ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ:・゚ RETARD WAVE!!:„ø¤º°¨ ¨°º¤KEEP THE RETARDNESS GOING ¸„ø¤º°¨ ¨°º¤øº LETS GO RETARDS !¤¤º°¨¨°º¤øº¤ø„¸¸ø¤º°¨„ ø¤º°¨¨°º
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Doublelift looks nervous as he hands over the money
twitchquotes:Doublelift looks nervous as he hands over the money. "Is this enough?" he asks. Marc Merrill looks at him and laughs "QT is in for another soloQ special
Doublelift looks nervous as he hands over the money. "Is this enough?" he asks. Marc Merrill looks at him and laughs "QT is in for another soloQ special
Alinity poem
twitchquotes:There is a cat in the vicinity. I summon Alinity. She yeets the cat into infinity. And then feeds the cat vodka martini. Takes some booty picture accidentally. Sells couple of her panty. Takes a twitch staff's virginity. Still no ban apparently.
There is a cat in the vicinity. I summon Alinity. She yeets the cat into infinity. And then feeds the cat vodka martini. Takes some booty picture accidentally. Sells couple of her panty. Takes a twitch staff's virginity. Still no ban apparently.
My poop story
twitchquotes:My poop story.
I lived in a dookie (pun on purpose) apartment complex in a college town, literally $300 a month, on a river in the south. So a small and always very high maintenance team worked for them. They showed up (stoned) and were changing everyone’s filters. Heard. Ok come in. I had a particularly funky little caesars pizza not an hour before the incident. We were making small talk and such as these things tend to linger, I suddenly felt a disturbance in my lower gut (bubbleguts). I felt confident in my distance from the maintenance guy that I got squeeze out a fart and then distract him into another room. This was no fart. At slightest bit of effort I put towards this fart a flood of terrible pizza diarrhea shot out of my ass like a goddamn rocket. As I was staring this man in the eye. I was staring another human being in the eyes...while I pooed my pants. To this day not only do I have no clue if he knew or not but I would still pay thousands of dollars to just see my face when that happened.
That is my poop story.
My poop story.
I lived in a dookie (pun on purpose) apartment complex in a college town, literally $300 a month, on a river in the south. So a small and always very high maintenance team worked for them. They showed up (stoned) and were changing everyone’s filters. Heard. Ok come in. I had a particularly funky little caesars pizza not an hour before the incident. We were making small talk and such as these things tend to linger, I suddenly felt a disturbance in my lower gut (bubbleguts). I felt confident in my distance from the maintenance guy that I got squeeze out a fart and then distract him into another room. This was no fart. At slightest bit of effort I put towards this fart a flood of terrible pizza diarrhea shot out of my ass like a goddamn rocket. As I was staring this man in the eye. I was staring another human being in the eyes...while I pooed my pants. To this day not only do I have no clue if he knew or not but I would still pay thousands of dollars to just see my face when that happened.
That is my poop story.
NA aka "Not Able"
twitchquotes:NA, aka "Not Able," is a minor region in Riot's League of Legends that is often ridiculed for failing to show up at international performances. It is specifically known for the money wasted to bring in midlaners with dental problems from better regions.
NA, aka "Not Able," is a minor region in Riot's League of Legends that is often ridiculed for failing to show up at international performances. It is specifically known for the money wasted to bring in midlaners with dental problems from better regions.
You will never be a crewmate
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.
You will never be a crewmate. You have no purpose on this ship, you have no tasks, you have no mini games to play. You are an impostor twisted into a crude mockery of crewmatery.
All the validation you get is two-faced and halfhearted. In emergency meetings people call you sus. The other players are disgusted and ashamed of you, your friends laugh at your sussy appearance in ghost chat.
Crewmates are utterly repulsed by you. Thousands of games have allowed crewmates to identify impostors with incredible efficiency. Even impostors who fake tasks act uncanny and suspicious to a crewmate. Your jumping in vents is a dead giveaway. And even if you manage to get a crewmate to electrical with you, he'll turn tail and use the emergency button the second he gets the suspicion that you sabotaged.
You will never be a winner. You wrench out a fake task every single game and tell yourself it is going to be a win, but deep inside you feel the depression creeping up like a weed, ready to crush you under the unbearable weight.
Eventually it will be too much to bear - people will vote you out for being sus and will plunge you into the cold abyss. Your parents will report your body, heartbroken but relieved that they no longer have to live with the unbearable shame and disappointment. They will eject you with a headstone marked with your birth tag, and every passerby for the rest of eternity will know an impostor is drifting there. Your body will decay and go back to the dust, and all that will remain of your legacy is a skeleton that is unmistakably sus.