I like to creep around my home and act like a goblin
I don’t know why but I just enjoy doing this. Maybe it’s my way of dealing with stress or something but I just do it about once every week. Generally I’ll carry around a sack and creep around in a sort of crouch-walking position making goblin noises, then I’ll walk around my house and pick up various different “trinkets” and put them in my bag while saying stuff like “I’ll be having that” and laughing maniacally in my goblin voice (“trinkets” can include anything from shit I find on the ground to cutlery or other utensils). The other day I was talking with my neighbours and they mentioned hearing weird noises like what I wrote about and I was just internally screaming the entire conversation. I’m 99% sure they don’t know it’s me but god that 1% chance is seriously weighing on my mind.
(▀̿Ĺ̯├┬┴┬┴ Psst... kid, you wanna disable adblock?
More Classic Copypastas
You've been gnomed
This is my very first copy pasta
twitchquotes:
Hey guys. This is my very first copy pasta and I am really nervous about pasting it because if it does not get copy pasta then I will have much embarrassment. I've have thinking about it for a couple of nights now, but here it is!.
twitch chat
Classic
Navy Seal
What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.
Classic
Navy Seal
some times i supper glue my thumbs
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."