh?

When it became clear to him that I wasn’t going to get whatever sublingual message he was sending me, he answered with a flat, low note, “no Anastasia, I don’t.â€

No dating or no sex I wondered but my inner girls were both shaking their heads at me, don’t go there!

Of course I couldn’t heed their advice, I was too curious to stop. I simply had to know, “not even a comely, compliant little submissive?†There was no way I could keep the jealous sneer in my words from showing, too much at stake in his answer. It was like watching a car wreck, no matter how horrified you were, you could not look away.

“For fuck’s sake Anastasia!†two riled hands took their familiar path through his hair, “have you any idea..?†His voice was raised but he trailed off, shaking his head in frustration or disgust, I couldn’t tell.

I could see his aggravation, pulsing through his now rigid pose as he gave me glimpse of the state of his soul and it was clear that I was to blame. A bout of fresh shame had gripped my heart in its merciless claw.

“I have to go, Collins is waiting.†The flash of vulnerability he had on display a second ago was now replaced with a curt inflexibility. He head for the door and I followed him meekly where his annoyance was amped up by the fact that it wasn’t locked. “This door should be locked,†he barked at me with a thunderous frown.

I withered and wilted under his scolding gaze and nodded my acquiescence, “okay.†The whisper was so faint that he might not have heard it.

“I’ll be in touch.†His tall frame was filling my doorway and I risked a peek at him through my lashes. I was expecting him to turn and leave but he lingered, seemingly rooted. I knew that he was sensing the current between us – sparking wildly. Lust, anger and frustration were all brewing and shaping a powerful force field around us and we were both trapped in it, watching each other with parted lips but neither willing to bend to the other’s will.

His brow creased as he remembered himself, consciously unplugging from our mutual generator. He gave me an abrupt nod, swivelled on his heal and strode away with a determined and restored purpose. He didn’t look back.

I slipped inside and locked the door, leaning my forehead forward and resting it on the door. Slowly I banged my head against the wood in measured thuds, producing a satisfying knock that underlined the pounding in my confused, sorry-ass of a brain.

That was how our day, that held so much promise, ended. Christian and I – mad at each other again and me – conjuring up orgasms in my sleep, born from unrequited sexual tension. I wished that I could kick the crap out of something.

squiggle1

Okay, enough with the wallowing! I castigate myself and swing out of bed only to realise how early it is, far too early to be up. I amble to the kitchen, hoping that a cup of tea will make the prospect of my day look less bleak. There’s no way I’ll I be able to go back to sleep. The apartment is quiet, empty with Chris asleep and I contemplate getting some work done, I still need to go through my contract. It dawns on me that Christian never committed to helping me and my low spirits take a further dive. Why should he?

I jab at the on button of my laptop and reach for the fat sheath of papers that make up the details of my future relationship with the BTB publishing company. I was so excited about this deal but in my current frame of mind it all just seems like a big chore. I feel flat and unmotivated and I absentmindedly click on my e-mail icon, fully aware that I’m stalling.

Two heart skipping beats later I look again to make sure I’m not hallucinating. I have an e-mail from Christian! Cautiously I open it, mindful that it may sting.

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Past events

Date: 17 October 2016 23:52

To: Anastasia Steele

Anastasia

I regret the way we left things this evening. As always I lose all reason around you and it’s not conducive to us rebuilding any sort of relationship. I enjoyed spending time with Chris and I sincerely hope that we can come to a mutual agreement regarding visiting rights. I understand that he’s still young and that you would have to accompany him if he is to visit me in Seattle. He barely knows me but I very much want to rectify that. I will cover all travel expenses and once your book deal is signed, you could work anywhere, so traveling shouldn’t pose a problem.

I will gladly help you with the negotiations surrounding your contract. Please forward the relevant documents to me and we can discuss it, maybe via Skype. However, I would still prefer Grey Publishing to take you on, that way I know we can ensure that you and your work get the best possible service. Please also forward me your manuscript for my perusal.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Oh boy! Christian – the king of mixed messages! He loses all reason around me, is that good or bad I ponder. He enjoyed spending time with Chris but doesn’t mention me. Can I infer from that, that he didn’t enjoy spending time with me? But the thing that really gets me, the thing that leaps off the page at me is the fact that he’s used those words: “visiting rightsâ€. I can’t help but feel the underlying legal threat implicit in that term. Facing Christian in court over a custody battle, I would rather eat glass! The cold hand of fear grips my heart and freezes my blood. He wouldn’t, would he?

I drag my mind away from that horrific thought. The plus side is the help with the contract but deep down I know that he’s agreeing because of some misplaced notion that I always need rescuing. Well, in this case I do need help, but still, I don’t want to feel like a child whose all-knowing dad (only Christian isn’t my dad) needs to bail her out – again.

I rest my head in my hands; it’s heavy with unresolved thoughts. He would still be in the air; on his way home. This e-mail was sent shortly after he left me last night. At least it gives me a bit of time to think about my reply.

List time I think; whenever I have a really big decision to make I make a list. It helps me see a clear path forward. I look at the facts as they stand at this point in time and I make a resolution not to overthink things.

Christian is attracted to me. He likes Chris and wants to spend more time with him which also means time with me. He is Chris’ father, a role that he seemed to have embraced. He thinks there is someone hanging around in my romantic background and it makes him jealous. He’s offered to help me with my book deal. He’s is not in a relationship with another woman. He doesn’t trust me. Seeing it written down like that it becomes abundantly clear that, apart from the last point, we have everything going for an eventual reconciliation. The trust problem, I must admit, is a big one. Christian values that more than most things. In spite of our undeniable magnetism he’s managed very well to keep his distance – way too well if you ask me.

Can’t blame him can you? It’s the harpy again, pointing out the obvious.

I remember when I first started seeing Christian, in the very early days when we were still discussing contracts and limits. I was so drawn to him and flattered by his interest. I recall being awed by his prowess but I felt intimidated by him and even though I trusted him in the bedroom, I didn’t trust him not to break my heart.

He kept pushing me to open up so that he could get to know me and build my trust in him. Even after I left the first time, he went out of his way to re-establish the trust between us; he found a new way for us to be together.

I’m having a moment; I see what I need to do. I have to do what he did in a way that he relates too. When I took punishment off the menu he simply reinvented the rules that governed our relationship. I need to draw up a contract, like what he wanted me to sign but this time, it will be about what he can expect from me, what I will do to gain and keep his trust. Something that shows my commitment to our relationship, a promise that he can keep me to.

Yes! I feel a calmness and direction settle over me, this is a solid idea and I love the intimate reference it will make to our past, our shared history. A damn fine idea indeed

 

To me, nothing is painful. There is no such thing as anguish. Even if some things seem like they hurt, deep down, everyone is a nice person. We can understand each other, or so I thought; or so I liked to think. I didn't want to wallow in misery. I didn't want to become spiteful. I just didn't want to be hurt. I didn't want to be hated.

• Mato Kuroi

 

,

 

Trophy

 

Trophy

 

Mind Crush!

 

WJC!

 

easy

 

sneezy

 

greasy

 

Weird trophy..

 

Weeed

 

nice name and post :)

 

and yet he aint a pothead as 1 spliff and throws a whitey lol

 

.

 

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.

 

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``

 

.

 

.

 

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h

 

o.o

 

1

 

2

 

3

 

4

 

5

 

6

 

7

 

8

 

Moo

 

ooM

 

boopie

 

kena

 

0

 

yup.

 

poop

 

hm

 

d

 

My own level 80 skull drill bot with min con just ruined my level 100 NaN attempt.

sigh

Maybe one day I'll get it if the stars align just right. I guess it just wasn't meant to be...

 

post.

 

post.

 

post.

 

no means no

 

o

 

Gans plucks his nose hairs. True story, bro.

 

G

 

Goat Cheese.

 

chicken fried chicken fried chicken fried chicken

 

Hello

 

What is the difference between a vagina and a fridge?

 

The fridge doesn't fart when you pull out meat...

 

Hahahaha You guys are so funny :)

 

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chicken butt

 

Hi I'm Tom Brady

 

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duh?

 

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Dumb

 

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joł

 

jans is old!

 

Hi

 

tisk

 

a post

 

Last month I was the runner up in Category 8. This time, I couldn't even manage to get a single win at all.

Go figure...

 

that sucks

 

Yeah

 

Word.

 

uh huh

 

uh huh

 

uh huh

 

<->_<->

 

a

 

b

 

My knife, it's sharp and chrome

Come see inside my bones

All the feigns are on the block

I'm the new king, I'll take the queen

'Cause in here we are all anemic

In here, anemic is sweet, so

Go get your knife, go get your knife And come in

Go get your knife, go get your knife And lay down

Go get your knife, go get your knife Now kiss me

I can float here forever

In this room we can't touch the floor

In here we're all anemic

In here, anemic is sweet, so

Go get your knife, go get your knife And come in

Go get your knife, go get your knife And lay down

Go get your knife, go get your knife Now kiss me

 

Go take your medicine

 

TP!

 

trophy

 

hi

 

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mastershake in tha house!!

 

You just earned yourself a dance with the devil, boy.

 

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hi